Haruki limped home, every step sending sharp pain through his ribs. His uniform was dirtied from the fight, his knuckles scraped from his pathetic attempt at throwing a punch. Kaito had barely needed to try.
Still, as he unlocked the door to his small apartment, one thought kept repeating in his head—
"I fought back."
For the first time in years, he didn't just take the beating. He threw a punch. It was sloppy. Weak. Useless, even. But it was his.
The apartment was silent. His grandmother wasn't home yet, likely still at her evening shift. Haruki dropped his bag by the door and collapsed onto his futon, staring at the ceiling.
His phone buzzed.
"How to Fight – Episode 2: Overcoming Fear."
He hesitated, then clicked on it. The masked fighter stood in a dimly lit gym, hands wrapped in bandages.
"Fear is your greatest enemy in a fight. It clouds your vision, locks your body, and makes you hesitate. But fear can also be your weapon. Accept it. Control it. Use it to sharpen your instincts."
Haruki clenched his fists. Fear is my enemy. He knew that better than anyone.
The video continued, showing drills—simple ones. Footwork exercises, breathing techniques, basic reflex training. Things anyone could do.
"You don't need a gym to start fighting. You don't need talent. You just need to take the first step."
Haruki sat up, his ribs protesting. His whole body screamed at him to rest. But he couldn't.
Not after today.
He got up, moved the small table in his room to the side, and stood in front of the mirror. He tried the stance from the video.
His feet were too close together. His arms felt awkward. His balance was off.
But he kept going.
Jab. Step back. Guard up.
It looked stupid. Weak. But he wasn't stopping.
For the next hour, Haruki followed the video, rewinding, fixing his posture, memorizing each movement. He punched the air over and over, his form unsteady, but his determination unwavering.
By the time he collapsed onto his futon again, sweat dripped down his face, and his hands trembled. His body ached, but there was a strange feeling in his chest—something unfamiliar.
Pride.
—
The next day at school, the pain in his body reminded him of his failure. Whispers followed him as he walked through the halls.
"Did you hear? Haruki actually fought back against Kaito yesterday."
"No way. That guy? What, did he last three seconds instead of two?"
Kaito and his gang were already in class when Haruki arrived. The second their eyes met, a smirk curled on Kaito's lips.
"Yo, Punching Bag. You alive?" he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Haruki ignored him and went to his seat. His heart pounded, but he forced himself to keep his expression blank.
Kaito leaned back. "You got lucky yesterday. Next time, I'll break something."
The class laughed, but Haruki didn't react.
Not yet.
Not until he was ready.
—
That night, Haruki went to a nearby park. It was empty, except for a few kids playing basketball. He found a tree, clenched his fists, and started training again.
Jab. Jab. Step back.
Each punch was weak. Each movement was flawed. But he kept going.
He wasn't doing this to win a fight tomorrow. He wasn't even doing it to beat Kaito.
He was doing it because he refused to stay weak.
Because one day—
He wouldn't be the Punching Bag anymore.