Jason trained relentlessly in his gym.
The rhythmic thud… thud… of punches echoed off the walls. Sweat dripped from his chin, his injured leg wrapped tight, trembling—but holding.
Every strike carried anger.
Every breath carried grief.
(Clang… clang…)
He paused when a knock broke the silence.
Knock. Knock.
Jason walked to the door and opened it.
His body stiffened.
His eyes softened for a split second.
"Erika…" he whispered.
Then they went empty.
"So you're here after all that happened."
"What do you want? Money?" He scoffed.
"Sorry, I don't have any."
"Don't come here again."
He started closing the door.
Erika stopped it with her hand.
"Jason, please… just talk."
"Aren't you with your soulmate?" Jason snapped.
"That little fried shrimp—where is he?"
"What, you came to put me in jail again?"
"I have important things to do. Get out."
Erika's eyes dropped.
"Long ago… I understood I was wrong," she said quietly.
"I was just a child back then. I didn't know he would become selfish."
"He used me as a tool."
Her voice cracked.
"I'm sorry, Jason."
"I'm sorry for that day."
Jason didn't reply.
His silence hurt more than shouting.
(flashback)
PRODIGY-
The arena roared.
(CROWD ROARING… WHISTLES… CLAPS…)
People packed around the boxing ring. It was the U-19 semifinals.
On one side—Ray Willy.
On the other—the crowd's favorite—Aaron Stale.
Third round.
(Clang!)
Three minutes per round—but Aaron still stood tall, breathing steady, like the fight had just begun.
Ray thought desperately:
For two rounds he's only defended… not giving me a single opening.
My body can't keep up.
This is it.
The bell rang.
(ClANG!)
Ray cornered Aaron.
The crowd booed.
"Finish him already!"
"What are you doing, Aaron?!"
"There's nowhere to go now," Ray said, stepping in.
Aaron dropped his guard for a fraction of a second.
Ray lunged.
"Now take this—!"
(GOTCHA)
Aaron bent his knees, dodged, and exploded upward—
CRACK!
A brutal punch slammed into Ray's chin.
Ray collapsed.
(Silence… then—)
The referee waved it off.
"It's over!"
The crowd erupted.
"THAT'S MY BOY!"
"AARON! AARON!"
Girls screamed.Erika was there—cheering, eyes shining.
Aaron raised his hands, smiling.
Then the judge spoke:
"Our first finalist—Aaron Willey."
"And the second finalist—Jason Schiznor."
The crowd froze.
"What? his match was already over."
"They only reached the second round, right?"
A calm voice answered:
"It doesn't matter."
"In all his fights, he knocked out every opponent in the first round."
"Not a single candidate reached the second round against him."
Someone whispered, confused:
"Then how did we not know about him?"
Another replied quietly:
"The Schiznors live in the shadows."
"They don't walk the streets telling people about their achievements… unlike others."
A pause.
"Look… he's here."
(Footsteps… tap… tap…)
Jason walked toward the ring.
The noise split in half—half cheering, half stunned silence.
Aaron stepped forward and shook his hand.
"So, school bully finally reached the finals, huh?"
Jason didn't respond. He just stared.
His eyes searched the crowd.
They found Erika.
She wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at Aaron.
Jealousy burned silently.
Aaron leaned closer.
"Tomorrow, I'll become the youngest champion Sanctuary City has ever seen."
Jason finally spoke.
"You're right," he said coldly.
"Sanctuary will see the youngest champion."
He stepped past Aaron.
"But it won't be you, fried shrimp."
The bell echoed.
The match was set.