Uppercut

Uppercut Chapter-4

Sierra walked through the quiet, empty section of the house, her steps echoing softly as she entered her father's expansive workshop. The room was a chaotic mix of objects and technology from different worlds, both familiar and alien. Gadgets, tools, and half-finished projects cluttered every surface.

"Hey, Fighter," Sierra called as she stepped inside, her voice cutting through the hum of machinery.

Her father, hunched over a computer, barely glanced her way. "What do you want? I'm busy," he muttered, irritation lacing his tone. Then he added with a grumble, "And the least you could do is call me Dad. What's with this first-name nonsense? Your brothers weren't this difficult."

He pushed back from his workstation, revealing his grease-streaked clothes and a pair of goggles perched on his head. Fighter pulled the goggles off, leaving clean circles around his eyes, and gestured at the chaos behind him. "Can't you see? Me and the boys are working on a new training arena."

Sierra's sour look didn't waver as she glanced past him at her younger brother, ScarBlade, who was tinkering with some sort of mechanical arm.

"What's up, loser?" ScarBlade said with a smirk, barely looking up from his work. ScarBlade, in stark contrast, has an unruly and rugged appearance that matches his brash personality. His short, spiky black hair is perpetually messy, with streaks of dark red running through it, as if mimicking the sharpness of his name. His fiery yellow eyes radiate mischief and aggression, always seeming to glint with the spark of a challenge. ScarBlade's skin is tanned and marred with scars, each telling a story of battles fought and won. He wears a weathered brown jacket, often left unzipped to reveal a black tank top beneath, showcasing his muscular build.

Sierra ignored him, clearly not in the mood to trade barbs. Instead, her gaze shifted to her older brother, Moonblade, who stood in the corner, leaning casually against a large metal crate. His long silver hair and calm demeanor set him apart from the rest of the room's chaos.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Sierra said, her tone softening slightly. "What's it been—two years in space?"

Moonblade offered a small smile. "Technically only a few months, but you know how that whole time-is-relative thing works. How've you been, Sierra?" Moonblade exudes a calm, composed aura, his presence both striking and understated. His long, sleek silver hair flows gracefully past his shoulders, catching the light with an almost metallic sheen. His piercing, pale blue eyes seem to glow faintly, giving him an otherworldly quality, as if he's seen things far beyond the stars. His skin is fair and unblemished, reflecting his time spent in the cold void of space. Moonblade's attire is minimalist but elegant—an obsidian-black combat suit with faint silver accents that shimmer when he moves. His suit is both practical and stylish, designed for versatility in various environments.

Before she could answer, Fighter stood abruptly, his annoyance breaking the moment. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Fighter said, throwing his hands up dramatically. "You came here to talk to me, and now you're ignoring me? What is this? Can you boys believe this?" He turned back to glance at his sons, Moonblade and Scarblade, who were both too engrossed in their work to respond.

Sierra let out a heavy sigh, her patience already wearing thin. She stepped closer to Fighter, stopping just a few feet away, her stance firm, her expression serious.

"I'm here about Jack," she said, her voice steady and direct. "He's progressing faster than any student I've ever trained."

Fighter paused for a moment, then chuckled as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He took a drag and exhaled lazily, a sly smirk spreading across his face.

"Oooooh, that? Easy explanation. It's because he's already been trained before," Fighter said casually, as though he were stating the obvious. He gestured with the cigarette as he spoke. "His mind might have forgotten, but his body hasn't. It's muscle memory, instincts—call it whatever you want, but it's kicking in now. I mean, what did you expect? The guy's from Seiketsu."