Chapter 7: Challenge

It started with a note.

Not a threat. Not some dramatic callout. Just a folded slip of paper, slid under my desk during break between classes.

I didn't need to open it to know who it was from. The handwriting gave it away - bold, deliberate, all uppercase. Takumi's style. Always needing to make a statement.

FRIDAY. GYM 2. 5 PM. YOU & ME. CLEAN. NO SURPRISES. YOU OWE ME THAT. - TAKUMI

I stared at it for a moment. Then folded it again and slipped it into my notebook. No reaction. No outward response. I didn't need one.

But my thoughts wouldn't shut up.

By Thursday, the whole campus knew.

"Takumi challenged Nakamura to a match."

"Nakamura? That loner? Why would he even show up?"

"Apparently he beat up two of Takumi's guys."

"I heard Tanaka's covering for him. Maybe they're together."

The rumors came from every hallway, every vending machine conversation, every whisper that didn't think I could hear.

But I heard. I always hear.

And I walked through it all the same way I always did - silent. Unbothered on the outside.

But it clung to me like smoke.

Tanaka heard the latest by the vending machines.

Two second-years. Loud enough for anyone nearby to catch.

"I bet Nakamura won't even show."

"Tanaka's probably just being nice to the weird kid. Makes him look good."

"He's always helping strays."

Tanaka turned to them, calm but cold.

"You done?"

They stiffened. One tried to laugh it off.

"Ah, Tanaka-kun, we were just-"

"Gossiping," he cut in. "Spreading garbage about someone who's not even here."

"It's not like we meant anything by it-"

"Then why say it at all?" He stepped forward, voice sharper now. "You think rumors make you interesting? They make you look small."

Silence.

"And for the record," he added, softer but more dangerous, "I don't spend time with Nakamura because I 'feel sorry' for him. I spend time with him because he's worth knowing. More than either of you."

Then he walked off. Didn't look back.

I hadn't told him about the note.

Maybe I wouldn't.

It felt like something I needed to handle on my own.

That night, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, not even pretending to try sleeping.

It wasn't fear keeping me awake.

It was familiarity.

I knew this story. I'd lived it before.

Someone else writes a narrative, shoves me into the spotlight, points and says, "Look at him."

I become a symbol: defiance, mystery, threat.

But none of them actually see me.

They just want something to watch.

My hands were bruised, yellow-green now, the worst of it faded. But the ache stuck around - part physical, part emotional. A quiet, steady throb beneath the skin.

Still… a part of me didn't hate the idea of stepping into that ring.

Not to win.

But to stop running.

Friday came fast.

I barely spoke all day. Not to Sae. Not to Tanaka.

The note sat in my back pocket like a weight. I hadn't responded. Maybe I didn't need to.

By 4:45, a crowd had gathered outside Gym 2. Mostly guys from the boxing club. A few third-years. A handful of curious nobodies.

No staff. No teachers.

Just air thick with anticipation and unspoken rules.

I stepped through the gym doors.

Silence fell like a dropped pin.

Black T-shirt. Gym shorts. Calm face.

I don't need to look angry to be dangerous.

Takumi was already there. Gloves in hand. Sleeves rolled. Smirk already in place.

"You showed," he said, voice just loud enough.

I nodded. "You asked for clean."

He tilted his head. "And you agreed. That's rare. I figured you'd ghost me like everything else."

"I'm not a coward."

"Didn't say you were. Just wondering why someone who hides all year suddenly wants an audience."

I didn't answer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tanaka slip into the crowd. He didn't say anything. Just nodded. Watched.

Then I saw Sae, too. Leaning against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp.

Takumi dropped a pair of gloves onto the mat between us.

"I brought these for you," he said. "But I heard something. That you've had real training."

I stayed quiet.

"You don't move like someone who just scrambles. You move like someone who's learned to hurt."

Still nothing from me.

He smiled wider. "So let's make it fair."

One of his guys pulled headgear out of a gym bag.

"For both of us. No cheap shots. No knockouts."

I nodded. "Fine."

We suited up. No words. Just quiet focus.

The ref - some third-year from the club - raised a hand.

"Three rounds. Until one of you can't stand or gives in. Sound good?"

I looked Takumi dead in the eyes. "I won't give in."

"Round one," the ref called. "Start."

The bell rang.

Takumi came in fast. Textbook jab to the chest - testing.

I blocked. Sidestepped. Countered with a clean shot to his ribs.

A ripple of noise from the crowd.

His smirk vanished.

He came again - this time harder. A high hook aimed at my head. I ducked, responded with a short shot to his side, then circled away.

We found a rhythm. Reading each other. Calculating.

No one dominating. But no one falling behind.

His jaw tightened.

"You're better than they say."

I didn't answer.

He slipped a jab through. Glanced my cheek. Rattled me slightly, but the headgear absorbed most of it.

I reset. Exhaled. Focused.

Outside the ring, Tanaka leaned in. Sae was still watching, unmoving.

The bell rang for the end of round one.

We moved to opposite corners. Breathing sharp. Eyes locked.

No words.

Just war in silence.

And we hadn't even started bleeding yet.