The world had narrowed to a single, painful point of existence. Fight camp wasn't just training, it was reconstruction . My body, whittled down by the relentless weight cut, felt like a hollowed-out shell. Every movement was an effort. My head throbbed with a constant, low-grade headache born of dehydration and caloric deficit. The simple act of walking from one class to another felt like a marathon.
The carefully constructed wall between my two lives was crumbling. In Physics, Honoka-sensei asked me a question about electromagnetic fields, and I almost replied with, "Yes, Coach," catching myself at the last second with a strangled cough. Later, reaching for a door handle, my hand instinctively flared up into a perfect Muay Thai shield block, elbow tight, before I realized what I was doing and fumbled the motion into a clumsy grab.
I was immersed in the role. The pressure felt physical on my chest: the looming, violent specter of Mori, the razor's edge of my grades, the exhausting act of secrecy, and Tanahashi's constant, petty antics, I swear I'm one scratch away from kicking his leg out of his leg. I felt like a spring wound so tight that I could hear the metal groaning, on the verge of shearing apart.
All I wanted was to get to the library, find a dark corner, and not exist for twenty minutes. My vision was slightly blurred at the corners as I dragged myself through the courtyard after the final bell, my backpack feeling like it was filled with lead weights.
That's when I saw them.
Tanahashi. Kenji. Two other lackeys. They had a kid cornered against the brick wall near the bike racks. A first-year, his eyes wide with terror, his arms clutched around a stack of books like a shield. I recognized the look on his face. It was the same one I used to wear.
"Watch where you're going, you little runt," Tanahashi sneered, his voice carrying across the quiet courtyard.
"I-I'm sorry, Tanahashi-senpai! It was an accident!" the kid stammered, his voice cracking.
"Sorry, doesn't clean my shoes," Kenji chimed in, giving the kid a sharp push on the shoulder.
My old instinct, the ghost's programming, screamed at me. Look down. Keep walking. Don't make eye contact. Survive.
But I couldn't move. I was frozen, watching a nightmare replay itself with a different actor. The fear on that kid's face was a reflection from a past I'd fought so hard to escape.
Then Tanahashi did it. He shoved the kid. Hard. Two hands to the chest. The boy cried out, stumbling backward, his books exploding across the pavement in a chaotic splash of paper and binders. He landed hard on his tailbone, tears welling in his eyes.
"Pick them up," Tanahashi commanded, looming over him. "And maybe watch where you're walking next time."
Something inside me snapped. The groaning coil spring finally gave way. But the break wasn't into chaos; it was into a terrifying, absolute calm. The fatigue, the headache, the hunger—it all vanished, burned away by a cold, clean fury. I saw coach's face in my mind. "Control."
I walked forward. I didn't run. I didn't yell. My footsteps were quiet on the pavement, but every one of them felt like a judge's gavel. The small crowd that had been watching nervously parted for me.
"Tanahashi," I said. My voice wasn't loud. It was low, flat, and it cut through the tension like a knife. It didn't sound like my voice. It sounded like the voice I used in the gym. "That's enough. Act your age for once you're 18 he's 14."
Tanahashi turned, his expression that of surprise which quickly twisted into contemptuous amusement. "Well, well. The mute decides to speak. This doesn't concern you, Nakamura. Walk away before you get hurt again."
He took a step toward me, puffing out his chest, trying to dominate the space like he always had. The old me would have flinched. The new me just watched him, my expression neutral.
He shoved me.
It was a hard push to my chest, the same move he'd used in the first-year time and time again. It was meant to knock me down and get me on my ass, to humiliate me, to re-establish the natural order of things.
My body reacted before my mind could. My feet shifted automatically, widening into a standard wrestling stance. My core engaged, my posture fixed. The force of his push traveled through me and vanished into the ground.
I didn't move. Not even a flinch.
The courtyard went completely silent. You could have heard a pin drop.
Tanahashi's hands were still on my chest. His face was a perfect portrait of confusion and dawning mixed with her fear. His brain was trying to process the impossible data: his shove, which had sent a smaller kid flying, had done absolutely nothing to me. It was like kicking a wall.
He looked down at his hands, then back up at my face, his eyes wide. The smugness was gone, replaced by pure, uncomprehending shock.
I slowly looked down at his hands on my chest, then back up, meeting his terrified gaze. My voice was still that same, calm, deadly monotone.
"I said. That's enough. Walk away. Now."
The threat wasn't just words. It was in the fact that I hadn't moved. It was in the cold, empty look in my eyes that promised, without a hint of doubt, that if he didn't comply, things would get very, very bad for him.
The mask of bravery fell from his face. He withdrew his hands back so fast it'd seem like he'd got burned. He muttered something—a weak, incomprehensible sound—and took a stumbling step backward. He couldn't look me in the eye. He just shoved past Kenji, his head down, and practically fled across the courtyard. His crew followed after him, a pack of dogs with their tails between their legs, not a single one of them daring to look my way.
The spell broke. The small crowd began to disperse in a hushed, frantic whisper. I ignored them. I walked over to the first-year, who was still sitting on the ground, staring up at me with a mixture of awe and terror.
I knelt down and started gathering his books. I stacked them neatly and held them out to him. He took them with trembling hands.
"T-thank you, senpai," he whispered, his voice shaky.
I just gave him a small, tight nod. "You should be careful," I said, my voice softer now.
He scrambled to his feet and hurried away, glancing back over his shoulder once.
I stood up. The adrenaline was receding now, draining away and leaving me feeling hollow and cold. The headache and the deep exhaustion came rushing back, twice as powerful.
I was alone in the courtyard.
The silence was deafening.
I hadn't thrown a punch. I hadn't raised my voice. I hadn't done anything but stand my ground.
But it was enough. More than enough.
I had shown my hand. The lone ghost was gone. Every person who had been in that courtyard had seen the unmovable object underneath. They had seen the fighter.
I turned and walked toward the school gates, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The secret was out. The game was over.
The fight with Mori was in three days.
But the real battle, I knew with a sinking certainty, had just begun at Aoba High. Shit man i feel like Scott Steiner now , the only difference being i didn't say anything about maths all i did was show im not weak. Haaaah.