Fists and Fire

The cheers from the club still echoed in my head, and I couldn't stop the rush of adrenaline as I stepped outside into the cool night air.

I had just won.

The crowd that had been laughing at me before, now chanting my name. Blaze, the so-called king of The Dungeon, was now eating humble pie after I burned him in front of everyone. It felt good.

It felt right.

But deep down, I knew Blaze wasn't the type to take a loss like that. Not quietly.

The second I turned the corner into the alley behind the club, I heard heavy footsteps behind me.

Then came his voice, low and cutting, "You think you slick, huh?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. My gut twisted, but I didn't turn around. Not yet.

I knew exactly who it was.

Blaze.

I took a breath, trying to steady my nerves. I wasn't scared. I wasn't. I had won. But something about the way he said that… it sent a chill up my spine.

I turned slowly to face him. He was standing under a flickering streetlight, his face hard and twisted with something I hadn't seen before. Embarrassment mixed with rage.

And his boys? They were standing behind him, looking like wolves ready to pounce.

Blaze stepped forward, sneering. "Thought you were all that, huh?"

I clenched my fists. "I still am."

He chuckled, but it wasn't a friendly sound. "Man, you really think you can just walk in here and embarrass me like that? You're not built for this. You don't belong here."

I didn't back down. "I'm here now. Deal with it."

His smirk dropped. He took another step closer. "I'm gonna teach you something tonight, lil' man."

The crowd had left the club, but I could still feel the tension in the air. I knew what this was—he wasn't just gonna let it go. Blaze was the kind of guy who couldn't let anybody beat him. And after I destroyed him in front of everyone, his pride was on the line.

Before I could take another step, Blaze lunged. His fist connected with my jaw before I even had time to react.

The world went spinning as I stumbled back, almost falling over.

My legs were shaky, my mouth tasted like metal. I wiped my lip, staring up at him. The laughter from earlier—the crowd's cheers—seemed so far away now. It was just me and Blaze.

He cracked his knuckles and grinned. "Thought you could rap, huh? Let's see if you can take a real hit."

I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the punch. My body felt heavy, and I realized I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't a fighter. I wasn't even close.

Blaze stepped forward again, this time I saw the swing coming. My body tensed up, but I was too slow. The punch hit me in the stomach, and I gasped for air. The force of it knocked the wind right out of me, and I hunched over, barely able to stay on my feet.

"You're nothing, man." Blaze's voice was cold, cruel. "You're just some kid trying to act like you belong in my world."

I was dizzy. My legs felt like jelly. The pain in my gut made it hard to focus.

Blaze didn't stop. Another punch, this time to my ribs. I heard something crack.

"Why don't you stay down, huh? You're making this harder than it has to be."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't even think straight. Every hit made my vision blur more, and I felt like I was losing control.

I didn't want to back down. Not now. Not after everything I had fought for tonight. But every time I tried to stand, Blaze hit me harder. His crew was laughing in the background, egging him on.

And that was when I realized. This was more than just a rap battle.

This was Blaze trying to break me.

His fist came down again. I raised my arms weakly, trying to block, but he shoved me back against the cold brick wall. The impact was enough to knock the air from my lungs once more.

I slid down to the ground, coughing, trying to catch my breath. I couldn't fight back. I wasn't built for this.

Blaze stood over me, panting but satisfied. "You ain't cut out for this life, kid. Go home."

He turned around and nodded to his boys. They laughed and followed him as they walked away.

I stayed on the ground for a long time.

It hurt. Everywhere. My jaw, my ribs, my stomach. And yet, it hurt more to admit the truth—I had lost.

I had come here, thinking I was ready. Thinking I could fight back, make something out of myself. But I wasn't ready.

I wasn't strong enough. Not yet.

The alley was empty now. No one to see my humiliation. No one to cheer me on. The world felt heavy as I slowly got to my feet, using the wall to steady myself.

I glanced down at my hands, now scraped and bruised. I still had the mic from earlier in my pocket, but it felt useless now. The glow of the streetlights barely reached me, casting long shadows over the broken pavement.

I had been knocked down, hard.

But even then, the fire inside me didn't die.

I wasn't giving up.

I couldn't.

I had dreams—dreams that felt more distant now than ever. But I wouldn't let this be the end of my story.

I didn't know how or when, but I'd be back. Stronger. Smarter. And better.

I would never let Blaze or anyone else make me feel like I didn't belong in this game.

But for now?

I had to heal.

And I had to get back on my feet.

The night felt like it was dragging as I walked home.

The sting in my ribs with every step, the taste of blood in my mouth—it wasn't just physical pain. It was a reminder. I wasn't cut out for this life yet. I wasn't strong enough.

But as the world spun and I made my way down the empty street, I couldn't help but feel a spark inside me. A need to prove everyone wrong, to come back stronger, to show Blaze that I wasn't some one-hit wonder.

But tonight, I wasn't thinking about battles or crowds or rapping. I just wanted to get home.

I finally reached my block, and the familiar sight of our small, cramped apartment brought a strange sense of comfort. The light in the window flickered—Mom must've been sitting up waiting for me.

I wasn't exactly excited about explaining what had happened.

The door creaked open as I stepped inside, and the warm smell of whatever Mom was cooking filled the air. She was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a stack of papers, her glasses perched on her nose. She looked up when I walked in.

Her eyes immediately caught the bruise on my face.

"You're home late," she said softly, her voice cautious.

I didn't know how to answer. What was I supposed to say? "I just got beat up in a rap battle"?

Instead, I kept it simple. "Yeah, sorry. Got caught up."

She studied me for a moment, then put her papers down. I saw the worry in her eyes.

"You okay?" she asked, standing up slowly. She didn't wait for an answer before walking toward me, gently inspecting my face. "What happened, Kj?"

I didn't want to lie. But I didn't want to tell her the whole truth either.

"It's nothing, Mom," I muttered, brushing past her to head toward the bathroom. "Just a little scuffle."

She followed me, her footsteps light but persistent.

"Kj," she said, her voice firm. "You know you can talk to me, right? I'm not mad, but you've got to be careful out there."

I rubbed my face, trying to ignore the ache in my ribs. "I know, Mom. I'll be fine."

I could hear the concern in her voice when she spoke next. "You're not invincible, you know? You can't just go around picking fights."

It was as if she didn't understand. She couldn't understand. She didn't know what it was like out there.

"Look, I just messed up, okay? It won't happen again."

But she wasn't buying it. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened. "That's not what I'm talking about. I don't care about the fight, Kj. I care about you. You're still my baby, and I can see it. Something's wrong."

I sighed, trying to brush it off. I knew she meant well, but I didn't want to have this conversation. Not tonight. Not when I felt like I was already drowning in my own failure.

I turned to her, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired, Mom. Don't worry about me."

Her expression softened a little, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. "Alright, but we're talking in the morning. I mean it."

I nodded, keeping the fake smile on my face. "Yeah, okay. In the morning."

I could tell she didn't believe me, but at least she didn't press further.

She turned back to the kitchen. "I'll heat up some food if you want."

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. Just gonna head to bed."

She didn't argue. I was grateful for that.

I walked to my room, the door creaking behind me. I collapsed onto my bed, pulling my knees to my chest. The pain in my body was real. But the pain in my heart? That hurt worse.

I closed my eyes, the exhaustion finally catching up with me.

Blaze's face kept flashing in my mind. His crew laughing. The sting of his fist in my gut. How everything felt so out of control.

But as much as the pain weighed me down, it didn't extinguish the fire inside.

I wasn't done. I wouldn't let tonight be the end of me.

I would fight back.

Somehow, I would get better.

I had to. For me. For my mom. For everyone who had ever looked down on me.

I must've fallen asleep at some point, because when I woke up, the apartment was quiet.

I groggily checked the clock on my nightstand. 7:30 a.m. I had to be at school in an hour.

I tried sitting up, but the pain in my ribs shot through me like a thousand needles. I groaned, sinking back into the sheets.

I hadn't expected Blaze's hits to feel this bad. I thought I could shake it off. But I wasn't built for this kind of pain.

The weight of the night hit me all over again. I wasn't just physically bruised. My ego was bruised.

I ran my hands through my hair, breathing deeply, trying to push it all down.

Focus. I had to focus.

There was no time for pity. No time to feel sorry for myself. I had dreams to chase, a future to build, and the only way forward was to grind.

I slowly stood up, grabbing my phone from the nightstand. A couple of missed calls from my friends, probably wondering where I'd been last night. I didn't bother replying.

Instead, I sat down at my desk, opened my notebook, and started writing.

It didn't matter if I was sore. It didn't matter if I felt like I'd been knocked down.

I was going to be the best.

Even if it killed me.

I had to.