The cold air bit at his lungs as Satoru ran.
His shoes slapped the pavement, rhythm jagged, breath ragged. Sweat clung to his back like a second skin. The morning sky hadn't even lightened yet, but he'd already passed his second checkpoint.
He didn't stop.
Didn't slow down.
Every joint ached. His calves trembled. His right ankle had been swollen since yesterday's misstep near the river curb.
But he kept going.
Because the fear still lived in him. Because the helplessness still haunted him.
Because standing still hurt worse than anything else.
---
He stumbled to a stop behind the train station fence, nearly collapsing onto a bench. He hunched forward, hands braced on his knees, and wheezed through the burn in his throat.
He checked his time.
Worse than last week.
Still too slow.
Still too weak.
He didn't cry. Not anymore.
But he shook.
---
In class later, a boy made fun of his limp.
"Try not to trip over your own feet, Satoru."
Satoru didn't respond.
Didn't look up.
He just gripped his pencil tighter.
Because one day, he'd save someone like that.
Even if it hurt.
---
At the flower shop, his mother noticed the way he favored one leg.
"You pushing yourself again?" she asked gently.
He nodded.
"You don't have to become a hero to make a difference," she said.
"I know," he said.
"But I still want to."
She touched his hand briefly, her fingers frail but warm. "Just… don't forget to rest."
He smiled. "I'll try."
He wouldn't. But the smile mattered.
---
That evening, he returned to the alleyway where he'd frozen during the mugging weeks ago.
It was quiet now. Empty. Just a few trash bags and the echo of old failure.
He stood there for a while, breathing in the memory.
Then, with shaking fingers, he pulled out a small tag and taped it to the lamppost.
> "CHECKED. RESPONSE RECORDED. POTENTIAL BLACKOUT ZONE."
It didn't matter if no one saw it.
He knew.
And one day, that would be enough.
---
In his notebook, he wrote:
> "Pain is data. Every ache tells me what I need to fix. I am still learning. I am still moving."
And finally, in bolder strokes:
> "I'm not done yet."