Blood tastes like metal.
That was the first thing I thought as I lay sprawled on the gym mat, staring up at the water-stained ceiling like it held answers I didn't want to hear. My tongue pressed against the gash on the inside of my cheek, and the coppery warmth slid down the back of my throat, hot and nauseating.
Somewhere during the second round, my mouthguard had popped out. Might've been when Renji landed that elbow I didn't see coming the one that turned my brain into scrambled static and the gym lights into a strobe show. My jaw still throbbed from the impact, already swelling, already screaming.
He stood over me now, not even breathing hard.
"You're done, Kaito." Renji's voice was flat, bored, like he was stating a fact. "Go back to hitting bags. You're not cut out for this."
The words landed harder than his fists.
Laughter rippled through the gym. Low at first, then louder. Contagious. Cruel. I didn't need to look to know the expressions they wore smirks, sneers, maybe even a few pitying glances. I'd seen them before. I knew the rhythm of failure.
I kept my gaze locked on the flickering ceiling light. It buzzed faintly, a nervous insect trapped in glass. My ribs screamed every time I tried to breathe too deep. I was sure something was cracked. Maybe two somethings.
I wanted to quit.
God, I wanted to quit. Just stay down, roll over, disappear into the mat like sweat and blood always did. Let this place forget I ever stepped into the ring.
But quitting meant going back to the docks. Back to that endless rhythm of lifting, stacking, hauling. Muscles burning for someone else's profit. It meant dragging my broken body home to a shoebox apartment that smelled like mildew and ramen. Falling into bed too tired to dream. Waking up to do it all again.
For what?
A paycheck?
A meaningless life?
No.
I dug my elbows into the mat, pushed up with trembling arms. My hands slipped once, twice, but I forced them to obey. My vision swam, a blurred mess of movement and shadow.
"I'm not done."
The gym went still.
I heard Renji's footsteps stop.
"Say that again?" he asked, turning back toward me. He was already peeling off his gloves, casual, like this was over.
"I said…" I coughed, spat out blood and saliva that painted the mat dark red, "…I'm not done."
A slow chuckle rumbled from his chest. "You're seriously f*cking brain damaged."
Maybe I was.
But I charged anyway.
There was no technique in it. No strategy. Just raw, unfiltered desperation. A swing from my right wide and telegraphed. He ducked it easily, stepped in, grabbed my wrist, twisted.
Then the world flipped.
My back slammed into the mat with the sound of thunder. For a second, I couldn't breathe. The impact drove the air from my lungs and left me staring up at nothing.
Laughter again. Louder this time. From every corner of the gym. One guy clapped, mockingly. Another muttered something about me being "all heart and no brain."
I should've felt humiliated.
I should've stayed down.
But instead, I smiled.
It was small. Bloody. Probably looked more like a grimace. But it was real.
Because even if I was a joke now… I was still here.
Still fighting.
That had to mean something.
The gym emptied out slowly. I stayed. Silent. Alone.
Sweat clung to my skin like a second shirt. My wrapped hands throbbed with every punch against the heavy bag. The padding was stained with red now my knuckles split through the tape, leaking anger and pain.
The clock on the wall said 11:42 PM.
Every other light in the place had been turned off, except for the one over the cage. It flickered like it always did, casting harsh shadows that danced with each swing I threw.
I didn't stop.
Not when my arms felt like lead. Not when my legs buckled beneath me. Not even when I had to suck in breath through clenched teeth because my ribs felt like they were wrapped in barbed wire.
This was my penance.
This was my prayer.
If I had to die in this cage to become a champion, then so be it.
"You're wasting your time."
The voice cut through the silence like a knife.
I spun around, startled. Nearly tripped over my own feet.
She stood near the cage door.
Tall. Composed. Wearing a black coat that looked expensive too expensive for this place. Her heels clicked softly against the concrete as she walked forward. Everything about her screamed control. Precision. Like she was used to commanding rooms much bigger than this one.
She didn't belong here.
"Gym's closed," I said, panting. My throat was raw. I probably looked half-dead.
She smiled faintly. "I know. I was watching your sparring session."
I wiped sweat from my brow, smearing blood across my forehead in the process. "Yeah, well. I'm not exactly highlight-reel material."
"No," she agreed, stepping closer. Her eyes were sharp. Dark. Studying me like I was an equation she was solving. "But you don't give up. That's worth more than talent."
I narrowed my gaze. "You a scout or something?"
"In a way." She reached into her coat and pulled out a sleek black card. "My name is Reina Katsuro. I run a private training facility. Invitation only. We turn nobodies into champions."
I snorted. "Heard that one before. Usually comes with a sales pitch. And a bill."
"No pitch," she said. "And I don't ask for money."
"Then what do you ask for?"
"Pain. Sacrifice. Obedience." Her voice dropped slightly, like the words themselves carried weight. "And the will to become something more."
I took the card she offered. It was heavier than I expected. Matte black, with a single emblem embossed in the center a clenched fist wreathed in fire. Beneath it, in bold silver letters:
THE FORGE.
There was no address. No phone number. Just the name. The symbol. Like it was daring me to find it.
"What is this, some underground fight club?" I asked, only half-joking.
"It's more than that." She tilted her head. "It's a place where the weak are broken down and reforged into warriors. Where boys become killers. And killers become legends."
I looked back at the heavy bag. At the bloodstains on the floor. At the shattered pieces of pride I'd left scattered across this gym.
Then I looked at her.
She didn't blink.
Didn't smile.
Didn't flinch when I stepped closer.
There was something terrifyingly calm about her like she'd seen hundreds of broken men and already knew exactly which ones were worth the time.
I wasn't sure if I was one of them.
But I knew one thing:
I couldn't keep doing this.
Couldn't keep losing in front of laughing crowds. Couldn't keep pretending that hard work alone would close the gap between me and guys like Renji.
I needed something else.
Something more.
And maybe just maybe this was it.
I slid the card into my pocket.
"When do I start?"
Reina smiled. It was small. Almost imperceptible. But for the first time, it felt real.
"Tomorrow," she said. "7 AM. Wear what you don't mind bleeding in."
She turned, heels echoing against the concrete as she walked toward the exit. As she reached the door, she paused.
"Oh, and Kaito?"
I looked up.
"If you're late… don't bother showing up at all."
Then she disappeared into the night.
That night, I didn't sleep.
I lay on my mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling of my apartment, the Forge card sitting on my chest like a talisman. The walls were thin I could hear my neighbor coughing again, could hear the bass from the bar downstairs thumping through the floorboards like a second heartbeat.
I didn't care.
My bruises still burned. My ribs ached with every breath. But beneath all of it, something stirred.
Something sharp.
Something hungry.
Hope, maybe.
Or maybe just the ghost of who I used to be before the world taught me how to lose.
Whatever it was, I held onto it.
Because tomorrow, I'd walk through that door.
And I wouldn't look back.
Not ever again.