I'm exhausted. My muscles are burning. My vision is blurry. Sweat drips from my brow and mixes with the blood trickling from my cheek. My shirt clings to my skin like a second layer of pain.
But despite it all… I'm proud.
My legs are trembling, but I stand tall.
The taste of metal lingers in my mouth, and yet a smile creeps across my face.
I adjust my hoodie and slowly step out of the ring.
In front of me, both my grandfather and Amadou are frozen in silence. Their expressions are unreadable, somewhere between shock and pride.
I know what they're thinking.
I made it.
I survived the Dance of the Predator.
Then suddenly—
Arms wrap around me tightly. It's Sarah.
She crashes into me with so much force that I almost lose balance. Her embrace is fierce, desperate. Her perfume wraps around me like comfort and fire at the same time.
She's trembling. She buries her face into my chest.
— You scared me, idiot… You're bleeding… you could've died in there!
I wrap my arms around her gently. I lower my head and breathe in her scent. In this moment, everything is quiet again.
— I had to do it, I whisper. I had to prove something… not to them. To myself.
She looks up at me with tearful eyes. I wipe her cheek.
Behind her, Amadou starts clapping slowly. He walks over, his usual sarcastic smile softened by something… deeper.
— It wasn't pretty. But you danced.
— Your instinct took over. Your fear didn't control you. You moved like a real predator.
— You're not the same kid I met last week.
He places a hand firmly on my shoulder. I feel the weight of his approval.
— Tomorrow, we start the real training. No more games. I'll teach you to box like royalty. Like a king. Like someone no one dares to look down on.
My grandfather stays silent, but I catch a subtle nod from him. That's more than enough.
Later that night.
The city of Marcory hums beneath me. Cars pass. Music echoes from distant maquis.
I'm sitting on the rooftop of our building, legs dangling over the edge. The breeze cools the blood on my skin.
I can barely see the stars through the haze of the Abidjan night, but I stare at the sky anyway.
My hands still bear the marks of today. Scratches. Blood. Swollen knuckles.
But I don't feel weak.
I feel alive.
I think of all those faces from before.
The classmates who mocked me. The people who laughed at my silence, my brokenness.
The teachers who ignored my pain.
The neighbors who pitied me.
Let them laugh.
Let them doubt.
Let them whisper.
They'll remember me.
Sarah joins me. I don't turn. I feel her presence before I hear her steps.
She sits beside me, not saying a word at first.
For a while, we simply breathe. The city's lights flicker below us, like stars that chose to stay grounded.
— What are you thinking about? she finally asks.
I take a moment before answering.
— About what I need to become.
She doesn't respond. Instead, she lays her head on my shoulder. The warmth of her touch balances the cold air.
I speak again.
— I can't be who I was anymore. That boy is gone. He had to be. He wouldn't have survived today.
She nods slowly.
— So… who are you now?
I look at her. My voice is calm, but there's a storm behind it.
— Call me Amon.