-Chapter 1-
Smack! The resounding noise of knuckles against skin drowned in the wild whoops and hollers of an adrenaline pumped crowd. Bets were flying off everywhere as many exclaimed that "they had never witnessed such an exciting fight!"
Smack! Another blow to the face and the young man staggered back, spitting out a gob of blood and saliva onto the concrete. He put a hand to his cheek feeling a welt already begin to form, his blood boiled.
Already a minute and twenty seconds into the seventh round, this kid managed to surprise everyone. Even his opponent, whose bulk and brute strength overwhelmingly surpassed that of the tall, lean, teenager. But the boy was cunning and swift in his movements, and produced sharp, controlled jabs that would eventually take a toll on whoever was on the receiving end.
"Come on, kid! Fight's not over yet!" His hulking rival challenged with a cocky smirk, though he looked to be tiring out as well. The man was wearing nothing but ridiculous spandex shorts with his name plastered in big, bold letters on his behind. "Mojo".
A stupid name, but it didn't matter. Not with his reputation.
The boy hung back, looking at the ground, not in defeat but in concentration. chunks of straight, black hair were plastered to his forehead as beads of sweat coursed down the toned planes of his back and chest.
Mojo let out a booming laugh, obviously thinking he had broken the young man's spirits, "I guess pretty boy can't handle a little smack to the face!" The giant relaxed a bit and swaggered over to where the boy was standing- muscles taut, head still lowered.
"I'll make it easy for you, kid. One hit and it will all be over." Mojo curled his massive arms back, readying to dish out the final knockout; his name being chanted by majority of the feral audience. The air was thick with sweat and hot breath, it pulsed with energy.
In that split second as Mojo's arm shot out like a spring loaded jack-in-the-box, the young man looked up, his onyx eyes calculating and deathly cold. He ducked the first blow and slid aside for the second causing Mojo to stumble forward with all the force he put into his punches, leaving him entirely off-guard.
The boy took complete advantage of this and began to unleash a string of rapid blows to his face, sides, gut, all of which disoriented Mojo greatly. Without much of a break in his stride, the young man withdrew one fist only to send it bashing back into Mojo's big head again and again with such terrifying power, it silenced everyone into astonishment.
With one final sock to the jawline, the Neanderthal collapsed to the floor with a thud. Uproarious cheering exploded, the crowd going absolutely insane.
"What a match! What a fight!" They yelled, pumping their fists and clapping their hands. Some even laughed at such an unpredictable outcome.
"Who the hell knew!" They busted out.
In the middle of the chaos, the young man simply reached into his pocket to retrieve a handkerchief and wiped the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He gave a courteous bow to his unconscious victim and walked calmly over to the bench where his belongings sat waiting for him, as if he had just won a chess match instead of a fist fight.
"I've gotta say, kid! I've seen ya in here a few times before, but that was one hell of a fight," the manager of the place, a paunchy man with a slick demeanor, praised the young man.
"Thank you," he replied coolly, his voice dignified from well breeding, definitely not from around these parts. He pulled a plain, gray v-neck over his bare torso and set a pair of glasses on the bridge of his luckily untouched nose. The glasses gleamed, shielding his eyes with a reflection of light though the atmosphere was dimly lit.
The manager suppressed a shudder caused by the guy's unnerving manner. Any normal teenage boy would be all fired up after such a win, but this kid was just ice. He took a swig from his flask to get that warm feeling back.
"Well, I just wanted to congratulate you and get your picture so we can put you on the wall of fame!"
"No picture, if you don't mind. I come here to relieve stress, not for the recognition."
"Yeah, no kidding," the manager scoffed, "fine, no picture. But can ya at least gimme your name?"
He pushed a pen and notebook, in which he usually recorded his bets, in the kid's face. The boy hesitated for a moment but took the pen and quickly scribbled something down, then handed it back with a curt bow of the head.
The manager took one look at what the young man wrote and laughed heartily.
"That's what I'm gonna call you, kid: the Knockout! You're alright-"he looked up but the boy with the cool attitude was long gone.
He pushed through the double swinging doors into the alleyway, black riding jacket slung behind his shoulder. He caught the last words from the manager as he made his exit, but didn't stay to acknowledge him.
Knockout.
"Hm," a smirk played at the edge of his cut lip. He didn't make the connection when he wrote down the initials of his name: K.O. but, now that it was made known, he supposed it to be a sort of funny coincidence. Of course, he would never tolerate being called something so tasteless. However, if it meant that his true identity would remain under wraps then perhaps he would permit it, maybe.
He turned a corner and finally found his sleek road bike parked at the curb. He exclusively took it out when he wanted to take private trips without any chauffer or security hanging around. Plus, it was a thrill to ride.
Before mounting the bike, he remembered to turn his phone back on and check to make sure his father hadn't called. He furrowed his brow and let out an annoyed grunt. Twenty-five missed calls from Tamaki Suoh, all in the last twenty-five minutes.
Idiot.
The phone suddenly lit up and buzzed. Incoming call from: Haruhi Fujioka. Haruhi almost never called unless it was important…
He answered.
"Hello?"
"Oh- uh, hi, Senpai!" she sounded almost surprised to hear his voice.
"What is it, Haruhi?"
"Can you meet me in music room #3? I uh need to talk to you about something."
He frowned, "Haruhi, it's Saturday. The school should be locked."
"Oh, yeah, well, I'm with Tamaki senpai too. So, you know, his dad and all…" She sounded unusually flustered.
"Is it an emergency?" he sighed, wishing to get to the point.
"Uh, yes, of sorts."
"Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Ok, we'll be here! Just Tamaki senpai and I, no one else!"
"Haruhi!" a pair of scolding voices could be heard in the background before he hung up the phone.
The bike purred to life under his touch. He knew the whole club would be there waiting for him and whatever they had planned in music room #3, he was sure it was going to be something ridiculous. Haruhi has always been a horrible secret keeper. So unlike himself.
He gave a small, humorless smile before slipping on his full face helmet and zipping out of the alleyway.
A/N:
Well, I have no idea where this story idea came from but I felt the need to write it. I'm eventually going to start easing into some HaruhiXKyoya relationship building, but I kind of want to focus on just Kyoya for a couple chapters. This is my first fanfic exploring the character of Kyoya, so if you feel so inclined to join me on this little adventure please review and follow! We'll see where this goes :) Thanks for reading!
~Elsie Kay