The room was thick with tension as Riku, still recovering from the sharp jolt of pain, clutched his side. He gave a thumbs-up toward the girl with woven hair, who sat off to the side with a huff. His grin was wide and exaggerated—though the pain from moments earlier lingered in his eyes, it did nothing to dull his lighthearted demeanor.
Ignoring the discomfort, Riku bounced to his feet. With a dramatic flourish, he struck a ridiculous pose, one hand outstretched as if commanding an invisible audience. A playful smirk crept across his face as he began to sway to an imaginary beat.
He started slow, a goofy two-step that looked more like a waddle, arms flailing just enough to provoke a chuckle. Then, with a spin on his heel, he raised his hands in mock celebration. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Riku show is finally here!" he declared, his voice dripping with faux grandeur.
Overflow, standing silently in the middle of the room, watched him. His expression was unreadable, a calm stillness that contrasted sharply with Riku's antics. He wasn't amused, but he wasn't annoyed either—just observant.
Riku doubled down on the theatrics. He shuffled forward, throwing in a dramatic moonwalk that ended with an exaggerated bow. "Thank you, thank you," he said, pretending to tip an invisible hat. "I'll be here all week!"
The girl in the corner rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. "You're an idiot," she muttered
Riku twirled to face Overflow, pointing at him with a finger-gun gesture. "And now, for my toughest critic." He strutted forward, his steps over-the-top, his posture exaggeratedly regal. "What do you think? Ten out of ten? Or are you one of those hard-to-please types?"
Overflow didn't respond. His gaze remained steady, focused on Riku in a way that felt less like a judgment of the performance and more like an attempt to see through the mask.
The silence hung for a moment before Riku snapped his fingers. "Tough crowd," he quipped, pivoting back into another spin. He finished with an elaborate dip, arms outstretched as if expecting applause.
Still, Overflow's eyes didn't waver. He stared at Riku, unmoving, his expression calm yet unyielding, as though peeling back the layers of the performance to see the truth underneath.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty seconds.
Thirty seconds.
Riku stopped moving, lowering his arms and tilting his head slightly. His grin remained, but the air in the room grew suffocating, the tension like a coiled spring ready to snap. He took a step forward.
"Well, if you won't make the first move, I will," he said with a smirk.
Before his foot could fully land, Overflow surged forward with a speed that seemed to tear the air apart. One second, Riku was smirking; the next, Overflow's fist collided with his stomach, the force sending a shockwave through the room.
Riku stumbled back, gasping, but there was no reprieve. Overflow's attacks came in a relentless torrent—fists and knees striking with the precision and fury of a man unchained. Riku tried to dodge, to weave through the onslaught, but the speed and power were too overwhelming. Blow after blow landed, each more devastating than the last.
A punch to the ribs cracked something, forcing a wheeze from Riku's lips. A knee to his chest knocked the wind from him, leaving him defenseless as Overflow grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the ground. The impact echoed like a thunderclap, dust and debris scattering from the force.
Overflow didn't stop—he didn't even slow down. His fists rained down like a storm, each strike shaking the floor as Riku's body went limp under the assault. Blood spattered across the ground, a grim testament to the sheer brutality of the beating.
"Tyrone, stop!" a voice roared, desperate and panicked.
The blonde-haired man rushed forward, grabbing Overflow by the shoulders and pulling with all his strength. "Come to your senses, Tyrone! You'll kill him!"
Overflow's body heaved, his breaths ragged as his fists trembled, still poised to strike. His eyes were wild, unfocused, as though he hadn't even heard the plea. For a moment, it seemed as if he might continue. But slowly, the blonde-haired man's words penetrated the haze, and his fists fell to his sides.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Riku lay motionless on the ground, his body battered and broken. Blood pooled beneath him, his chest barely rising with shallow breaths.
Overflow stared down at Riku, his hands shaking as the reality of what he'd done set in. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. I was wrong. He wasn't this almighty being.
Overflow's breath hitched, his jaw tightening as guilt crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He turned away, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of his actions was physically crushing him.
Overflow, still standing rigidly, didn't turn around. His fists clenched at his sides, the tremors running through his body betraying the storm of emotions within. His lips moved as though he was whispering something, a silent prayer or a plea to a higher power.
The blonde man rushed toward the door, practically ripping it open as he shouted again, his voice carrying through the corridors. "We need James here now!"
The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, growing louder. People began pouring into the room—other trainees, instructors, medics. A hushed, horrified murmur rippled through the crowd as they took in the scene: Riku's broken body, the blood pooling beneath him
James Kelly Lawrence stood in the doorway, silent.
His gaze swept over the room, sharp and unwavering, taking in every detail — the blood on the floor, the medics working feverishly to stabilize Riku, and Overflow standing off to the side, fists clenched, chest still rising and falling from exertion. The air was thick, suffocating, yet James didn't speak right away. He didn't need to. His presence alone seemed to darken the room.
"Lacey," James said quietly, his voice calm — too calm. "What happened here?"
The blonde-haired man swallowed hard. "It's... it's bad. Overflow lost control. He didn't stop, and Riku… he might not..." His voice faltered, but James's expression remained carved from stone.
"Get out," James said softly.
Lacey blinked. "W-what?"
James's eyes slid to him — cold, piercing. "I said get out."
Lacey didn't hesitate this time. He turned and left, his footsteps almost frantic as they faded down the hallway.
James took a step forward, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor. The medics worked silently, avoiding his gaze as they moved Riku onto the stretcher. No one dared speak. No one dared break the tension that seemed to thicken with each second James remained.
Finally, James stopped in front of Overflow.
For a long moment, he said nothing — just stared. Not with anger, not with disappointment, but with something far worse. Calculation.
Overflow, still shaking, forced himself to meet James's gaze. "I... I thought he could handle it," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
"You thought?" James repeated, his tone like ice creeping across glass. He stepped closer, the space between them evaporating. "Tell me, Tyrone... did you think before you shattered his ribs? Before you left him choking in a pool of his own blood?"
Overflow flinched. "I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't mean to?" James cut in, his voice still low but laced with something venomous. "That's what you're going with?"
The silence stretched unbearably thin. Overflow's breathing hitched, and his fingers twitched at his sides.
"You want to know what your problem is?" James asked quietly. His eyes never left Overflow's. "You think power is an excuse. You think being strong gives you permission to lose control — to unleash whatever storm is brewing inside you without consequence."
James leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm confident in our medical staff's expertise. Riku will live, but if this happens again" he said, his tone deathly calm, "I will personally make sure that storm swallows you whole."
The words hung heavy in the air, colder than steel. Overflow's throat tightened.
"Get yourself together," James said, stepping back. "Because if you ever lose control like that again…" He paused, his gaze narrowing.
"You won't get the chance to regret it."
Without another word, James turned on his heel and walked out, his footsteps fading into the silence he left behind.
Overflow stood frozen, unable to move. His breaths were shallow, his fists still trembling.
He wasn't sure what scared him more — how much damage he'd done…
...or the promise in James's voice.
The Night Before The Tournament
The sleeping quarters were quiet, but no one was truly at ease. The tournament loomed over them, pressing down like an unspoken weight. Some tried to sleep, others stared at the ceiling, lost in their own thoughts. The air was thick with tension, and eventually, Overflow broke it.
"Before you all fight, I need to hear at least one of your stories," he said. His voice wasn't demanding, but there was a weight behind it.
The group exchanged glances before Joseph Banks exhaled and leaned forward. "Fine. I'll talk."
All eyes turned to him. His expression was unreadable, but the way his fingers curled into his palm betrayed something deeper.
"You know what my miracle is, right? Overflow, Furyforge. It turns my rage into strength, creativity, resilience. But you don't get a power like that unless you have rage to begin with."
Joseph stared at his own hands for a moment. The light from the ceiling reflected in his eyes like embers.
"I grew up alone. Not because I didn't have parents—they were there, physically. But they didn't give a damn about me. My old man thought I was a disappointment, my mom avoided me when she wasn't trying to mold me into whatever she thought I should be. And the people around me? They were scared of me. Thought I had a 'temper problem.'" His jaw clenched. "They weren't wrong."
The room stayed silent. No one dared interrupt.
"I used to fight everyone. Kids who looked at me wrong, teachers who tried to discipline me, even random people on the street. I didn't care. If they pissed me off, I swung. And the worst part? I liked it. Liked feeling strong, liked seeing people afraid. It was the only time I felt anything."
His hands curled into fists, flickers of heat dancing at his fingertips. "Then one day, I went too far. Beat some kid so bad he had to be hospitalized. That's when I realized—I wasn't just angry. I was alone. And I'd done it to myself."
Joseph took a breath, letting the heat in his hands die down. "I'm still trying to change. Trying to be better. But that anger? It never goes away. I just learned to control it." His gaze swept over the group. "And tomorrow, when I step into that arena, I'm gonna prove to myself that I can control it. That I am more than my rage."
A heavy silence settled over the room. No one spoke right away, but they didn't need to. Joseph had laid bare a piece of himself, and that was enough.
Cory Ken sat quietly, absorbing every word. His fingers tightened on his blanket. He had known—everyone here had their battles, their struggles—but hearing it firsthand made something sink deeper in his chest.
That was when Overflow's gaze landed on him.
"And what about you, Cory?" Overflow asked.
Cory's head snapped up. "What?"
"You haven't said much this whole time," Overflow said. "And, no offense, but you don't carry yourself like the rest of them. I need to know—why are you here?"
Cory felt his throat tighten. He could feel the others' eyes on him, waiting, expecting something. But what was he supposed to say?
"…I mean, it's not that interesting," he muttered. "I didn't have some tragic past. No dead parents. No big trauma. My life was… normal."
Overflow raised an eyebrow. "Normal?"
Cory exhaled, forcing himself to meet their gazes. "I grew up in a good home. My parents are alive. Supportive, even. I had friends. I never went hungry, never had to fight for my life." His voice dropped. "And that's the problem."
He felt the words like a weight in his chest. He wasn't sure he had ever said them out loud before.
"Everyone here has something driving them," Cory continued. "Pain. Loss. A reason to fight. And me? I don't. I trained, I got stronger and I ended up here—but did I earn it? Do I even belong?"
The room was silent again, but it was different this time.
Then, Overflow let out a short laugh—not mocking, but knowing. "You think you don't belong because you didn't suffer?"
Cory swallowed. "It's not just that." His hands balled into fists. "I look at everyone here, and I see people who had to be strong. Who fought because they had no other choice. But me? If I had stayed home, lived a normal life, nothing would've changed. I had a choice. And I still don't even know why I'm here."
Overflow studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You're asking the wrong question."
Cory frowned. "What?"
"You're so stuck on whether you deserve to be here," Overflow said, "that you haven't even asked yourself what you want to do with it."
Cory's breath hitched slightly.
"Yeah, a lot of us fight because we had no other choice," Overflow admitted. "But strength isn't just about pain. It's about what you choose to do with it. You chose to train. You chose to step into this world. And if you think you don't belong, then prove yourself wrong in that arena tomorrow."
Cory wanted to believe those words, but doubt still gnawed at him. He had worked hard, but was that enough?
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle.
"…I don't know if I can," he admitted quietly.
Overflow's expression didn't change. "Then figure it out."
The weight in Cory's chest hadn't lifted, but now… now there was something else mixed in. A question he didn't have the answer to.
Not yet.
The tournament would decide.