Chapter 22: Training Like Death

—Because sometimes, the only way to love someone is to break yourself until there’s nothing left to break.

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The gym smelled like rust and old blood.

Maybe because there was rust and old blood. Mine. Other people’s. Doesn’t matter. Blood’s all the same color when it dries.

Jin stood by the door, arms folded, watching like a guy who’s already bought a ticket to a funeral but doesn’t know the date yet.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“No,” I said, wrapping my fists in tape that’s seen better days.

“Good. Because this isn’t a fight. This is suicide.”

“Then bury me after she smiles again.”

His face twitched. Not quite pity. Not quite respect. Something worse: understanding.

---

Training started with pain. Then more pain. Then the kind of pain that makes the first two feel like foreplay.

Sprints until my lungs turned inside out. Push-ups until my arms shook like old buildings in an earthquake.

Then the bag.

Always the bag.

Every punch was a question I didn’t want answered.

Why her? Why now? Why can’t I fix this?

The bag didn’t reply. Just swung back, hitting me harder than life ever could.

Blood leaked through the tape, painting the canvas red. I didn’t care. Blood’s just ink for promises you can’t write down.

---

Jin tried to pull me off. Twice. Failed both times.

“Two weeks, Kazuki! If you burn out now—”

“I’m not burning out,” I said, spitting iron. “I’m burning everything.”

---

At night, I dreamed of fists. Of stars falling like teeth. Of Yume smiling in a white dress, her voice soft as dust:

“Promise me you won’t leave me alone.”

And I woke up choking on the truth:

I might have to break that promise to keep it.

---

By day five, my ribs felt like shattered glass wrapped in skin. By day seven, I couldn’t lift my left arm without tasting metal in my mouth.

Didn’t stop. Won’t stop.

Because every time I thought about quitting, I saw her sitting by that window, blind eyes tilted toward a world that doesn’t deserve her.

And I thought:

If death wants her, it’s going through me first.

---

The night before the fight, Jin taped my hands one last time. His fingers shook a little.

“You don’t come back from this,” he said quietly.

“Maybe I’m not supposed to.”

“Then why?”

I looked at him. The words came easy this time.

“Because she deserves more time. And I’m the only thing left I can give her.”

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When I left the gym, the city felt colder. The stars looked sharp enough to cut.

I walked home, fists aching, heart louder than the traffic, and thought:

Two weeks. One fight.

And then… whatever’s left of me.