I woke up the next morning feeling heavy—not from lack of sleep, but from the weight of Kaelen Vance's life pressing down on me. My own childhood had been golden in its own way, but shallow, built on ignoring emotions until they went away. Kaelen's childhood? That was a tragedy, plain and raw.
That hug last night changed something in me. The Sports Festival wasn't just about clawing back status anymore. It was about giving Kaelen's mom—this broken, exhausted woman—a win. A reason to smile that no one could take away. It was about keeping the promise I made, and also, deep down, for some reason, I wanted to win this badly.
I pulled on one of Kaelen's many designer workout outfits—he had enough gym gear to outfit a small team, most of it barely touched—and made my way to the kitchen.
My mother was already there, carefully setting the breakfast table. It still hit me every time I saw her like this, alive and within reach.
"Good morning, Mom," I said, trying to put real warmth into Kaelen's scratchy voice.
She glanced up, surprised, her face softer than yesterday but still carrying lines of strain. "Good morning, son. You're up early."
"Yeah," I said, pouring a protein shake. "I'm heading out now. Need to put in some extra work for the Sports Festival. If I'm going to run, I need to actually prepare."
Her hands stilled over the silverware. That flicker I'd noticed last night—hope, cautious and fragile—appeared again. "Going early? To practice? Don't push yourself too hard, Kaelen."
"No promises," I said with a crooked grin. I had to keep selling this version of Kaelen Vance. It was the only card I had.
As I reached towards the entrance of my class, I could feel the sense of unfamiliarity in the classroom. Once I entered and took my seat, I could hear some gossiping from some classmates.
The hallways buzzed with whispers—not the usual gossip, but the aftermath of the fight. Teachers, students, even the guys I'd gone up against couldn't keep their eyes off me.
In class, every stare felt like an evaluation. Kaelen Vance wasn't just a bully anymore—he was the bully who had dropped a senior. That gave me breathing room, but it also painted a giant target on my back.
I blocked it out. My focus was locked on the Sports Festival. I coasted through lessons on memory alone, mentally sketching out training drills instead.
When the lunch bell rang, I knew what was coming. That was always when grudges boiled over.
Sure enough, as I cut toward the cafeteria, three familiar figures stepped out from a side hall—yesterday's opponents, now reinforced by two bigger guys. They looked like a pack ready to settle a score.
"Vance!" the thick-necked one barked, lip still swollen. "You think one lucky punch ends this? We're taking you out back right now."
I stopped cold. Kaelen's instincts would've been to swing first. Mine—Marcus Sterling's instincts—were different: de-escalate, stay clean, don't give them the satisfaction. Another fight could mean expulsion. Another expulsion could break my mother.
So instead, I lifted my chin and looked right past them, catching the eye of a teacher stepping out of the faculty lounge.
"I already told you—I'm not fighting," I said, voice low but pitched just enough to carry. "I'm focusing on the Sports Festival. Get out of my way before I tell the dean exactly who's trying to ambush me after I promised to clean up my act."
The bluff landed perfectly. They shifted uneasily, catching sight of the teacher lingering down the hall.
"You're pathetic, Vance," the thick-necked one spat. "Hiding behind teachers now?"
"Whatever helps you sleep," I shot back with a shrug, using Kaelen's trademark arrogance as cover for my retreat. "Just remember—I'll see you on the track."
They backed off, muttering, their anger simmering. I didn't push it further. The real victory wasn't the fight—it was avoiding it.
By 1:30, classes were over. Half-day. A gift. I drove Kaelen's sleek car straight to the public track near school—somewhere he probably hadn't set foot since gym class.
I warmed up, then started jogging. The truth hit me fast: Kaelen had the build, but not the stamina. His lungs burned, his muscles ached, his stride was sloppy. This wasn't just Eli's laziness—it was a body corroded by late nights and bad habits.
But I pushed. Lap after lap, sprint after sprint, stretching, grinding, fighting through the burn. The pain felt different—earned. Not inherited like Kaelen's baggage, but self-inflicted, clean, purposeful. Every contraction, every ragged breath, was another step toward keeping my promise and building the future I wanted.
I was hammering out my last set of sprints, eyes locked on the track, when I felt it. That prickling sense at the back of my neck.
MEANWHILE..
Yui, who was still in the background of the scenes, was just watching everything unfold up until now. She promised she wouldn't interfere in any of his business, but now it seems to be changing a bit.
"This would be interesting," with a genuine smile on her face.