A week has gone by and today like any other day the mats smelled like sweat and dust. My lungs were already burning from the warm-ups, but the coach barked for another drill.
"Again, Samuel!"
I gritted my teeth as my opponent — a kid from another grade — hooked my leg and drove me hard into the floor. My shoulder smacked the mat, and for a second, the air shot out of my chest. The other wrestlers winced. The coach raised an eyebrow, probably waiting for me to stay down.
But I didn't.
I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself up, even though my body screamed at me. The ache was there, sharp and raw, but… it felt distant, like it wasn't mine. I could still move.
"Again," I muttered, getting into position.
The other kid hesitated, glancing at the coach, but when the whistle blew he came at me harder this time. Another slam. My head rattled, my ribs throbbed — but again, I stood. My breaths were ragged, but my legs didn't give out.
It kept happening. Slam after slam, throw after throw. My body was battered, but something inside me just… dulled it. The pain didn't vanish, but it bent, softened, like my mind had locked it behind a door.
By the end of practice, my opponent was wheezing, sweat pouring down his face, while I was still on my feet. Bruised, yes. Shaking, yes. But standing.
The coach's eyes lingered on me longer than usual. Not impressed exactly — more curious, like he was trying to figure me out.
"You're stubborn, Samuel," he said finally. "Most kids would've tapped out ten throws ago. You don't quit easy."
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded.
But deep down, I realized something. Maybe I didn't have Daniel's charisma. Maybe I didn't have anyone's strength. But I had this. This ability to take hit after hit and keep moving.
It wasn't much. Not yet. But maybe it could become something more.
Timskip>>>
When I first stepped onto the wrestling mat a month ago, I looked just like Daniel — round cheeks, heavy steps, always out of breath after a short jog. People laughed when I said I wanted to learn wrestling. Some of the guys at the club even smirked when they saw me in the borrowed uniform, my stomach hanging out just a little too much.
But I didn't quit. I couldn't.
Every practice was hell. My lungs burned, my muscles screamed, and my body wanted to collapse after every drill. But I learned something about myself — I could take pain. I could drown it out, bite down, and keep moving while everyone else slowed down. Pain was just… noise to me.
A month later, I wasn't the same person.
The fat melted off me. My jawline cut sharp in the mirror. My arms, once soft, felt like they could hold their own. My legs had power, steady from hundreds of sprawls.
I didn't even notice how much I'd changed until I walked home one night and Daniel froze in the doorway.
"…Samuel?" he whispered, blinking at me like I was a stranger.
I smiled, a little awkward. "Yeah. It's me."
His eyes scanned me up and down — the weight loss, the clothes that now hung loose, the way I stood taller without even trying. For a second, I saw something in his face I'd never seen before. Not pity. Not worry.
Hope.
And in that moment, I swore to myself: I'd keep going. I'd keep pushing. Because one day, I'd be strong enough to stand beside him… not as the weak twin, but as his shield.