Chapter 11: The Call From Darkness

—Because every promise costs more than you think.

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The call came after midnight.

Of course it did. Bad news never has the decency to arrive at a reasonable hour.

I was sitting in my apartment, staring at the ceiling like it owed me an explanation for everything. My hands were still raw from the last fight, knuckles split like old pavement. The napkin with Yume’s list sat on the table, folded like a fragile little bomb.

The phone buzzed. Jin’s name lit up the screen.

I answered because ignoring him never works.

> “Kazuki,” he said. His voice had that sharp edge it gets when he’s about to ruin my life.

“Got you a fight.”

“Not interested.”

“You will be.”

“Doubt it.”

“Biggest payout you’ve ever seen.”

“Still not interested.”

There was a pause. I could hear him exhale smoke through the line.

> “You planning to retire? Sit around writing poetry about waves with your little girlfriend?”

My jaw tightened.

“She’s not—” I stopped. No point. Jin never cared about the truth unless it made money.

> “Look,” he continued, “you know the rules. No fight, no cash. No cash, and the people you owe don’t stay polite. You want them showing up at your door? Or hers?”

That one hit like a gut punch. Clean. Precise. Cruel.

I stared at the napkin again. Three stupid dreams scrawled in ink.

Grand piano. Ocean. Dessert.

Dreams I’d promised myself I’d make real.

“…Who’s the opponent?” I asked, hating myself already.

Jin’s voice sharpened with satisfaction.

> “Guy’s a monster. Undefeated. Likes to break things. Including faces. But hey—you win, you clear your debts. Maybe even walk away from all this crap.”

“And if I lose?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“Fine,” I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

“When?”

“Week from now. I’ll send details.”

The line clicked dead. Just like that, my future was decided by someone else’s greed. Again.

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I sat there for a long time, listening to the silence hum like a broken streetlight.

Then I grabbed my jacket and left. Because sitting still feels like dying.

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Outside Yume’s Building

It was late when I walked her home. Too late. The streets were empty except for the ghosts of neon lights.

She was humming softly beside me, a tune I didn’t know. Her steps were light, almost floating, like she didn’t feel the weight I was dragging behind me.

When we reached the door, she smiled.

> “Thanks for tonight.”

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but then it happened.

Her smile faltered. Her knees buckled.

And before I could think, she was in my arms, cold and trembling like someone had stolen all her strength in an instant.

“Yume—” My voice cracked harder than I wanted.

She forced a laugh, breathless.

> “Relax. I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Fine?” My grip tightened like I could hold the lie together.

Her head rested against my chest for a second longer than it should have. Then she pushed away, smiling again—too bright, too clean.

> “See? Not dead yet.”

I wanted to scream. Instead, I nodded like an idiot.

Because that’s what cowards do when the truth is too big to look at.

“Go inside,” I said.

She waved, disappeared behind the door like the world wasn’t breaking in my hands.

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I walked away with fists jammed in my pockets and fear coiled in my throat like barbed wire.

Not fear of losing the fight. Not fear of dying in the ring.

But fear of time running out before I could keep a promise she never even asked for.

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The city lights blurred as I walked, and for the first time since I was a kid, I wanted to pray.

Not to win. Not to live.

Just to have enough days left to make her smile again.

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