Fated reborn - Chapter 275: Chapter 275

Luciano's Pov.
"Who are you?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
The man shut the door behind me, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He was older than I’d thought—late thirties, maybe early forties. Sharp eyes. The kind that saw too much.
"Name’s Elias," he said. "And before you ask, no—I don’t run fights. Not the kind you’re used to, anyway."
I narrowed my eyes. "Then why am I here?"
Elias studied me for a moment. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, reaching into his pocket.
Instinct flared. My body tensed, ready for anything.
But all he pulled out was another piece of paper.
He held it out to me.
I took it, flipping it over.
It was a photo.
And the moment I saw it, something cold settled in my chest.
It was me.
Not last night. Not the underground fights.
This was old. Years old.
Back when I was younger. Back before I learned how to control it.
Before I stopped pretending I was normal.
My fingers tightened around the edges of the photo. "Where did you get this?"
Elias didn’t flinch. "That’s not the important question."
I looked up, meeting his gaze.
"Then what is?"
He exhaled, like he was measuring his words.
"You ever wonder why fighting feels so right to you?" he asked.
Something in my stomach twisted.
"You don’t know anything about me," I said.
He tilted his head. "Don’t I?"
I didn’t answer.
Because I had wondered.
I just never said it out loud.
Never let myself think too hard about it.
Elias stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You think this is just instinct? Just a part of being a fighter? You *felt* it last night, didn’t you?"
I clenched my jaw.
"That wasn’t just adrenaline," he continued. "It was something else. Something waking up."
I forced myself to stay still. To not react.
"You don’t know what you’re talking about," I said flatly.
Elias smirked, like he’d been expecting that answer.
"Maybe. But I know you’re not like the others."
I narrowed my eyes. "What others?"
He gestured vaguely. "The fighters. The people you’ve been standing next to all these years. They don’t move like you. They don’t feel like you."
I didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
I’d always been *different*.
Stronger. Faster. Like my body understood things before my brain did. Like I was meant for something else.
Something I didn’t have a name for.
Elias watched me carefully, waiting. Then he sighed, stepping back. "Look, you don’t have to believe me. But I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen *you* before."
I frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
Elias hesitated.
Then, finally, he said, "You’re not the first one."
The words hit harder than they should have.
I should’ve walked out. Should’ve told him he was full of shit.
But something in his voice—something in the way he *knew*—kept me rooted to the spot.
Not the first.
Which meant there were others.
Like me.
I exhaled sharply, shoving the photo back at him. "I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t have time for this."
Elias didn’t take the photo. "You’re already in it, Luciano."
I froze.
I never told him my name.
My pulse kicked up, but I didn’t let it show. Just shoved my hands into my pockets, leveling him with a look. "Stay away from me."
Elias just smiled.
"See you soon."
I didn’t wait.
Turned on my heel, walked out, and didn’t look back.
But as I stepped onto the street, the morning air cold against my skin, one thought wouldn’t leave me.
Not the first.
The words rattled around in my skull, sinking deeper.
There were others.
And if that was true…
Then maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just a fight anymore.
I walked fast. Faster than I needed to, like I could outpace whatever the hell had just happened back there.
The street was quieter now, the city still waking up. A few early risers, a couple of taxis rolling by. Normal things.
I needed normal right now.
But my mind wouldn’t let it go.
I wasn’t the first.
What the hell did that even mean?
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. I should’ve just gone home. Should’ve shoved this whole thing into the back of my mind and pretended it never happened.
But I couldn’t.
Because the truth was, Elias wasn’t wrong.
I’d felt it last night.
That rush, that fire under my skin that wasn’t just adrenaline, wasn’t just instinct. It was something else, something deeper, something that had been there for as long as I could remember.
I just never had a name for it.
And now this guy—this stranger—shows up acting like he knows me? Like he’s seen others like me? Like this is all leading somewhere?
I didn’t like it.
Didn’t like the way my stomach twisted, didn’t like the way my pulse kicked up just thinking about it.
I needed air.
I took the long way home, cutting through a few side streets, trying to shake off whatever the hell this feeling was. But it clung to me, wouldn’t let go.
By the time I made it back to my apartment, my hands were balled into fists.
I forced myself to breathe.
Just forget it.
I tossed my keys onto the counter, yanked open the fridge—then shut it again when I realized I wasn’t actually hungry.
Too wired.
I paced, my eyes flicking to the clock. Still early. Too early.
I could call Victor. See if he wanted to train. Burn this feeling out of my muscles.
But I already knew it wouldn’t work.
Because no matter how much I tried to ignore it, the truth sat heavy in my chest.
I wasn’t the first.
And I needed to know why.
By nightfall, I was back in my car.
I didn’t even remember deciding to go back. Just grabbed my jacket, my keys, and before I knew it, I was there again.
The same street. The same old building.
Only this time, the door was already open.
Like he knew I’d come back.
I stepped inside, shoulders tight. Elias was at the desk, flipping through some old file. He didn’t look up, just smirked like he’d been expecting me.
"Figured you’d be back," he said.
I shut the door behind me, crossing my arms. "Start talking."
Elias finally looked up, studying me. Then he nodded, like he’d just made some decision.
"Alright," he said.
And then he did.
He told me everything.
About the others.
About what I was.
And about the fight that was coming.
A fight I’d been a part of long before I ever threw my first punch.