Souta tasted blood.

  It was thick on his tongue, metallic and bitter. His cheek throbbed where the first punch had landed. The sting spread through his jaw, his ribs aching from the kicks that followed. The cold pavement of the schoolyard pressed against his palms as he struggled to push himself up.

  Laughter echoed around him.

  "Look at this loser."

  "Thinks he can just walk around like he matters."

  "Pathetic."

  They weren’t just words. They were daggers, sharpened by years of repetition. Souta had heard them before. He had felt them before.

  But today was different.

  Today, he had snapped.

  Today, he had fought back.

  ---

  A Battle He Never Stood a Chance In

  It started with a shove. A foot tripping him from behind. A voice whispering something cruel in his ear. And then, before he could think—before the voice in his head could warn him—he turned and threw a punch.

  It was wild. Desperate.

  And it landed.

  For a moment, just a moment, he saw surprise in their eyes. He saw them hesitate.

  But then the numbers kicked in.

  One.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four against one.

  He barely managed another hit before a knee drove into his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. A fist followed, slamming against his temple. His vision blurred.

  He collapsed.

  ---

  The Truth Hits Harder Than Any Punch

  Souta coughed, wiping blood from his mouth.

  "If I had friends…" He muttered through gritted teeth. "If I had people to back me up… I wouldn’t have lost."

  Silence.

  Then, the voice spoke.

  "So, you only call someone a friend when they fight for you?"

  Souta flinched. "That’s not what I—"

  "Then what are you saying?" The voice was calm. "That you wish you had people who needed you as much as you needed them? That you want loyalty built on nothing but survival?"

  Souta didn’t respond.

  "Let me ask you something." The voice grew sharper. "If you had a group of people, just like them, backing you up… What would have stopped you from becoming them?"

  His breath caught.

  "Would you really be any different? Or would you be standing on the other side, kicking someone who had no one?"

  The words burned deeper than the bruises.

  Souta clenched his fists. "I… I wouldn’t be like them."

  "Wouldn't you?"

  He swallowed hard.

  ---

  The Fire That Burns Alone

  "You think strength is in numbers." The voice continued. "You think you lost because you were alone."

  Souta didn’t answer.

  "But tell me, Souta—"

  The voice lowered, pressing into his mind like a whisper from the abyss.

  "If your strength only exists when others are with you, was it ever yours to begin with?"

  Something inside him cracked.

  "Anyone can throw a punch when they have a crowd cheering them on. Anyone can stand tall when someone else holds them up. But true strength?"

  The voice paused, letting the weight of the words sink in.

  "True strength is standing up when no one is there to catch you."

  Souta’s body ached, but his chest felt tighter for a different reason now.

  ---

  The Riddle That Cuts Deeper Than Any Blade

  "A lone wolf does not seek a pack to become strong.

  It becomes strong because it was left alone.

  So tell me, Souta…

  Are you waiting for someone to lift you—

  Or are you finally ready to rise on your own?"

  Goosebumps crawled up his arms.

  His breath steadied.

  And this time, when he pushed himself up from the ground—

  He did it alone.