As Damon ran back to the alley, his feet hit the ground hard. He was so tired that he could barely breathe.
He was aware that he had been gone for for too long and that his mother would be very worried.
He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of her yelling at him.
The darkness wrapped around him like a cloud as he turned into the alley.
The only sounds were the buzzing of a generator far away and the soft rustling of trash in the wind.
As Damon's eyes slowly got used to the dim light, he kept his focus on the spot where they usually slept.
His mother was still awake, and when she saw him coming, her eyes lit up with fear and relief.
She grasped his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. "You're fine, You're fine," She spoke in a low voice, her Irish accent full of emotion. "You're went out all day, leaving me here worried sick."
As Damon hugged her back, the loaf of bread and fruit stuck out of his hands. He felt bad about coming late.
He knew he'd caused her unnecessary worry, but he hoped the food would make up for it.
Aoife pulled back, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the bread and bananas. "What's this, boy? You went out to steal, are you mental?" Her voice rose, looking at Damon with a stern look that only mother's could do.
Damon shook his head, feeling a defensive surge. "No, mom, I didn't steal it. Joey, the guy who organized the fight, he gave it to me."
Aoife's expression softened slightly, but her eyes still sparkled with skepticism. "Joey, is it? And what's this Joey's business, eh?"
Damon took a deep breath, explaining the situation, leaving out no details.
Aoife listened intently. As he finished, she sighed, her shoulders sagging in relief.
"Ah, thank the saints you're safe, Damon. But next time, you'll be telling me before you go off on some night adventure, got it?"
Damon nodded. He knew he'd put his mother through hell, but he also knew she loved him unconditionally.
Aoife's eyes locked onto the bread and bananas, a small smile playing on her lips. "Well, I suppose we can't complain about the provisions. Let's get some rest, and we'll figure out what to do next."
As they got ready for 'bed', Damon felt calm. He knew he had a lot of work to do.
When Damon sat down, the worn pavement felt familiar with its uncomfortable feeling.
Aoife went after them, her eyes fixed on the loaf of bread like it was a treasure chest.
A sweet smell came up as soon as Damon opened it.
The first bite was like a combination of flavors on their tongues, a short break from the hard times they'd been through.
But while they were eating, Damon's thoughts went back to Limerick, Ireland, the place where all of their problems and traumas started.
His father, Taro Saito, a towering figure with a temper to match, had once been a loving husband and father.
Even though Damon's early memories were fuzzy, he still remembered the kind and gentle person.
However, as the years passed, Taro's demons consumed him – alcohol, gambling, and a penchant for UFA fights. The losses piled up, and with them, his rage.
Damon's eyes clouded as he remembered the first time his father's anger turned on Aoife.
He was six, and the image of his mother's battered face, the sound of her cries, still haunted him. The beatings kept happening, and each one left a scar on Damon's young mind.
Because of the stress, he had a hard time in school and his grades dropped.
As he grew older, Taro's attention shifted from Aoife to Damon.
The memories of those days were still there, like an open wound.
Taro would watch mixed martial arts fights, study every move and trick, who would then use them on him.
The pain, the fear, the helplessness.
Aoife, oblivious to the extent of Taro's cruelty, began to notice the scars on Damon's body during their baths.
She'd ask no questions, but her eyes would fill with a deep sadness, a silent understanding that something was amiss.
And until she snapped.
The bread, once a simple pleasure, now seemed like a luxury, as he was reminded of the life they'd left behind.
As they ate, Damon felt a small feeling of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, they could leave the past behind and forge a new path, one where the scars would slowly fade, and the memories would lose their hold.
The thought was a fragile thing, but it was enough to keep him going, to keep him fighting, even if it haunted him.
As they finished their meager meal, Aoife's eyes met Damon's, her gaze was full of love, happy to have her son here with her.
She kissed his cheek, her lips barely grazing his skin, and whispered, "Don't worry, boy, everything will start looking up." Her smile was a thin veil, she didn't want worry Damom, so even if she doubted her statement she hid it.
She knew the truth – their situation was dire, and the future uncertain. But she couldn't let Damon see that, not yet.
He was still young, with dreams and aspirations that she couldn't let wither away like the trash that surrounded them.
As she lay down, her eyes fluttered closed, and her chest rose and fell with a slow, steady rhythm.
Damon watched her, as she fell asleep
He knew what she was doing, trying to shield him from the harsh realities of their life.
But he also knew that he couldn't be shielded forever, nor should be.
With a sigh, he turned his gaze to the wall opposite him.
His mind wandered, lost in thoughts of what could be, what should be.
But before he could drift off into the abyss of his own thoughts, the screen flickered to life in front of him.
Damon's eyes locked onto the words.
[MATCH DETECTED ON SATURDAY]
The words seemed to sear themselves into his retina.
[ANALYSIS HAS BEEN TAKEN, HEALTH CONDITIONS TAKEN INTO CONSIDERATION]
Damon's mind was spinning as he tried to understand the massage.
[DAILY CHALLENGE ISSUED]
The screen flickered once more, and then went dark, leaving Damon staring into the dark.
He glanced at his mother, still fast asleep, oblivious to the sudden turn of events, was it going to help him train?