↠ FALLEN ANGEL [Matt Murdock]

THREE ↠ HE DESERVED THAT PUNCH

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CHAPTER THREE

"Again." Mr Luoyang ordered, I heaved in another breath and lunged at him again which he easily side stepped.

"Again" I lunged again, missed again.

"Again." Miss.

"Again." Miss. He turned away to face the window chuckling. I took my opportunity.

"Aga-" I slid forward, kicking his feet out from under him and locking his head in between my legs.

"Not bad. I see you're learning." He laughed as I let go and we both stood up. He went to get his bottle of water from by the bench.

"Three years, three years!" I laughed incredulously. "You've been teaching me for three years. Of course I've learned!" I smirked.

"I bet I could take you." I brought my leg up to kick him in the head, he ducked grabbing my leg and attempting to pull me over but I use it to my advantage, spinning round and elbowing him in the gut and as he doubled over I pushed him to the floor.

"Told you. I can take you, Mr Luoyang."

"Yeah you can." He laughed getting up off the floor. "But still, three years and you still don't listen! Please, call me Zhou. Mr Luoyang was my father. You're making me feel old!"

I smile. "Okay."

"So," He changes the subject. "How's the hunt going?" He said referring to my search of the man who ordered the hit on my family. Ever since the assassination of my parents, when we moved to Hell's Kitchen, Mr Luoyang had taught me to fight, and knew the reason I wanted to fight. He was the one of the only ones who knew.

He owned the Chinese take out beneath our apartment. Now, I know, I know. How does a take out shop owner know how to fight? It's a funny story, actually.

When he lived in Asia with his wife and daughter, they owned a taekwondo dojo, it was the Luoyang tradition. He was happy with it but had other aspirations, so when his wife was on her deathbed from breast cancer she told him to sell the dojo and follow his dreams. And that's how Zhou and Tatiana, his daughter, ended up in New York, running a take out. His dream was to sell over priced food to fat, rude Americans. Why not?

"Better than the last three years. I have a name." I smirked, proud.

"Come on, that joke wasn't funny the first time you said it. Let alone the next hundred. Especially since I always fall for it." He grumbled.

"No seriously. I have something."

"What?! No I don't believe you, you're still kidding me."

"I swear I have something." He raised his eyebrows for me to continue. "I was..." I paused trying to find the right word "..talking to a drug dealer last night and he told me he worked for a guy named Hit, I think that's what he said, but then he passed out so I couldn't get anything more out of him."