"A hero must be indestructible."
The words still echoed in Kotobe's head as his body hit the arena floor.
The cold sand stuck to his cheek, the world vibrated under the crowd's screams, but it all faded away. There was only that phrase. Not the one he had just said to Dante. The other one. The first. The one he had heard long before he knew what a hero was.
[FLASHBACK]
They were running.
Not to escape. Not yet.
They ran because the world was vast, because the evening air stung their lungs, and because, for a few minutes, they could be something other than what school reflected back at them every day.
— Captain Man! Defensive stance!
Kanata raised his arms, legs apart, chest puffed out. He perfectly imitated the pose seen a hundred times on TV. Too perfectly for a kid their age.
Kotobe arrived a second later. He stopped short, caught his breath, then stood beside his friend. His pose was less assured, a bit too stiff, a bit too forced. But he put everything he had into it.
— A hero must be indestructible! shouted Kotobe.
Kanata burst out laughing.
— No, no, you're saying it too fast. You gotta pause, watch…
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then declared in a deep, almost solemn voice:
— A… hero… must… be indestructible.
Kotobe smiled. A real smile. A rare one.
They were in a vacant lot, on the edge of town. Grey buildings in the distance, rusted car carcasses, tall grass whipping their legs. For them, it was a battlefield. A setting worthy of a final episode.
— I'll be Captain Man, Kanata said without hesitation.
— Then I'll be… his partner. The one who always arrives late, but still helps.
— No. You'll be a hero too.
— I don't have the face for it, Kotobe replied, shrugging.
Kanata turned to him, suddenly serious.
— That's not true. Heroes aren't about your face.
Kotobe looked down. He was used to this speech. He also knew that tomorrow, everything would go back to normal.
They kept playing until the sky turned orange, then purple. Until their voices grew hoarse. Until reality called them back to order.
The walk home was quieter.
⸻
The next morning, middle school awaited them.
The hallways were narrow, saturated with noise. Laughter, footsteps, conversations that always seemed to exclude Kotobe. He walked slightly behind Kanata, as if he needed that half-second to hide behind him.
— Hey, Captain Man! a voice yelled.
Kotobe tensed up.
A group of boys blocked the way. The same ones. Same confidence. Same quiet contempt.
— Forget your cape today?
— Watch out, if you keep playing hero, you'll end up squashed.
Kanata clenched his teeth.
— Just leave it, Kotobe murmured.
But one of them approached Kotobe, looked him up and down, then sneered.
— Seriously… you seen your face? Even Captain Man wouldn't want you as an extra.
The others laughed.
Kotobe felt heat rise to his cheeks. Not anger. Shame. That sticky feeling that had clung to him for years.
— Hey, another added, looking at some girls a little farther away. Don't you think he's scary?
One of the girls giggled.
— Eww… looks like he ran into a wall.
Kotobe wanted to disappear.
He knew what they said about him. He'd always known. Nose too big. Shifty eyes. Scrawny body. Even when he was silent, even when he did everything to be invisible, they reminded him of his place.
— Stop it, said Kanata.
A simple word. Too simple.
— Or what? the biggest one replied.
Kanata stepped forward. Not much. Just enough to be in front of Kotobe.
— Or I won't let you pass.
Silence. Then laughter.
The blow came fast.
Kotobe didn't even have time to understand. Kanata slammed into the lockers, fell to the floor. Bags slid. Students watched, some amused, others indifferent.
Kotobe stood frozen.
— Look at him, your hero, a voice said.
— Doesn't even protect his own buddy.
The words hit harder than fists.
When a teacher arrived, it was all over. Kanata got up limping. He smiled at Kotobe.
— See? I stayed standing.
Kotobe nodded. Unable to speak.
⸻
The days that followed were all the same.
Kanata endured. Kotobe observed.
He hated that part of himself. That silent cowardice. He told himself that one day, he would speak. That one day, he would act.
But every morning, the mirror gave him back the same face.
— You're ugly.
He'd heard it too many times. Said without anger. Like a fact.
Even the girls. Especially the girls. Their laughter wasn't mean. Just cruel through negligence.
— Seriously, how does he even leave the house?
Kotobe curled in on himself even more.
At night, he watched Captain Man.
Always standing. Always straight. Always admired.
Kanata sometimes came over. They'd watch the episode together, sitting on the floor.
— One day, we'll be like him, Kanata would say.
Kotobe didn't reply.
⸻
Then Kanata changed.
He no longer just stood as a shield. He spoke. He answered. He got back up when pushed down.
— Why do you do that? Kotobe asked one evening.
Kanata shrugged.
— Because if no one does, then we really are losers.
The word hung in the air.
— You think we are? Kotobe murmured.
Kanata stared at him for a long time.
— No. But they want us to believe we are.
⸻
The day everything changed, Kotobe wasn't there.
He'd stayed after school. Again. Collective punishment. He was stacking chairs as the sun set.
When he left, the school was almost empty.
He found Kanata near the vacant lot.
Lying down.
Sirens in the distance. Adults talking too fast. Too loud.
An accident, they said. A fight that got out of hand.
Kotobe didn't scream. Didn't cry. Not right away.
He stood still, as if his body refused to understand.
But the truth was there, Kanata was indeed dead.
Yes… Dead.
⸻
The following days were a blur.
The empty chair next to him.
The silent vacant lot.
The Captain Man posters that didn't look the same anymore.
One evening, Kotobe stood up abruptly.
He stared at the screen.
— A hero must be indestructible.
He repeated the phrase. Again. Again.
The next day, the same boys were waiting for him.
— So, where's your bodyguard?
Kotobe trembled.
Then he remembered.
Kanata in front of him.
The smile despite the pain.
The clumsy, yet proud pose.
Kotobe inhaled.
— Stop it.
They laughed.
Kotobe stepped forward.
He imitated Captain Man's pose. Badly. Too rigid. Too slow.
— Who do you think you are?
— A hero.
The blow sent him to the floor.
Yet he stayed on his knees.
— A hero… must… be indestructible.
He got up. Again.
He lost. But he didn't run.
⸻
Years later, in the arena, Kotobe tasted the same metallic flavor in his mouth.
The same vertigo.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
When he uttered the phrase, it was no longer an imitation.
It was a promise kept.
And somewhere, in that suspended silence, Kanata was no longer just a memory.
He was the reason.
---
{Teaser: Come back tomorrow for the continuation Kotobe vs Dante. Adaptation vs. tradition—who will win this duel? You'll experience it in the next chapter of ONE: NO LIMITS.}