Chapter 34

Chapter 34: "Gym Class Gladiators"

In which Judo becomes therapy, Dash forgets what apologies are, and I channel all my trauma into legally sanctioned body slams.

If high school had a stock market, my value was skyrocketing—mostly because I was scheduled to crash and burn during fourth period gym.

As soon as I stepped into the hallway, it was like walking into a gladiator arena. Whispers followed me like I had a glowing "Dead Man Walking" sign floating over my head.

"Is that him?"

"Danny Fenton? Against Dash?"

"Bro, he's toast."

"Nah, maybe he's got ghost powers now. His parents are, like, ghost tech people, right?"

"He's gonna get folded like a gym towel."

To be fair, it was a reasonable assumption. I was the same guy who had tripped over his shoelaces and spilled orange juice into his own backpack last week. But apparently, picking a fight with the school's apex predator had put me on the radar of people who previously assumed I was a part-time janitor.

Including Star.

She intercepted me by the lockers with all the casual grace of someone who didn't even need to try to look cool—meanwhile, I nearly dropped my ghost-proof water bottle trying to act normal.

"Hey, Danny," she said with a smile that made my teenage brain short-circuit. "I just wanted to say thanks."

"…Huh?"

"You helped me the other night. I don't remember everything," she continued, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that cinematic way girls apparently practiced in secret, "but I remember bits. You carried me. Fought someone. A huge guy, I think? Then I had your number. And a voice message checking in. That was you, right?"

My mouth opened and made a very brave attempt at language. "Y-Yeah. That was me. I mean—it is me. Still me. Currently me."

Naileddd it.

She chuckled. "Anyway, I figured you were doing some vigilante thing now. Like your parents but way cooler."

Oh, right. She was talking about the night I saved her from that ghost DJ who was literally one bass drop away from turning her soul into a Spotify playlist. She didn't remember all the details—probably because Ghost Skrillex had turned the whole party into a fog machine of intoxicated weirdness—but she remembered me. That was enough to send my self-esteem into low orbit.

"It's nothing," I said, trying to sound smooth and failing with the grace of a falling fridge. "Just… responsibility. Gentleman stuff. Helping people. Y'know."

"'Gentleman stuff,' huh?" Star said with a laugh. "Well, Mr. Gentleman, I'm looking forward to watching you in gym class today. Maybe things around here will finally change."

And then—because the universe doesn't let me have nice things for more than five minutes—she spotted Paulina in the distance.

"Oh no. Gotta go. If she sees me talking to you, it'll be a whole thing."

She vanished down the hall, leaving behind only the scent of expensive conditioner and social validation.

Then came Paulina.

She didn't approach me. That would involve acknowledging my existence. But she made sure to walk by slowly enough for me to see the disgusted scowl she now wore like designer makeup. Ever since that incident—where Naruto, casually possessing my body, had called her out in front of half the school—Paulina had looked at me like I was a dog that peed on her purse.

Honestly, fair.

I mean, yeah, Naruto did call her shallow and emotionally stunted. He might've also said something about her soul needing a software update. I don't remember the details, but it had been very ninja-roast-meets-life-coach energy. And somehow, I was the one who had to deal with the fallout.

"Nice job, Danny," she muttered as she passed me. "You went from invisible to punchable."

Charming.

Tucker leaned in. "You know, if you beat Dash, you might jump up to 'mildly tolerable.' Maybe even 'background character in a cheerleader's dream sequence.'"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Ignore her. Her fashion sense hasn't evolved since fifth grade."

"...You guys are the best," I said, walking with them toward class like I hadn't just been emotionally hit by a freight train.

But I wasn't nervous. Not anymore. Star believed in me. Tucker and Sam had my back. Even Naruto—ghost mentor, accidental public roaster of cheerleaders—had told me I was ready.

This was it.

Today, Danny Fenton fights back.

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If there was ever a moment in my life where I understood why people get stage fright, this was it. I wasn't standing in a classroom anymore. I was in an arena. The gym lights felt brighter than usual. The floor mats were laid out like the ring of destiny. And all around us, students were lining the edges of the gym like vultures waiting to see which carcass would twitch last.

And standing across from me—grinning like he just got invited to a free buffet—was Dash Baxter.

"Alright, keep it friendly!" Coach Brick barked, arms crossed like a battle-scarred war general who had long since stopped caring about teenage drama. "This is still a spar, not a showdown in an anime opening. No eye gouging, no chair-throwing, and no last-minute power-ups. You break it, you pay for it."

"Got it, Coach," I said, adjusting my borrowed judo gi like I wasn't sweating buckets beneath it.

"Understood," Dash said, and for once, his voice wasn't mocking. It was… excited?

We stepped onto the mat.

I looked at him. This guy. The bane of my high school experience. The human embodiment of a wedgie. Dash had haunted my daily existence with all the enthusiasm of a villain in an '80s coming-of-age movie.

But today, I wasn't the same kid.

I took a deep breath and stood firm.

"Dash," I said, my voice louder than I expected. "You're going to pay for everything you've done to me and my friends. I don't care why you did it. The pain you inflicted was real. Your jokes, your humiliation, the times you made me feel like I was worthless. No words can erase that."

There was a ripple through the crowd. Like someone had just dropped a mic no one saw.

Dash raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "I don't care."

Of course he didn't.

"I don't think what I did was wrong," he added, shrugging. "So what's there to dramatize? You act like I ever apologized. I didn't. Because I meant it."

My fists clenched. Not with anger, but something deeper. Determination.

"But hey," he continued, rolling his neck like a professional fighter prepping for round one, "I know you've been working out or whatever. Maybe some special help from your parents. Doesn't matter. That's your legacy. Use it. I want to fight the real you."

Oh, the irony. If only he knew I had literal ninja soul fragments in my corner and had just spent last night sparring against Rock Lee for five hours.

Still, something about Dash's words struck me sideways.

He wanted this.

He wasn't scared. He wasn't even gloating like usual. He was… challenging me, genuinely. Like he wanted me to win. Like this twisted mess of bullying had always been leading to this—a final test.

"You know," I said slowly, "this isn't normal. You don't get to torment people and then act like it's all part of some grand motivational scheme."

He smirked. "Sure I do. If you win, that means it worked."

I stared at him for a second. He was serious. Absolutely delusional, but serious.

"I don't need your philosophy," I said. "I just need you to hit the mat."

His grin widened. "Then make me."

Coach blew the whistle.

The crowd held their breath.

And I smiled. Not because I knew I'd win—though I really hoped so—but because, for the first time in years…

…I wasn't scared.

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Paulina glared at the two figures in the center of the gym mat like she was trying to burn a hole through space-time with sheer intensity. Danny and Dash were circling each other, spouting enough testosterone-fueled trash talk to power a Marvel movie trailer. The entire student body was watching. Even Coach Brick was pretending he wasn't secretly filming this for his "teacher of the year" application.

Beside her, Star leaned against the gym bleachers, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. "You know," she said casually, "Danny's kinda fun now. Like, dangerous-fun. If we're lucky, maybe he'll show us his parents' lab. I've always wanted to poke around some ghost stuff."

Paulina didn't reply right away. Her eyes were still locked on Danny. The same Danny who had once fumbled over his own shoelaces in front of her. The same Danny who now stood tall, confident, and full of righteous fury. She remembered the words he'd said—parasite, worthless, dead weight. She had wanted to slap him. Still did, to be honest.

But deep down?

She hated that he wasn't wrong.

"…It wasn't just what he said," Paulina murmured, arms crossed. "It's what happened after."

Star blinked. "Huh?"

"My dad. My brother. They started treating me… differently." Paulina's brows furrowed. "Not on purpose. But now I notice it. My brother goes to board meetings. My dad trains him. Me? They just… baby me. Like I'm five and made of glass."

Star tilted her head. "Well, you are kind of our princess. I mean, your closet is the size of my bedroom."

"That's not the point," Paulina snapped, then sighed. "Danny—ugh, that jerk—made me see it. I was just floating through life. Parties, makeup, popularity. Easy. But now… I can't unsee it."

Star nodded slowly. "So you're mad at him for… waking you up?"

Paulina clenched her jaw. "Exactly."

"That's kinda dumb," Star said with a shrug.

Paulina whipped around. "Excuse me?"

"I mean," Star went on, unfazed, "yeah, he was rude. But we were kinda awful to him. I laughed at jokes Dash made. You made some of them. We were just part of the whole high school feeding frenzy. And now that he's, like, cool and mysterious and maybe also a vigilante, we're mad because he's not groveling for our attention?"

Paulina narrowed her eyes. "I'm not mad because he's cool. I'm mad because he made me feel powerless."

Star raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he made you realize you were already powerless in ways you didn't notice. That's different."

Paulina groaned and rubbed her temples. "Ugh, why do you always go full therapist when I'm trying to be mad?"

"I just think we owe him an apology," Star said, then smiled cheekily. "Though if you do want him to kiss your hand, I won't stop you. Just don't get mad if he punches Dash through a wall first."

"I'm still making him apologize," Paulina muttered. "Publicly."

Star snorted. "Good luck. That boy just declared emotional war on the guy who bench-presses bikes for breakfast. He's not in an apologizing mood."

As the whistle blew and the match began, both girls watched closely. Not for blood. Not for drama.

But because, somehow, in all the chaos of supernatural battles and schoolyard politics…

Danny Fenton had become someone worth watching.