2. The Phone Call

Chapter 002
The Phone Call

"A one? Is it even possible to get a one!?"

His mother's voice sounded more surprised than furious. Scoring a 1 out of 5 in every single discipline wasn't just failing. It was the definition of failure.

Her straight black hair swayed as she scolded the boy, who had just arrived home with his final results. Yugo didn't look remotely concerned. He stood with both hands behind his head, wearing a disarming grin, as his mother pointed at the zeros.

She wanted him in a proper high school — the kind that produces scholars. But with such scores, she didn't have many options left.

"Yugo, what am I going to do with you?" She sighed, her charcoal eyes drifting past him.

Maybe your father was right… she thought, as her gaze settled on the family photo, centered on the credenza next to the living room entrance, not a trace of dust.

In the photo, a younger Yugo sat perched on his father's shoulders, gap-toothed and gleaming. His mother beamed beside them. But it was his father who caught the eye, dressed in a military uniform weighted down by far too many badges for an ordinary soldier.

Despite her best efforts, her one-point wonder wasn't going to get into any of the schools she'd dreamed of. Even a Military Academy would take something close to a miracle.

But Yugo stayed positive — regardless of the outcome, he would not let any results define him. That same night, before heading upstairs, he stopped by the front door and looked at an old olive green army jacket that hung on a coat hook.

It was the only thing they could bring back from his father's last mission. A mission that generated news articles. He died a hero. And now that jacket was the only thing both Yugo and his mother had left.

Yugo approached it, his expression serious. Not confident — but determined. He grabbed the jacket with care, as a parent holds a newborn. He looked at it, now squeezed between his hands, his expression caught somewhere between grief and determination as he fell to his knees, embracing it close.

He felt too small to fill his father's shoes. But he wanted to walk his path and become someone like him — regardless.

He stayed like that for a moment. Then he stood up.

He took the jacket upstairs with him. That same night, Yugo tried it on — the sleeves covered his hands. Yugo checked himself in the mirror. He finally realized how much thinner his arms were compared to his father's. The reality sank in as he looked in the mirror. His arms. His frame, he had a long path ahead. But he’d made up his mind. Even if he had to face the reason he couldn't concentrate, the reason he couldn't stay still, the reason he became a one-point wonder.

He placed the jacket by his bedside table. He lay down on the bed — and as he fell asleep, the jacket could not be found by that bedside table anymore. That night, he slept holding onto it like a baby holds onto their mother.

— ✦ —

The next morning, the sky hadn't given any sign of sunrise yet — but Yugo was already in his backyard. Half grass, half concrete, not too big, not too small — the perfect space. He was dressed like an old man ready for jogging, blue tracksuit and all, and just like his father had taught him when he was little, the training had two stages.

First comes the body — the catalyst of all Power. Yugo tightened his muscles and clenched both fists. He bent his knees as Power surged from within.

"It's all about controlling your breathing."

Yugo's muscles vibrated as he repeated his father's words.

"Forget to breathe, and you run out of oxygen. Breathe too much, and you get a tonic-clonic convulsion."

The Power surge within him was big — but he couldn't contain it. It was like pouring a full pot into a small bowl. And he knew why. Because after the body came what Yugo was afraid to train — the mind.

"Here we go again…"

He stopped. He straightened up — head and body perfectly still — and closed his eyes.

And then it came. The same feeling he had before falling asleep every night. The same feeling he had in every classroom, for as long as he could remember. The noise. All of it louder than before, like it got worse every year. With his eyes closed, it became too much — his mind pushed in every direction at once, relentless and overwhelming.

He wasn't sure why. He had never been.

The strain on his body was nothing compared to this. He couldn't hold that state any longer — and just like when he was a boy, he opened his eyes.

He felt weak. He always felt weak after that.

The first signs of sunrise were breaking across the rooftops, birds singing, and the morning fog had grown thin — somehow, without deciding to, he was grinning. A massive, ridiculous grin aimed at nobody in particular.

"When you fail, you don't give up. You pay it back with 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats — and a 10km run."

Yugo's face lit up as he started his punishment.

— ✦ —

"Mrs. Forte, I understand." A man's voice, excessively slurred, came from the other side. "This was his wish. It has been a long time — maybe longer than I should have waited."

The school break was almost over, and Yugo hadn't been accepted to any high school yet. His mother watched him from the kitchen window as she spoke on the phone.

"Consider it done. All arrangements will be made."

"Thank you, Mr. Albert."

The call ended. She kept watching her boy — who had turned fifteen during the break — as she tightened both hands against her chest.

Oh Ric… why did you have to leave us so soon.

She stood there for a moment. Just a moment.

Then she opened the window.

"Yugo, lunch is ready."

"Sorry ma, but I still need to do my 10km run," Yugo said, still mid-squat.

"I will say it one more time, my dear." His mother's smile was warm and completely terrifying simultaneously. "Lunch. Is. Ready." Her voice was as stiff as her expression.

"Yes, ma'am." Yugo snapped as he immediately walked inside.

Inside, the smell of freshly made Sukiyaki was impossible to miss. Mrs. Forte had already served Yugo his bowl — thinly sliced beef draped over a tangle of glass noodles and soft tofu, everything soaked in a sweet soy broth that had been simmering long enough to turn the vegetables tender. An egg sat on the side, waiting to be broken.

The kitchen was small but didn’t feel cramped — his mother had a way of making the space feel cozy but never crowded. The smell of Sukiyaki filled every corner of the kitchen. She stood by the stove wearing her orange-and-white apron — a last-minute present dad bought on their first anniversary.

The table was set for three. Yugo sat in the middle, his mother on the left — and the right side stayed empty.

Yugo's eyes lit up as he dug in. The flavor was divine, a mix of spices — sweet and savory at once, the soy broth warm all the way down. The beef was tender enough to fall apart. A dish made with love.

His mom was about to sit when he stretched his arm out with an empty bowl.

"More please!"

Mrs. Forte handed him another bowl, her expression completely unfazed. By the time she fully sat down, Yugo had finished two bowls of Sukiyaki.

"Ah." Yugo sighed, giving thanks for the food.

"I have news from the Academy." Yugo's eyes lit up immediately as his mother spoke. “It turns out there were some delays this year," she continued, her hands folding neatly in her lap. The way they always did when she was about to say something important. "But you have been accepted."

Yugo was on his feet immediately.

And just like that — the most ridiculous pose, aimed straight at the ceiling.

"I hope you're watching this, dad!"

The kitchen went quiet for just a moment. His mother's eyes drifted — just briefly — to the empty seat on the right. Then back to her son. She watched him with a soft smile — the kind that takes effort to keep small.

"HAHAHA!" Yugo kept going, each pose more ridiculous than the last.

"But I hope you know what this means." His mom cut in as Yugo looked at her, slightly confused. "If you score another one, you come back. And your career as a Power soldier ends, then and there."

Yugo's gaze got serious. He nodded — his posture screaming determination.

— End of Chapter 2 —