Chapter 99: Chapter 20
The next morning, the third-floor recovery room in Seijirou's new building was quiet, smelling faintly of antiseptic and dust.
Shou woke up groggily, a dull, throbbing ache settling across his back and chest where he'd been kicked.
Immediately, the pain and the memory of yesterday's fight came crashing down.
He eyes, dull and in a daze, stared at the ceiling. The bandages wrapped around his torso were tight, a physical reminder of his failure.
Ayano.
That single name brought with it a wave of bitter self-loathing. Ayano had completely beaten him, Renji, and Sakai.
The three of them, supposedly Seijirou's most reliable fighters, couldn't even manage to take down a single opponent.
The moment he woke up and saw the faint signs of fresh medical attention, he immediately knew, with a painful certainty, that Seijirou must have come back and rescued them.
He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, hot tears suddenly spilling from the corners of his eyes and soaking into the pillow.
He hated this. He hated this weakness. He had sworn an unspoken, deeply personal oath to help Seijirou, to always have his back, yet he was so utterly useless that three of them couldn't even defeat one enemy, a fact that had ultimately led to Seijirou's own crushing humiliation.
For Shou, Kageyama Seijirou wasn't just a boss; he was his saviour. He was willing to do anything for him, to be the shield Seijirou didn't know he needed.
Yet, he was nothing but a burden.
In a daze, his life passed by before his eyes. Shou was once the archetype of success, he was the kind of high school track ace that proud adults bragged about, someone fast, disciplined, and reliable.
The kind of kid everyone pointed to when they wanted proof that hard work and dedication paid off.
He had believed it, too. Running wasn't just something he did well; it was the thing that gave him identity, the thing that made him worth anything.
But everything came crushing down one day, when he was injured.
It wasn't spectacular or glorious; just one wrong landing after a routine sprint which led to sudden, sharp crack that signaled the end of his highschool career.
The doctor's diagnosis was cold as he was told the truth; a severe stress fracture and ligament damage, meaning he wouldn't be competing again, marking the end of his dream someday representing the country and bringing home a gold medal.
Once the news of his injuries spread, his fall from grace was immediate and brutal.
Friends who once celebrated his wins stopped checking in.
Classmates who had crowded around him for advice or attention drifted away, finding new centers of gravity.
Even his coach, the man who'd once called him "the future of king of tracks," didn't bother to sugarcoat it—he needed someone who could actually win meets and bring prestige to the school.
The coach found a new ace in less than a month.
The last blow was delivered by his long-time girlfriend.
She cried, apologized repeatedly, and said she "just couldn't handle the pressure" of watching him struggle through physical therapy, and left him standing there.
The emotional injury hurt more than the pain in his leg, leading to him spiraling into a quiet, crushing despair.
Days blurred into a monotonous cycle as he started to skipped meals, skipped school, skipped physical therapy, skipping everything except the quiet, circling thought: maybe it would be easier to simply stop existing.
One night, after enduring another silent dinner in a house full of people who meticulously avoided acknowledging his pain, he walked out.
He had no real plan, only the deep-seated knowledge that he didn't want to go back.
He wandered aimlessly, eventually finding his way to the old pedestrian overpass—the kind of isolated, dimly lit place where stray dogs and broken bottles outnumbered people.
He stood on the ledge, staring down at the indifferent traffic below, and thought he was utterly alone, until a voice cut through the dark, cold air.
"You look pathetic."
Leaning against the railing, his silhouette etched against the distant city lights, was Kageyama Seijirou.
He was unmistakable: messy hair, uniform half-untucked, a permanent scowl etched on his face.
A known delinquent, the kind of trouble-maker teachers gossiped about behind closed doors.
The kind of boy Shou, the perfect student-athlete, had always studiously avoided.
The former ace snapped back, his voice cracking with emotion. "Why do you care?"
"I don't," the delinquent said bluntly, shifting his weight. "But if you're gonna do something stupid, don't do it in front of me. I got places to be, and I don't need the police asking questions."
That statement, unpolished, brutal, and utterly honest, hit Shou harder than any compassionate pep talk ever could.
It stripped away his self-pity and his sense of importance as something in that raw, non-judgmental cruelty kept him from taking another step forward.
"Come on," the delinquent said, jerking his head toward the ramp leading off the overpass. "If your life sucks that much, might as well waste time with someone whose life also sucks."
It was the cruelest, most demeaning invitation Shou had ever received, and yet, simultaneously, it was the kindest.
The delinquent never treated him gently.
He mocked Shou's self-pity and his lingering reliance on his past identity. He shoved cheap convenience store food into his hands when he noticed Shou hadn't eaten.
He dragged him into dumb, meaningless fights, forced him to attend rooftop lunches, and made him accompany him on late-night convenience store runs.
Seijirou never once told him it would be okay, never pretended to understand his grief, and never pretended to care about his feelings—and somehow, that was exactly what kept Shou grounded.
It gave him an external focus beyond his own misery.
Shou stopped trying to reclaim his title as the school's golden boy. He stopped trying to return to a life that had clearly rejected him.
Instead, he followed the delinquent—shadowing him, helping him in small ways, quietly watching over him.
Not out of fear, but out of a profound, consuming sense of gratitude that completely reshaped his sense of purpose.
He wasn't a runner anymore. But he had purpose again.
In the dark solitude of his own mind, Shou made himself a simple, unbreakable promise: If that arrogant, dangerous idiot could pull him back from the edge of oblivion without even trying, then Shou would spend the rest of his life making sure the delinquent never had to face his own inevitable darkness alone.
The failure of yesterday was a direct violation of that oath, and the shame burned hotter than any physical pain.
He would never forgive himself for being useless.
Just then, the door of the room creaked open, and Yukina walked in, her skin looking unnaturally radiant from the intense emotional and physical exertion of the night before.
She blinked, halting her entrance abruptly, shocked to see Shou already awake and sitting up in bed, despite his bandaged torso.
"Oh," Yukina said, surprised. "You're up already, sleepyhead."
Shou, lost in his self-recrimination, blinked back. "Yukina? Why are you here? Weren't you and Emi supposed to be stuck doing community service?"
Yukina gave a casual peace sign, grinning. "It's already over. We're now officially back in action, baby."
"I see." Shou nodded, his eyes losing focus as he stared at the morning sun slicing through the window.
The silence stretched until he finally asked, his voice low and heavy, "How is Seijirou?"
Yukina sighed, the radiant glow on her face fading into fatigue as she found a chair and collapsed into it with an exaggerated groan.
"That man is still asleep. And good riddance. He completely overexerted himself last night, despite still being severely injured. Honestly, he's an idiot."
Suzune had already told him that they will take care of him, but no, that man wanted to lead and dominate.
"I see." Shou clenched his fist, the bandage straining against his knuckles. The familiar surge of guilt and anger returned. "I'm sorry...If I wasn't so useless... Seijirou wouldn't have had to—"
Thwack!
Something hard and leather-soled hit Shou squarely on the head.
It was Yukina's stiletto shoe.
The shock stopped Shou's words mid-sentence as he stared at the unexpected projectile lying on his bed, then up at Yukina, who had instantly stood up from her chair.
He was about to ask what she was doing when Yukina was suddenly beside his bed, ignoring his pain and grabbing the collar of his shirt.
Shou winced, the sudden movement jarring his bruised ribs, but Yukina ignored it, her eyes blazing with a raw, intense emotion he rarely saw.
"You listen to me, you pathetic runner," she hissed, her voice shaking with barely controlled fury. "You're lucky you were unconscious! You passed out before the real pain started! I was there, awake, lying in agony, watching Seijirou get completely beaten by that bastard, and I couldn't do a damn thing!"
Yukina suddenly pulled his head toward her, pressing her forehead painfully against Shou's bandaged chest.
Tears, hot and furious, soaked into his bandages.
"You call Seijirou your friend," she choked out, the pain audible in her voice. "But Seijirou is the man I love—more than my own pathetic life, more than my freedom, more than anything. Yet I couldn't do a damn thing to help him! I could only lie there, paralyzed and in pain, watching that freak crack his face open!"
Yukina pulled back, her eyes blazing and still streaming tears, her expression a terrifying mask of raw emotion.
"So don't you dare drown in self-pity!" she commanded, her voice ringing with brutal honesty. "You are not special! You won't suddenly awaken some hidden superpower because your friend got hurt! You're not the main character in a fairy tale!"
She released her iron grip on his collar, pushing him back onto the bed before she fiercely wiped the tears from her own cheeks with the back of her hand, regaining her composure with visible effort.
"If you have time to waste on that useless self-pity," she spat, "then use that time to actually do something meaningful, like thinking of concrete ways to make yourself useful. Figure out how we're going to get power, figure out a defense strategy, or figure out how to stop Retsu from getting too close to Seijirou."
With that, Yukina turned sharply toward the door, picking up her shoe on the way as she slid it back onto her foot.
"I still have to buy groceries and food for the entire army that's crashed here," she declared, her tone instantly reverting to its typical, slightly annoyed swagger. "And I just wasted too much time on you, loser."
She slammed the door shut behind her, leaving Shou alone in the silent room, his heart pounding, his body aching, and his mind jolted completely out of its spiral of self-hatred.
He sighed, a small smile appearing on his face.
"Honestly...she and Seijirou are completely alike."