give it purpose.

ㅤㅤHe’d been patient while waiting outside the secluded area, a virtue that wasn’t afforded to some of his own prior students or even those from their current dōjō, the man’s temperament often quick to ignite during moments of heightened pressure. Silver kept himself preoccupied at first, concentration sifting through upcoming scheduled appointments and calls over the oncoming days from the interface of a secure service on his phone, its connection taking a few seconds longer to load due to a poorer signal attempting to communicate with a server across the Atlantic, a few of the little grey boxes set to  ‘ tentative ’  given the unpredictability of upcoming events - decisive confirmations would be required after a make-or-break moment, and while he rolls with the punches with the best of them… there are certain conditions where the man prefers to adopt a firmer guiding  hand  fist to get things moving and intune with the rhythm of his making.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAnd perhaps there are far too many variables that need his attention, or even a thread of apprehension that rears its ugly head on account of others who are just as volatile as the former sensei, but the fact remains: he’s not in the mood to play nice. That music—  sorry, no, a correction needed  (  because  ‘ music ’ alludes to pieces which elicit a swell of emotion  ).  That noise had droned on incessantly, and it didn’t help that the enclosed space further amplified it, waves reverberating against each surface to grate on ears that have a penchant for elaborate symphonies and the expertise bestowed upon tinkling ivories. Gelid eyes had snapped to the time and noted the minutes which had strayed, soundlessly entering the room to see the student without a goddamn care in the world  (  enough was enough  ).  In a sense she’s lucky it’s Silver making his presence known as opposed to their primary sensei, the potential for far worse retaliation in the mix, a large palm holding up the joke of a speaker with the pastel haired girl’s rebuttal, expression quizzically bemused.

She'd been in the process of cooling down, but now? She could go another few rounds, fuelled by spite if nothing else.

She could get another speaker. Easily. The thing was cheap, picked up at some novelty store inside a mini mall when she'd been shopping for carry-on friendly toiletry items. But the threat of it being taken from her raises her hackles.

"You don't even have any students with you," she whinges, dropping low, quickly extending her leg toward the bag, and hooking her foot through one of the straps to pull it all toward her without getting too close to the looming old man. "Are you allowed to be in here without them?" she asks as she stands again, satisfied that her possessions are outside his immediate sphere of influence.

@breakranks requested a training session.

There   is   a   short   pause   on   the   student's   step   when   he   notices   the   empty   dojo.   He   had   known   what   to   expect   when   it   came   to   an   empty   room   not   even   Zara   was   there   to   keep   him   company   and   strengthen   their   teamwork.   This   meant   it   was   a   one   on   one   training   with   Sensei   Wolf.   Bag   falls   with   a   small   thud   to   the   ground   and   as   he   takes   off   his   shoes,   he   walks   to   the   mat,   all   so   robotic   after   years   of   doing   the   same.  

Visual sensory deprivation training is something new to this dojo. Something--quite frankly--desperate. Something Wolf may or may not have had whispered into his ear by a certain silver haired silver tongue.

It's also something that makes sense, perhaps now more than ever, with the boy's little crush having come to Wolf's attention. Kovacevic needs to regain his focus, or everything Wolf has sacrificed and fought so goddamn hard for will be for naught.

He will not lose everything. Not again. And sure as hell not to the chaos of some teenager's hormones.

Wolf does not call back to him as his office door quietly creaks open; he stays low and creeps, sure footed, toward his student. The sensei's vision has adjusted in the time he's waited for Axel's arrival. In his office, just to the side of the sparring mat, he'd been sitting in near complete darkness with his hand on the switch. His pupils have grown wide to let in every bit of light possible, and that gives him a strong advantage even if the young man only appears as a rough dark shape against an almost equally dark background.

Stalking closer, the sensei is a wraith: he is very nearly silent, but his menacing presence can be felt.

When he's sure he's in position, he strikes. Hard.

ㅤㅤTo say that Wolf was a contentious figure would be an understatement, some of the reports gained about him making for difficult reading for anyone with a shred of empathy—  but personal morals can be temporarily set aside when tunnel vision desperation comes into play, the bigger picture far more appealing than the expense of a few. What mattered most was gaining results, the elder very rarely not getting his own way with any endeavour he’d set his mind to  (  claw marks remaining in the place of scant losses  ),  this recent spell of miserable incidents costing him far more than he could ever imagine - Terry Silver’s pride had been irrevocably bruised, and for those within his crosshairs, there’d be hell to pay. There’s a thoughtful hum with the comparison between the two star students, and while any footage reviewed online didn’t show any intricate detail, it was enough to garner his interest.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤZara was incredibly agile whereas Axel was an iron wall, a combination of two very different techniques of fighting style that would make them unstoppable given their adaptability to an opponent, the man wondering to himself whether the footage of neither of them conceding any points during bouts was accurate. Silver can understand wanting to maintain one’s own image  (  as he’s sure the social media influencer does  ),  but when you have a third party audience advocating as such, it makes intriguing viewing.  “ Wise boy. Sometimes a little mystique is preferable, but balance can be key. ”  Be that as it may, that didn’t mean the old man himself wasn’t shy from the limelight, often enjoying the attention and revelling in it when the opportunity struck, mindful of those who faded into the background into inevitable obscurity.  “ But I can’t blame your other champ for wanting to capitalise on her achievements. Being at her prime with only room for improvement, whether she’s given it any consideration or not, she’s paving a way for her future. ”

ㅤㅤA grin ticks into place, momentarily chancing upon the other glancing at the eye catching pendant.  “ And by extension, yours. ”  There’s a faint shift in the sensei’s mien when identities come into question, Terry’s smug expression unrelenting, a confidence in place that’s undeterred by Wolf’s unease  (  thriving from it  ) - he currently knows of… three aliases the other goes by, and while his team were on the brink of cracking a fourth when a case of genuine mistaken identity came into play, he put a stop to the investigation the moment they’d successfully tracked the man’s whereabouts, the need to continue seemingly frivolous at this point  (  but later? who knows…  ).  “ Wolf it is, ”  he croons in acceptance, quietly impressed by the lack of overt apprehension reflected back, occasions in the past where some would simply call it quits even at this early stage when personal intrusion came into play, unable to stomach the depths in which an interested party would go.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ You could say that, but I think you’ll find there isn’t much beyond my reach. I can be a very useful resource to have at your disposal. Think of this partnership as one of mutual benefit. Anything you need, just say the word— ”  Speaking of intrusions, he halts when the vendor’s creaking wheels cuts through their charged conversation, a flicker of heightened irritation segueing to a widening of blue eyes, squarely staring at the frame of the ramshackle cart with its peeling outer coating and rusted edges - Wolf vociferously haggles to sate his hunger, but Terry isn’t interested in what the little vendor has to offer, instead fixated on a red stripe that’s been freshly painted along the base, (im)patiently waiting for attention to veer his way. An arm subsequently rests against the jagged upper surface, the gesture covering a pane of murky glass where fried critters are on display, leather dangerously close to droplets of oil and flecks of flaking salt, cunning eye contact dangerously poised.

ㅤㅤ“ Mmm, I’m looking for something that’s not on your regular menu. ”  A knuckle raps against the vibrant motif in a manner that’s so utterly casual as if an order of fries or a hamburger had been requested, except the seller freezes on the spot, gaze shifting between the two customers with an unsuccessfully feigned murmur of broken English of how there was a lack of availability—  But that answer doesn’t cut it, the elder looming with a nigh predatory expression - a number of establishments carried a licence for traditional medicines, but there was also a rampant black market trade for certain remedies, those with heavy taxation or fines in place on account of being banned due to animal cruelty, environmental concerns or a depletion of natural resources  (  none of which are of his concern  ).  Hand slipping into the inner pocket of Silver’s jacket, a hefty wad of baht is extracted along with a card for the hotel he was staying at, the digits twitching back while watching the other give into temptation to reach out for them both.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ Have someone stop by before 8 AM. ”  The card is sharply pressed against the vendor’s chest along with a single bill, the rest of the money pocketed after this little game of show-and-tell.  “ My associate and I have a flight to catch. ”

***

ㅤㅤThe cabin crew are hard at work in the background mid flight, and while the scantest outline of the overly lavish Grand Lisboa casino is visible from a window to indicate they weren’t too far from their arrival, Terry’s thoughts are a little distant, concentration upon the two men’s conversation unnervingly ebbing and flowing in drips and drabs. He’d like to think it’s due to an amalgam of lack of sleep and a hangover, but he knows his body’s limitations, something else gnawing away at him as line of vision trails over an insignia sewn into a napkin. A digit idly worries over the letters TS, a nail snagging on loosening thread from the repetitive motion - while an acquaintance  (  read: someone who didn’t want to get on his wrong side based on a prior bad experience  )  had pulled a few strings to get them this particular jet, in essence it’s no longer his anymore, a diminishment of personal ownership setting irate nerve endings alight. 

The man is playing games, and Wolf really ought to get used to that.

A lot on his mind, his mysterious new benefactor had said. And Wolf wonders, briefly, what could possibly be so wholly distracting and so bafflingly unsolvable with all the money he assumes Terry has. There are precious few of his own troubles that cannot be solved with the almighty dollar, euro, or yuan, after all.

Wolf is restless in a way that pacing up and down the aisle will not help, and only that fact keeps him seated. And his ears really, really need to pop.

In an effort to remedy one of those discomforts, Wolf works his jaw, then reaches for the pretentiously expensive bottle of water he'd been given when he'd refused any other food or drink options offered to him by Silver's cabin crew. And he makes a production out of unscrewing the metallic lid from the glass bottle before taking a series of ungracious gulps.

As though all his unheard talking has left him parched.

"Let me hit the highlights again," he says, his tone clipped as he fights the urge to leave half moon divots in the supple leather armrests of the luxurious seat he's half engulfed in. "With your financial backing, I want to cut my class size down by at least half. I'd only been accepting the nothings as a way to keep up with costs, and without their dead weight, I can invest further into my top six."

He says six, but he really only means two. Given the proper motivation--the stick before the carrot--he believes Axel and Zara will carry the Dragons alone.

"There are some renovations that will need done, quickly."

Wolf thinks of his hands balled in the front of a practice gi. Of the sound of a floor to ceiling mirror cracking, and a hiss of pain after impact. Of deafening silence. Of Axel's face as he'd staggered back onto the mat after him like an obedient, beaten dog.

"And to truly be free to focus on my work, I expect a generous, no-questions-asked stipend for costs not directly related to the dojo."

He's debts that need paid. Debts to people that even a man who calls himself Wolf is afraid of.