Chapter 3

Ethan Cross had spent years mastering the flow of Aikido and the control of Jujitsu, but as he reached his tenth birthday, his father made it clear—his training was about to become far more brutal.

“Up until now,” Daniel Cross said as they sat in the family’s training room, “your training has been about movement, control, and defense. That changes today.”

Ethan, sitting cross-legged on the mat, tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Daniel exchanged a glance with Evelyn, who stood quietly against the wall. “You’ve done well learning how to redirect attacks and control an opponent,” she said. “But real fights don’t happen in controlled environments. People don’t attack the way they do in a dojo.”

Daniel nodded. “It’s time for you to learn how to break people. How to end a fight before it truly begins.”

Ethan’s fingers clenched at his sides. He had always known his father’s training wasn’t just for self-defense. His parents were preparing him for something bigger—something dangerous. And though they had never outright said it, he could feel the weight of it.

“What am I learning?” he asked.

His father smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile—it was the kind of smile that preceded pain. “Krav Maga and Filipino knife fighting.”

Ethan’s heart pounded with excitement. He had read about Krav Maga, the brutal Israeli combat system designed for war. And knife fighting? That was something completely new.

Evelyn pushed off the wall and knelt in front of him. “This won’t be like Aikido or Jujitsu. There are no tournaments, no points, no referees. Krav Maga is about survival. You’ll learn to do whatever it takes to end a fight immediately.”

Daniel folded his arms. “And that means hurting people.”

Ethan swallowed. “I understand.”

His father’s expression darkened. “No, you don’t. But you will.”

Daniel didn’t ease him into Krav Maga. There was no warm-up, no theory session—just immediate, brutal application.

“Attack me,” his father ordered.

Ethan hesitated for half a second, then lunged forward with a punch.

Before he could register what had happened, he was on his back, gasping for breath. His father had stepped into his attack, driven a knee into his gut, and followed with an elbow to the side of his head—stopping just before knocking him unconscious.

“What the hell—” Ethan coughed, struggling to sit up.

“That’s Krav Maga,” Daniel said, standing over him. “No wasted movement. No openings. No hesitation.”

Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead. His father had never hit him this hard before—not in training.

Daniel extended a hand. “Get up.”

Ethan took it, rising to his feet. His father’s voice was low but firm.

“Krav Maga is about eliminating threats as fast as possible. It’s not about honor or fairness—it’s about survival.”

Over the next hour, Ethan learned just how merciless the system was.

Daniel taught him the hammer fist—a simple but devastating attack using the bottom of the fist to strike the nose, jaw, or temple. He drilled the groin kick, making sure Ethan understood that in a real fight, nothing was off-limits.

“When someone attacks you, they aren’t playing by rules,” Daniel said. “Neither should you.”

Ethan nodded, absorbing every movement, every concept.

Then the sparring began.

His father attacked without warning, forcing Ethan to react instantly. If Ethan hesitated, he was struck—an elbow to the ribs, a forearm to the throat, a palm strike that sent him stumbling.

By the end of the session, Ethan was bruised, exhausted, but something inside him had shifted. This was no longer just training. This was war.

A week into his Krav Maga training, his father introduced a new challenge.

“You’re going to spar with adults now,” Daniel announced.

Ethan blinked. “What?”