"How did I get here."
That was the only thought in Greg's mind as he lay on cold concrete, chest rising in shallow bursts. The world was blurry, distant. His life was flashing behind his eyes whether he wanted it to or not.
A memory surfaced.
He was ten. Summer. The bleachers smelled like popcorn and cut grass. A baseball game was playing under bright lights and Greg sat on the edge of the seat, legs swinging, eyes wide.
The crack of the bat. The roar of the crowd.
In that moment he decided: _This. This is what I want to be._
"Hey Greg, you gonna watch baseball all day?"
A voice called from the street. One of his friends, skidding to a stop on a bike, grin wide with that pure childhood excitement.
"Come on. Let's go play."
Greg jumped up, bat slung over his shoulder.
"I'm coming!"
He ran toward them, looked back at the field one last time, and smiled. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.
Time moved fast after that.
By thirteen, he was at tryouts. Three years of backyard practice, solo drills, ice on his arm every night. When his turn came, he was nothing short of amazing. Coaches were nodding. Kids were watching.
He made the team easily.
For the next year, Greg was _the_ guy. Star player. Popular. Good grades. The future looked set.
That was, until Trevor showed up.
Transfer student. Quiet. From a country that didn't even have baseball. But when Trevor smiled, it reached his eyes. And when Greg talked, Trevor actually listened.
They were opposites. Greg loud, Trevor calm. Greg reckless, Trevor careful.
It worked.
Then Trevor decided to join the team.
Greg laughed at first. "Bro, you don't even know the rules."
So he taught him. Grip. Stance. Timing. Pitch recognition.
And Trevor learned. Fast. Too fast.
Within a month he was matching Greg. Within two, he was better.
Greg told himself it was fine. Friendly rivalry. It'd push him harder.
But the gap didn't close. It widened.
Every practice, Trevor did something Greg couldn't. Every game, Trevor made it look effortless.
No amount of extra reps, no amount of grit closed it.
And the bitterness grew. Because how do you not get bitter when someone is just _born_ better at the thing you bled for?
The breaking point came during the scout game.
One observer in the stands. One ticket to a bigger league.
Greg played out of his mind. Grit, determination, everything he had.
They still picked Trevor.
That night Greg didn't cry. He just stopped answering Trevor's calls.
Ended a friendship with silence, because that hurt less than admitting he wasn't enough.
And then he unraveled.
If he couldn't be the best, he'd make sure no one else got to feel like it either.
He dropped the bat and picked up a metal one. Started jumping kids who were good at anything. Math test? Beatdown. Art show? Beatdown.
By 15 he was unrecognizable. Gold grills. Black jacket. A jagged black stitch tattooed across his left cheek by some back-alley artist who didn't ask questions.
He took the name "Stitch" and wore it like armor.
Fast forward. Blue High, 1A.
He climbed quick. Ranked #10. Because even in fights, there was always a ceiling. Always someone stronger, faster, more talented.
A wall he couldn't cross.
So he stopped trying to climb. Started kicking down instead.
Until today.
Until _Mark_.
That kid with no style, no rank, and too much heart. The one who refused to stay down. Who looked Stitch in the eyes and didn't blink.
The memory of Mark's face flashed in front of him.
Then a voice. Low. Familiar. Like it was coming from inside his own head.
_"Is this who you wanted to be at ten years old?"_
Stitch's eyes snapped open.
The sky was gray. Two Blue High first years were crouched over him, faces worried.
"Stitch, you good?" one asked, helping him sit up. "You took a hell of a beating out there."
Stitch coughed, tasted blood, and forced himself to stand. His ribs screamed. His cheek throbbed where the tattoo was.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned. It wasn't a nice grin.
"Yeah," he said, voice low and rough. "I'm good.
I swear to God I'm gonna beat that kid next time I see him."
The other guy frowned. "Who you talking about?"
Stitch adjusted his jacket, eyes distant. He could still hear that voice.
"That's for me to know."
He started walking. Alone.
Because #10 didn't get carried.
And because for the first time in years, he wasn't thinking about Trevor.
He was thinking about the Stray.
---
Meanwhile, Hakim stood 5 meters from Dominic and Duke.
The alley was quiet except for the sound of Duke's knuckles popping. They'd been whispering between themselves, and Hakim just watched. Bored.
"But Dominic, I wanna go first."
Duke's voice was low, buzzing with energy.
"Nah." Dominic didn't even look at him. "That's reckless. We can't take on both of those monsters at the same time."
Hakim tilted his head. Hands in his blazer pockets.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," he said, voice flat, laid back. "Adrian won't be fighting."
Silence.
Duke's eyes went wide. A grin started pulling at the corner of his mouth — excitement mixed with disbelief.
Dominic's expression didn't change. Not one muscle.
"Are you serious?" Duke asked.
"As a heart attack."
"You sure about that?" Dominic finally spoke, calm. "We're not your average Joes."
Hakim cracked his knuckles. The sound echoed off the brick walls.
"I know. But I'm more than enough for the both of y'all."
That was all it took.
Duke was already moving. A blur. A straight right aimed at Hakim's jaw, wild and furious.
Hakim didn't flinch. He leaned back an inch. The fist whistled past his face.
"I'm gonna enjoy stomping down your cocky ass," Duke spat, already throwing another. Then another. A barrage.
It wasn't technique. It was pressure. Street-fight rage. Fast, relentless, trying to drown Hakim in volume.
And Hakim? He just stood there.
Guard up. Elbows tight. He blocked most of it. The hits that did land thudded against his forearms like he was a heavy bag that hit back. For a full minute it was chaos — an unstoppable force slamming into an immovable object.
Then Hakim saw it.
Duke overextended on a hook.
Parry.
Step in.
Jab.
It caught Duke square on the nose. Too fast to see.
Duke stumbled back, eyes watering. He brought his hand up. Blood.
"Mother fucker!"
Hakim shook out his wrist and patted dust off his Silver High blazer like he'd just brushed off chalk.
"You jumped back to reduce the impact," he said, almost impressed. "You've got experience. I'll give you that."
"I'm definitely gonna beat you down," Duke growled, but his breathing was already off. Blood dripped between his fingers.
Deep down, he knew. This wasn't a fight he could win alone.
But they weren't human if they didn't feel pain, right? Except for one guy back in first year. Not Silver though.
He charged again.
This time it was worse. Hakim wasn't blocking anymore. He was punching.
Casual. Flawless. One-two. Body shot. Jab.
Each one landed with the weight of someone who trained to break walls.
Duke tried to block. His arms felt like they were going to break. The only option was to dodge and pray.
And through it all, Dominic watched. Still. Silent. Waiting.
From the wall, Adrian licked his lollipop and grinned.
"Ey. You. Dominic, yeah."
Dominic's eye twitched.
"I suggest you tag in before your brother gets knocked down. Cause it looks like my guy Hakim already figured him out."
"Shut up, blondie," Dominic snapped, venom in his voice.
Adrian just chuckled. "Quite the feisty one, aren't you."
The fight was tipping. One more clean shot and Duke was going down.
Before Hakim could throw it, the air shifted.
A flying kick came from his blind spot. Straight to his chest.
Hakim caught it on his guard and shoved back, skidding half a step.
Dominic landed, then immediately stepped in next to his brother. Shoulder to shoulder.
"You weren't kidding," Dominic said quietly. "You _are_ a real monster.
But now you'll be fighting both of us."
Hakim's eyes narrowed. Just a fraction.
Across the alley, Adrian's smile changed. It wasn't amusement anymore.
It was anticipation.
Because Hakim had felt it too.
Alone, Duke was pressure. Alone, Dominic was control.
Together? Their timing synced. Their breathing matched.
This was their real form. Twin synergy.
And for the first time today, Hakim was going to be on the receiving end of it.
---