Chapter 12:
A moment with you
—Because you can’t punch what’s killing someone from the inside.
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There’s a sound your body makes when it starts to give out.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just this low, tired hum in your bones that says: “You should stop.”
I’ve never been good at listening.
---
The gym smelled like blood and old sweat—the perfume of failure. My fists slammed into the heavy bag until it swayed like a drunk sailor. Each hit echoed in the empty space, sharp and hollow, like everything else in my life.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Every punch had a name.
Debt. Fear. Helplessness.
And then—
Yume.
That one hit harder than the rest. Enough to make my knuckles split open again. The sting felt good. Pain’s honest. Pain doesn’t lie.
---
“Hayama.”
Jin’s voice cut through the silence like a dull knife. He stood in the doorway, suit wrinkled, cigarette burning down to ash.
“You trying to break the bag or your hands?”
“Either works,” I muttered, breath ragged.
He shook his head. “You’re not fighting a bag next week. You’re fighting a guy who eats people like you for breakfast.”
“Sounds like a picky eater,” I said.
He didn’t laugh.
“You’ve got one shot at this. Screw it up, and you’re done.”
Then he left, trailing smoke like bad news.
---
I didn’t stop hitting the bag. Couldn’t. Because the second I did, her face would show up in my head again—smiling like the world wasn’t falling apart, blind eyes bright like they’d seen more than I ever would.
So I hit until my arms felt like wet cement and the floor tilted under me.
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Meanwhile — Somewhere Else
Yume sat in a hospital waiting room that smelled like bleach and despair. White walls. White coats. White lies.
Her fingers curled around her phone like it was a lifeline, but she didn’t text me. Not yet.
The nurse called her name. She stood, slow, steady, like the ground under her wasn’t cracking.
The doctor’s words blurred into static: progressed… aggressive… limited time.
She smiled through it. Because that’s what she does. Smiles like it’ll stop the bleeding.
When she walked out, the paper with the results crumpled in her fist, her lips were still curved. Perfect. Bright.
But her eyes—
They looked like someone who’d learned the expiration date on their own heartbeat.
---
Back to Me
I was on the floor now. Sweat soaking into concrete, breath scraping my throat raw.
And all I could think was:
Why does her smile feel heavier every time I see it?
Why does it sound… tired?
She’s been laughing less. Talking less. Like she’s holding something behind her teeth, afraid if she opens her mouth, it’ll spill out and drown us both.
I wanted to ask. Wanted to drag the truth out of her no matter how ugly it was.
But every time I looked at her, the words died before they left my throat.
Because I was scared.
Scared that if I asked, I’d hear the one thing I couldn’t fight.
---
The storm outside the gym rattled the windows, rain hammering like the world was trying to break in.
I stayed there until my fists stopped answering to me. Until the bag was smeared with my blood and the ground felt like quicksand.
Because this wasn’t about winning anymore.
It was about time.
And time was a fight I didn’t know how to win.
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