When you rise, the world watches—some with hope, others with a target.
Success had a strange sound.
It wasn't cheers or applause. Not anymore.
It was phones buzzing at midnight. Interview requests. Emails from sponsors. Strangers showing up outside the gym asking if they could "get trained like the girl in the chair."
RiseLine was blowing up.
And not all of it was good.
---
Samira sat in the office-turned-storage room, flipping through a sponsorship contract. Energy drink logo. National tour. Exposure. Strings attached.
Julian limped in with an ice pack taped around his knee and a crooked smile.
"You see this one?" she asked, sliding the paper toward him.
He skimmed it. "Ten branded videos. Full access to our programs. They want you as the face."
She frowned. "Feels like they want to own the story, not support it."
Julian nodded slowly. "That's what they do. Hype the headline. Skip the struggle."
They didn't sign.
---
But that choice came with a price.
A week later, a new training facility opened across town—ProForge Athletics. Huge warehouse. Flashy equipment. Sponsored gear. Ads that ran on every fitness feed in the city.
And at the center of it all: Bryce Maddox.
Julian's old teammate. Same draft class. Same spotlight. But while Julian had fallen, Bryce had kept climbing—until a steroid scandal knocked him out cold. Now he was back, rebranded, and clearly trying to rewrite the underdog story for himself.
"Funny," Samira muttered after watching Bryce's promo video. "He says, 'Don't count me out.' Thought he counted you out first."
Julian stayed quiet. But something in his jaw tightened.
---
Then came the poaching.
Malik was offered free sessions at ProForge. Leah got a scholarship email. Juno? A sleek message in her inbox: You've got talent. You deserve real backing.
Only Malik told them outright. The others… started missing sessions.
Samira burned through the track during her next wheelchair drill, jaw clenched. Julian watched from the edge, his mind spinning.
They weren't just building a gym anymore. They were fighting for their story.
---
One evening, Juno returned.
Not to train—just to talk.
She stood by the Wall of Ashes, eyes glossy. "I thought maybe if I joined Bryce's program, I'd… level up. But they only cared about numbers. I was just another click on their reel."
She looked at Samira. "You see us here. That's different."
Samira smiled, the fire in her dimming slightly.
Julian added a new piece to the wall that night: a pair of pristine, unused ProForge wristbands, cut clean down the center. The label beneath it read:
Real growth isn't branded.
---
But the storm wasn't over.
The more they pushed back, the more Bryce turned up the heat. Ads started targeting RiseLine directly. "You can heal better. You can train stronger. Don't follow fallen idols—rise with pros."
Julian's name was never said. But it didn't need to be.
The knife was clean.
---
At their next team meeting, Samira stood before their athletes—new and old.
"We're not here because we're the fastest," she said. "We're here because we didn't stop. We don't need lights or likes. We need each other."
Julian stood beside her, quiet, strong.
"Let them talk," he added. "Let them sell shortcuts. We build something slower. But it lasts longer."
No one clapped.
But no one left, either.
And in the silence, RiseLine grew roots.