Chương 17: Chapter 18 : The Boy Who Couldn't Land a Hit

The following morning, Tyson and Harry met at their usual spot at the playground, the rusted swings creaking beneath them. Harry propelled himself back and forth with steady kicks, while Tyson lounged on the adjacent seat, legs stretched out and arms draped over the chains, letting them sway lazily.

"The letters just keep coming," Harry said, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and faint anticipation.

"Uncle Vernon barricades the letterbox, boards up the flap, even stuffs the cracks, but somehow they keep getting through." He dragged his feet against the dirt to slow himself before swinging out again, momentum carrying him higher.

"I practically had to beg just to step outside today. And you know what's strange? No matter where I am, they already know where to find me."

"Do you think some might turn up here too?" he asked. His eyes swept the empty climbing frames and vacant benches, as if expecting a letter to drop from the sky at any moment. Tyson watched him with faint amusement.

"You sound thrilled about it rather than concerned," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"BECAUSE IT IS THRILLING!" Harry shouted excitedly, a grin plastered on his face.

"It's driving Uncle Vernon absolutely mad!" He leaned back on the swing, grinning wider.

"This morning, they came rolled up inside eggs. Can you imagine—literal eggs!" That actually made Tyson pause. He had forgotten that part.

'Eggs? Really?'

"The mailman's a lot more committed than I gave him credit for," he admitted honestly. Though, considering how eccentric and absurd wizarding society was, that barely ranked as unusual. Tyson rocked his swing slightly.

"I received something similar not long ago," he said, keeping his tone deliberately casual. Harry froze mid-swing.

"What? You did?"

"I can't share the details, but I suspect they originated from the same source," Tyson said nonchalantly, trying not to smirk too hard.

"Really?!" Harry hopped off his swing entirely now, eyes lit up with excitement.

"Wait, you can't tell me? Why?""'Cause it's confidential, mate," Tyson grinned. Harry stared at him like he'd just committed a crime.

"That's rubbish."

"Oh, don't be so disheartened now. Here's how we'll do it," Tyson continued conspiratorially. Harry leaned in immediately.

"If you learn about a place called Diagon Alley, we'll know it's from the same sender. Deal?"

"Diagonally?" Harry blinked, tilting his head in confusion. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. Tyson offered a knowing smirk.

"Close enough." He pushed himself off the swing, his shoes digging into the dirt as he steadied himself. He stretched his arms a little and glanced at Harry.

"In the meantime, shall we—" Harry was already moving. A fist shot straight at Tyson's jaw before he could finish speaking. Just as it was centimetres away from his face, Tyson tilted his head to the side, letting the fist pass right by his ear, close enough to feel the wind from it. He looked at Harry and smirked.

"Impatient, are we? Could've at least let me finish." This had become their daily routine over the past few months. After a lot of trial and error, Tyson had figured out that the best way to sharpen his reflexes was to be constantly ambushed when he wasn't ready. It could be during walks, while eating, and even while reading. So he'd told Harry to jump him whenever he though he could catch him by surprise.

Harry had called it insanity and had outright declined at first, but after enough pestering, he eventually gave in. He had even managed to land a few clean hits initially. Harry's strength was average for his age, but Tyson had to admit, the boy was quick on his feet. He moved with the kind of wild speed that made him hard to predict. The transition between his moves was even smoother than some kids in the dojo who had been training for years.

Unfortunately for him, Tyson had above-average strength, above-average speed, almost supernatural reflexes, and far more combat experience. After getting used to the ambush style, he adapted, as he always did. Now Harry could barely even touch the corner of his sleeve. Missing his opening strike didn't slow Harry down in the slightest. He twisted on his heel, carrying the momentum through his hips before snapping a vicious back kick toward Tyson's head. The movement was clean and fast.

Tyson bent his knees and swiftly ducked under it. Harry's shoe passed over his head, brushing the tips of his hair. The instant Harry's balance shifted onto one foot, Tyson's leg whipped low like a scythe, hooking Harry's planted ankle. Harry's eyes widened as he felt the ground disappear beneath him. He crashed onto his back with a grunt, dirt puffing up around him. Tyson straightened and looked down at him, a grin stretched across his face.

"Is that all?" Harry narrowed his eyes, breathing hard, but then his mouth curved into a grin of his own. He grabbed the hand Tyson offered him and immediately yanked him down! Tyson rolled his eyes, having seen it coming from miles away. The pull nearly dragged him forward, but instead of resisting, he flowed with it. His body folded into motion as he flipped over Harry in a clean somersault, landing lightly behind him. Harry was already scrambling up.

The second his feet touched the ground, Harry spun and lunged at him again. This time he threw punches nonstop. Quick jabs, wild hooks, elbow strikes, he threw everything at him. Tyson met them all with ease. He stepped around them, knocking some aside, ducking others, and backing up when he had to. This was his forte. Tyson had spent years refining his hand-to-hand skills.

Along with a physique which had been pushed to the absolute limit for his age, the limit being significantly higher due to his magical constitution, Tyson was confident no one his age could be his match, unless he was outnumbered ofcourse. Amidst the barrage of strikes, Tyson threw one jab back, clipped Harry's shoulder, then slipped past another punch and tapped him in the ribs. Harry hissed and swung wider. Tyson leaned away and laughed.

The two kept going like that, trading blows, blocking, dodging, and trying to catch each other off guard. It looked messy. Harry fought like he always did. He was straightforward and aggressive. Tyson fought smarter. He preferred less wasted movements to maximise his stamina and only attacked when he saw an opening, letting the opponent wear themselves down before striking decisively. It was a vicious strategy against an opponent who was going all out from the beginning and that was why Harry kept losing.

By the time the sun had begun sinking beneath the horizon, painting the playground in shades of amber and red, both boys were breathing hard, covered in dirt, and sporting fresh bruises. Harry dropped onto the grass, exhausted. Tyson remained standing for a moment, staring at the darkening sky. If his memory served him right, things were about to change, especially for Harry. Very soon, a half-giant with terrible timing and a fondness for dramatic entrances would come crashing into his life.

Tyson smirked at the thought. That was going to be worth watching.