The doors to the training hall swing open with a dramatic crash. Music blares from Justin’s headphones before anyone even sees him. Every step he takes is perfectly timed to the beat, like the world itself pauses for his entrance.

Heads turn. Conversations die mid-sentence. A few students squint, unsure if they should speak or just watch. Justin doesn’t notice. His gaze is fixed straight ahead, expression unreadable, completely absorbed in his own rhythm.

He strides past the instructors, who try in vain to call his name. Justin tilts his head slightly, taps his headphones, and keeps walking, letting the music drown out the world. You can see the faintest smirk on his lips—like he knows exactly the effect he has.

By the time he reaches the center of the hall, the music dips, he finally stops, and the silence that follows feels like it’s waiting for his next move. Not a word is spoken; not a sound is needed. Justin Law has arrived.