"Wake up."
A gruff voice cut through the fog of my half-asleep mind, pulling me from the only peace I ever got these days. My eyes cracked open to see the cracked ceiling above me, a familiar sight in this rundown house.
"What…?" I muttered groggily, though I knew what was coming next.
"Jay, put on your clothes and go to school before I throw your sorry ass onto the streets."
Ah, him again. The old man. Always yelling, always finding some reason to complain. This guy doesn't know how to shut up, huh?
"Tch." I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "I don't even need him anyways."
Aa
"You hear me?" His voice got louder. "And don't even think about skipping school again. If you do, I'll call the school myself. And when you come back here, I'll beat some sense into you."
I clenched my teeth, gripping the edge of my thin mattress. "Why the hell do I have to go to school? I don't even learn anything there," I muttered under my breath. Of course, I didn't say it loud enough for him to hear. The last thing I needed was to give him an excuse to start swinging.
But he didn't get it. School wasn't going to help me with what I needed to do. I had to get stronger. Wasting time in some stupid classroom wasn't going to help me survive.
I threw on my clothes, grabbing the wrinkled blazer from the floor. Leaving the top button undone and my undershirt exposed gave me the look of a proper delinquent—not that I cared about appearances. My messy dreadlocks hung over my face, annoyingly brushing against my eyes. I gave my reflection in the cracked mirror a once-over. Brown skin, a scruffy mustache barely coming in, and a body that still had a ways to go before looking intimidating. At least I'd grown some—I stood at 170 cm now.
Grabbing a half-rotten fruit from the kitchen counter, I left the house.
The slums stretched out around me, gray and lifeless. The buildings here were practically falling apart, leaning on each other like drunks after a long night. Trash littered the streets, and the air smelled faintly of mold and regret. I walked past it all without a second thought.
The school was on the other side of town—far from the slums, where the streets were clean, the air smelled like flowers, and people didn't look at you like they were sizing up how much money you had left.
"Hey! You! Are you Jay?"
A group of older guys stepped out of an alley ahead of me. There were four of them, all built big, with low buzz cuts and mean expressions. They looked like they were 16 or 17, maybe older. Probably thought their size alone would scare me.
"Yeah, and what about it?" I said, not slowing down. "You all look like a bunch of twinks. Stay out of my way."
I kept walking, brushing past them.
Their stares burned into my back. I knew they wouldn't let it go—guys like this never did. And sure enough, one of them made his move, rushing at me with heavy footsteps. I didn't even turn around.
The moment he got close, I spun and kicked him in the gut, sending him sprawling.
"Big mistake."
The others lunged at me, fists flying. They were bigger, stronger, but I was faster. And I fought dirty.
By the end, I stood over them, breathing heavily, a bruise forming on my cheek. The three of them were on the ground, groaning and clutching at their injuries.
"Damn it," I muttered, wiping blood from my lip. "Lena's not gonna be happy about this."
The closer I got to school, the more the city changed. The air felt cleaner here, like it didn't belong to the same world as the slums. The streets were spotless, lined with trees, and the buildings gleamed in the morning sun.
By the time I reached the school gates, I felt like I didn't belong here.
Before I could walk in, a familiar voice called out.
"Wait—don't tell me you got into another fight, idiot!" Lena's voice cut through the morning air like a scolding parent. She stomped toward me, her neatly polished shoes clicking against the pavement.
I wiped some dried blood off my cheek, looking away. "What's it to you?"
Lena stopped a few feet away, hands on her hips, glaring at me with that sharp-eyed intensity of hers. She was always like this—bossy, relentless, always in my business.
"What's it to me?" She repeated, rolling her eyes. "Jay, you've got a giant bruise on your face! You look like you walked out of a boxing ring. Do you want the teachers to send you home?"
I gave her a lazy smirk. "Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."
She let out an exaggerated sigh, pulling her bag around to rummage through it. "You're impossible, you know that? Luckily, I'm prepared. Hold still."
She whipped out her ever-present medkit—a bright red box that looked comically oversized next to her—and marched up to me.
"Wait, what are you—"
"Shut up and stay still," she snapped, grabbing my chin to tilt my face toward her. Her hands were warm against my skin, and for a moment, I froze.
She dabbed at the cut on my cheek with an antiseptic wipe. I winced.
"Stop squirming," she muttered, blowing lightly on the sting. "You're such a baby sometimes."
"This is unnecessary," I grumbled, though I didn't pull away.
"No, what's unnecessary is you fighting every person who looks at you funny," she shot back, pressing a bandage onto the cut with precision. She stepped back to admire her work, nodding in satisfaction.
"Now, let's talk about this outfit," she said, pointing at my unbuttoned blazer. "You look like the star of some delinquent drama."
I shrugged. "What's wrong with it?"
"Everything." She stepped forward again, grabbing my blazer and buttoning it up. "This? Not it. You're not in a shōjo manga."
She tugged at the lapels, then pushed some of my messy dreadlocks out of my face. "And this hair! Why cover your face? You'd look decent if you put in even a little effort."
"Decent?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, decent," she said, giving me a quick once-over before holding her thumb out like a movie director framing a shot. "Okay. Better. Now you look like a delinquent trying to behave."
I rolled my eyes but felt the corners of my lips twitch upward. "Happy now?"
"Not until you actually stay out of trouble for a day," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."
We walked into class together, Lena still chattering about the upcoming history quiz I hadn't studied for.
"Seriously, do you ever pay attention in class?" she asked, glancing up at me as we walked.
"Do you ever stop nagging?" I shot back, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
She narrowed her eyes at me but didn't respond, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
The moment we stepped inside, the room went quiet.
"Look who it is."
"Still acting like he owns the place."
"Isn't he from the slums? Why's he even here?"
The whispers rolled over me like background noise. I ignored them, as always, but I could feel Lena tense beside me.
"Idiots," she muttered under her breath. She tugged at my sleeve, pulling me toward my desk. "Come on."
I sat down, slouching in my seat as Lena stood over me, hands on her hips again.
"Don't let them get to you," she said, her voice quieter now.
"They don't,"
She frowned but didn't push it. Instead, she reached over and straightened my collar again. "There. Now try not to ruin it before lunch."
I smirked, leaning back. "No promises."
"Ugh, you're impossible," she muttered, heading to her seat with a dramatic sigh. But I caught her glancing back at me once before sitting down.
By the time lunch rolled around, I was already on edge. The whispers, the stares—it was like they were closing in on me, reminding me of everything I didn't belong to.
I grabbed my lunch and headed to the courtyard, hoping for some quiet. But of course, Lena followed.
"You're not eating inside?" she asked, falling into step beside me.
"Too loud," I said shortly.
She hummed in agreement. "Fair. Mind if I join?"
"Not like I can stop you," I said with a shrug.
We sat under a tree, the shade offering a brief reprieve from the midday sun. I poked at my food, not really hungry.
"You okay?" Lena asked after a while, her voice softer than usual.
"Yeah," I said automatically.
She didn't buy it, of course. She never did. But she didn't push, either. She just sat with me, talking about nothing in particular—her favorite show, a new song she'd heard, some drama with her classmates. I let her voice wash over me, grounding me in a way I didn't know.
The day passed in a blur, like it always did. Classes dragged on, but I barely heard a word. By the time the final bell rang, my mind was already elsewhere, thinking of that power I once held—and the weight of losing it.
Lena was waiting for me at the gates, her bag slung over one shoulder. "You walking home?" she asked, falling into step beside me before I could even answer.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. "Yeah. You?"
"Obviously." She gave me a sideways glance. "You know, you could walk a little slower. Not everyone's in a rush to disappear."
I snorted but slowed my pace anyway. We walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the city filling the gaps between us. Cars honked in the distance, vendors shouted about their wares, and kids laughed as they played on the sidewalks.
Lena, as usual, couldn't stay quiet for long. "So, what's your excuse this time?"
"For what?"
"For fighting," she said, rolling her eyes. "Don't pretend you don't have one. You always have some dumb reason."
I shrugged. "They started it."
"That's it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Pretty much."
She let out an exaggerated groan, throwing her head back. "You're hopeless, you know that? I don't know why I even bother."
"Me neither," I said, smirking.
She shoved me lightly, but I caught a glimpse of her smile before she turned away.
We reached her street just as the sun was starting to dip below the rooftops, casting everything in shades of orange and gold. Her house stood at the end of the block, a tidy two-story with a freshly painted fence and a small garden out front. It was the kind of place that felt too clean, too perfect—like it didn't belong in this city.
Lena stopped at the gate, glancing back at me. "Thanks for walking me."
"Didn't have a choice," I said, leaning against the fence.
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Before she could say anything else, the door opened, and her mom stepped out.
"Lena? What are you doing talking to him?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the warm evening air like a slap.
Lena stiffened, her smile fading. "Mom, it's just Jay—"
"I don't care who it is," her mom snapped, her eyes narrowing at me. "He shouldn't be here. Go inside."
Lena hesitated, glancing at me. "Mom, seriously, it's not—"
"Now, Lena."
Lena sighed, giving me an apologetic look before heading inside. Her mom didn't even wait for her to close the door before turning to me.
"You shouldn't be hanging around my daughter," she said coldly. "She has a future ahead of her. Don't drag her down with you."
The words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I clenched my fists, shoving them deeper into my pockets. "Right. Got it."
Without waiting for her to say anything else, I turned and walked away.
The streets grew quieter as I made my way back, the fading sunlight giving way to flickering streetlights. My hands were stuffed in my pockets.
I kicked a small rock, watching it tumble down the street. The soft thud of my boots hitting the cracked pavement was the only sound filling the space between me and my thoughts. It wasn't the first time I'd been told to stay away from someone. The old man had said it more times than I could count, but hearing it from someone else stung more than I thought it would.
Lena's parents… they were right in a way, weren't they? What good was I to her? I couldn't even protect the ones I cared about. How could I protect her if I couldn't even protect myself?
The night air grew colder, and I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders. Each step felt heavier than the last, but I kept walking. I didn't have anywhere to go but forward.
I rounded a corner and spotted the familiar alley where I had spent countless hours—where I had tried to sharpen my skills, my body, my mind. The alley was quieter now, the hum of the city distant and muffled here. I glanced around, making sure no one was nearby.
It didn't matter. No one cared.
I pulled the wooden sword from its resting place against the wall. The worn-down stick that had once been my lifeline now felt like a cruel reminder of everything I had lost. The blade wasn't real, just a hunk of splintered wood with barely any shape. But when I held it, I could still feel that power—that strength I had gained once. The power that had let me fight back. The power I had failed to use when it counted.
I gripped the sword tightly, ignoring the splinters digging into my palms, the sting of pain barely registering in my mind.
Focus.
I swung it in the air, imagining the weight, the strength, the speed of a real blade. The sword didn't cut through the air like it should have. It was too weak, too clumsy. My strikes were sloppy, nothing like the fluid motions I had dreamed about. My heart raced as frustration mounted.
I could feel the blood starting to trickle from my palms, the splinters digging in deeper with each swing. The sting was nothing compared to the ache in my chest, the weight of my failure.
It wasn't enough.
I swung harder, faster, pushing through the pain, determined to force the power out of my body, to find it again. The sword hit the wall with a dull thud, splintering further, the force vibrating up my arm.
A sharp breath escaped my lips as I paused, staring at the mess of the blade. Blood ran from my hands now, staining the wood, staining the ground. But still, I didn't stop. I had to keep going.
I raised the sword again, ignoring the burning pain in my arms and hands. I had to get stronger. I had to—
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The voice cut through the air like a whip, startling me. I spun around, nearly losing my balance.
The old man stood at the alley's entrance, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. His hands were on his hips, and his stance was wide, like he was ready to pounce.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" I snapped, trying to catch my breath.
"You're bleeding, kid." His voice softened slightly, but his eyes were still stern. "What are you trying to prove, huh? You think swinging that thing around is gonna fix anything?"
"I'm trying to get stronger," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm not gonna sit around and be useless like last time."
"You think this is the answer? You think you can get stronger by hurting yourself?" The old man took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "You can't keep running away from your past, Jay."
"Don't pretend like you know what it's like," I shot back, my voice breaking. I didn't want him to see the cracks in my mask. I didn't want anyone to see. But it was too late. "I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't protect them. I couldn't save my mom or Myah. I wasn't—I wasn't enough."
The old man's gaze softened, but his voice was firm. "You think getting stronger means you can outrun your pain? You think it'll fix things?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. The words were stuck in my throat, and the weight in my chest felt like it was about to crush me.
He stepped forward, pulling the sword from my hands gently, despite my resistance. "You don't need to carry all this by yourself, kid. You don't have to do it alone."
I felt a lump form in my throat, and for a moment, I felt like a child again—small, lost, scared. The tears were there, just on the edge of breaking through, but I forced them back. I wasn't going to cry in front of him.
The old man studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed and put a hand on my shoulder. "I don't care how many times you swing that sword around. You're never going to get stronger like this."
"Then how?"
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at the blood on my hands and shook his head. "You need to learn to deal with your pain first. You won't get stronger until you let yourself heal. You can't outrun it."
I wanted to argue, to tell him he didn't understand, but instead, I just stood there, exhausted.
"Go home, Jay," he said, his tone softer this time. "You're not doing yourself any favors by pushing yourself like this."
I wanted to protest, but I couldn't find the words. I just nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words sink in.
Home
By the time I got back to the old man's place, the moon had risen high in the sky, casting everything in a cool, silvery light. My hands still burned, the pain from the splinters pulsing with every step, but it didn't matter.
I'd failed again.
Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. The flickering light from the living room made everything look warped, like it was all just a little out of reach. I walked past the cluttered kitchen, the stale smell of old food hanging in the air, and went straight to my room.
I wanted to lie down, to shut everything out, but I couldn't. The images of my mom and sister, their faces twisted in fear as everything went wrong, filled my mind.
I wasn't enough.
I'll never be enough.
The weight of the night pressed down on me as I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the blood on my hands. The pain, the guilt, it never left. But that night, something was different. Maybe it was the old man's words, or maybe it was just the exhaustion that came with pushing myself too hard.
Either way, I knew one thing for sure.
I wasn't going to give up.
Even if I had to carry this burden alone.
A/N: do yall like the direction of the story this chapter was more or less just setting us the world a bit nothing really happened just wanted to show what his motivations are and how's he's doing.