Chapter 26: The Price of a Promise
The moment the final school bell rang, Rock Lee was a silent green blur moving through the crowded hallways of U.A. He didn't go home. He didn't stop for rest. His path was a straight, unwavering line to the one place where his new, daunting purpose could be forged into reality: the Dojo of the Resolute Fist.
He slid the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside. The familiar, calming scent of aged wood and lemon polish washed over him, but today it did not bring peace. It brought anticipation. Sora Aokawa was waiting for him in the center of the floor, not meditating, but standing with her arms crossed, her expression as sharp and serious as a drawn blade. She had seen the news. She knew what was coming.
"The U.A. Sports Festival," Lee began without preamble, his voice echoing in the quiet hall. "It will be held in two weeks' time. It will be broadcast to the entire world." He paused, his gaze meeting hers, a fire burning in his dark eyes. "Bakugo-kun has declared that he will defeat me in front of everyone."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Sora's face. It was the smile of a master strategist who had just been presented with the perfect battlefield. "A stage for the world, you say?" she mused, her voice a low hum of excitement. "And a public challenge from the top-ranked student. Excellent. We could not have asked for a better opportunity." She began to pace slowly, her bare feet silent on the polished floor. "Two weeks. Fourteen days. It is not much time, but for you, it is more than enough."
She stopped and turned to face him, her blue eyes piercing. "Your performance at the USJ was admirable, Lee. You saved your classmates. But you paid the price with your consciousness. You used the Gates like a suicide bomb, a final, desperate act. That is the method of a martyr, not a warrior. A warrior must be able to fight, and then fight again. From this day forward, our training enters a new phase. We are no longer concerned with merely unlocking your power. We will learn to tame it."
She raised a single finger. "The goal is this: by the time of the festival, you will be able to open and close the first four Gates at will, in short, controlled bursts, without collapsing. You will learn to wield them not as a raging flood, but as a surgeon's scalpel. You will command your power; it will no longer command you."
Lee's heart hammered in his chest. To control that agony, to master that self-destructive force… the thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. He nodded firmly. "I understand, Sensei."
"Good," she said. "Then let us begin."
The training that followed was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was a descent into a new kind of crucible, one focused not on external action, but on excruciating internal control.
Sora started with the First and Second Gates. "Open them," she commanded.
Lee focused his will, and the familiar surge of power and vitality flooded his system. He felt light, powerful, ready to unleash a storm of kicks and punches. But Sora did not ask him to fight. Instead, she placed a single, slender needle and a thread on a small table.
"Thread it," she ordered.
Lee stared at her, then at the needle. "Sensei?"
"Your body is screaming with excess energy," she explained, her voice cold and clinical. "It wants to move, to explode. Your task is to force it into absolute submission. To perform an act of supreme delicacy while your very blood roars in your ears. This is the first step to control. Now, thread the needle."
It was maddening. His hands, usually so steady, trembled with repressed power. The thread shook. He had to use every ounce of his mental fortitude to calm the storm within, to channel that vast energy into the minute, precise movements of his fingertips. It took him nearly half an hour, sweat pouring down his face, but he finally did it. The moment the thread was through, Sora placed a complex, thousand-piece puzzle before him. "Now, this. While balancing on one leg."
The Third Gate was a trial of pure endurance. After Lee opened it, his skin flushing red and steam rising from his shoulders, Sora ordered him into a low, deep horse stance. "Hold it," she commanded. "Do not move. Do not break. Contain the power. Feel it trying to tear you apart, and tell it no."
Lee's legs screamed. The explosive energy of the Third Gate begged for release, for motion. But he held his position, his teeth gritted, his body shaking violently as he fought a war entirely within himself. He was a dam holding back a raging river, the cracks beginning to show, but his will was the bedrock that refused to break.
Finally, at the end of a grueling day, came the ultimate test.
"Now," Sora said, her voice low. "The Fourth Gate. You will not attack. You will not move. You will open it, and you will hold it. For five seconds. That is all."
Lee pushed himself to his feet, his body already a symphony of aches. He took a deep breath, the memory of the USJ—the searing pain, the brilliant blue light, the final, crushing exhaustion—flashing through his mind. He pushed the fear away. He focused on his promise. He focused on the festival.
"THE FOURTH GATE: GATE OF PAIN! OPEN!"
The blue aura erupted from him, but this time, he fought to contain it. It swirled around him, a raging tempest of power that threatened to tear him apart. The pain was immediate, a white-hot agony that consumed his every nerve. The world swam before his eyes. He grit his teeth, a low groan escaping his lips as he forced his body to remain standing, to endure.
In his mind, he counted. One… His muscles felt like they were being shredded. Two… His vision began to tunnel. Three… The blue aura flickered violently. Four… His knees buckled, but he forced them straight again. Five…
"Close it!" Sora commanded.
He released his will, and the Gate slammed shut. The backlash was instantaneous. The blue aura vanished, and his body, deprived of its supernatural support, gave out completely. He didn't just fall; he collapsed, his body hitting the wooden floor with a heavy thud. He was conscious, but every muscle was spasming violently, and he could do nothing but lie there, gasping for air, the world a blurry haze of pain.
Sora knelt beside him, a stopwatch in her hand. "Five seconds," she said, her voice clinical, though he could see a flicker of deep concern in her eyes. "A new record. You remained conscious." She made a note in a small book. "Rest for three minutes. Then, we go again."
Later that evening, as they sat sharing a simple meal of rice and steamed vegetables, Lee's body felt like a single, giant bruise. He ate slowly, his hands still trembling slightly.
"Sensei," he asked, his voice quiet but clear. "After seeing my classmates… especially Todoroki-kun… I must ask. Can I truly compete? He can alter the entire battlefield in an instant. My abilities seem so… linear, so direct, in comparison."
Sora finished her mouthful of rice before answering. She looked at him, her expression serious. "He changes the battlefield, Lee. That is his gift. It is a powerful one. Do not try to match it." She put down her bowl. "Your path is different. You do not change the battlefield. You must become the single, unstoppable constant within it. They will raise walls of ice; you will run on them. They will create explosions; you will move between the blasts. You will not give them a moment to think, a moment to breathe. You will become the storm that they cannot control."
She leaned forward, her blue eyes locking with his. "Do not compare your tools to theirs. Sharpen your single tool—your body, your will—until it is more lethal, more precise, and more resolute than anything their blessed gifts can ever hope to be. That is how the Resolute Fist defeats the gifted hand."
Lee looked at his own trembling, calloused hands. For the first time, he understood. He wasn't trying to be like them. He was forcing them to contend with him. A quiet, unshakeable resolve settled in his heart. The price of this promise was pain. And he was more than willing to pay it.