if you don't like SI story jump to chapter 5 and read at least till chapter 15 before deciding to continue.
Don't judge too quickly.
~~
Rukon had always been a fighter from fighting for food among his 7 siblings to actually knocking down neighbourhood kids.
Born in the mid-sprawl of a working-class Bangkok neighborhood, he'd grown up with noisy motorbikes rattling down narrow streets, dogs barking at everyone, and neighbors arguing over television volume. But under all that chaos he had strive something: to make his own dream come true.
He was ten when he saw his first Muay Thai match, standing on tiptoes outside a run-down TV showroom, peering over rusted rails just to get a glimpse. The fighters had moved like they were born for it. One of them as people would call him, "the Muay Thai's Strongest", had won with a final elbow that sounded like bone cracking through the opponents skull. The crowd had roared. Rukon didn't just cheer but he vowed that he would be just the one on the screen whose hand was lifted by the referee and declared him the winner.
Now, a little over a decade later, here he was.
Standing in the same ring for the Championship bout with the title on the line.
The ropes smelled like sweat. The air pulsed with roaring voices and Cameras clicked which blinded his view as announcers screamed. Across the ring stood his opponent: Daokan "Steel Jaw" Wichai, undefeated, a veteran of over fifty fights. But Rukon wasn't afraid. Not anymore... not after clawing through blood, injury, ridicule, and hunger just to get here.
The bell rang.
Steel Jaw came fast, a low feint into a sharp right elbow, testing Rukon's guard. Rukon blocked, barely, the shockwave rattling down his arm. But he smiled. This is what he lived for.
The first two rounds were brutal. Rukon took hits to his ribs and face. But in Round Three, he found his rhythm. He started landing clean. A low kick that staggered Wichai. A spinning elbow that grazed his temple. Sweat flew like rain. The arena roared louder.
Round Four, Rukon leapt. Literally leapt knee aimed for Wichai's face.
The crowd gasped, then exploded.
Wichai crumpled. Rukon didn't even hear the count. He was in the air, above the world, floating in the dream he had carved from asphalt and aching knuckles.
He was now about to be crowned the Muay Thai's Strongest just as he dreamed.
But that dream lasted exactly four hours.
He was still drenched in sweat when a man from the committee came into his locker room with two officers behind him without knocking.
"Rukon Wattanachai," the man said, flatly, "you've failed the anti-doping test."
Rukon blinked. "What?"
"We found a banned substance in your urine."
"That's not... I don't use anything."
They didn't argue. They just pointed to his locker. Someone had already opened it.
There it was. A small black pack. Inside were syringes and vials.
Rukon's breath caught. "I've never did any of that stuff... what the hell is that?! That's not mine! Somebody might have placed it."
They looked at him like he'd said nothing at all.
The fall was fast. Faster than any punch he'd ever taken.
He was disqualified and his title was revoked. Headlines blazed across Thai and international media. "Rukon: Cheat or Tragedy?" He was dragged through every news channel, every YouTube podcast, every gossip forum. No one cared about his denials. The footage of the pack and the test cleared proved he was guilt. The image of him collapsed in the ring, hand over his heart that's what they all used.
He didn't sleep. He stopped eating. Calls from his gym went unanswered. His name was removed from the fight posters. Sponsorships pulled out within the week. The gym replaced him with a rising 19-year-old they said was "cleaner and more focused."
And now?
Now he was in a room that smelled like dust, socks, and stale curry.
The wallpaper peeled like dead skin. The fan above barely moved. Piles of unwashed clothes made hills around his mattress. He hadn't trained in weeks or went outside his room. He hadn't talked to anyone in days.
He hadn't looked in a mirror in months.
His only refuge that he found his hell of a world? Anime. That was his only escape from this world.
Late at night, he'd lie on his back and binge old Naruto episodes. Not for Naruto himself but for Hinata.
She was quiet. Always watching. People ignored her and underestimated her. But she didn't flinch. She got back up and trained. And when it mattered, she stepped forward. She bled for what she loved.
She reminded him of who he thought he was. And who he wanted to be.
That night, he passed out on his mattress. TV still playing. In his dream, he was back in the ring. His name being announced. The cheers were thunderous.
Then a sharp voice cut through.
"...due to the banned substance discovered in his locker…"
He snapped awake. It wasn't a dream.
It was the TV playing. They were playing a segment about his scandal. Again.
He stared at the screen. It was his face... sweat-soaked and victorious. Then his locker and the black bag.
He screamed.
He reached for something... anything... and his hand landed on an empty beer bottle. It sailed across the room, shattering against the wall-mounted screen.
Glass scattered like snow.
He didn't get up... he just laid there. Breathing like he'd run ten kilometers. His heart wasn't just racing, it was breaking.
First time, he stood on the edge of his building on eighth floor as cold wind hit on his face.
But he'd chickened out. Said it wasn't the right day.
Second time, he'd bought pills. Poured them into a bowl like cereal. Sat staring at it for an hour. Ended up flushing it all away.
But the third time…
The third time felt easy.
With no drama and preparation. As he eyed a box cutter. He took it and ran to the bathroom.
He sat on the edge of the tub. The house was empty and the city too loud outside to care.
He didn't cry. There were no tears left. He just looked at his hands, the same hands that had trained, punched, blocked, won and saw nothing left in them.
He pressed the blade to his wrist. He didn't hesitate this time.
It was warm.
As the blood slid down, slowly as he leaned back.
His last thought wasn't about the title. Or the fans. Or the locker.
It was about Hinata. About her soft voice. About how she had survived. And how he hadn't.
The lights dimmed. His breath swallowed. No applause. No ten-count. No ref.
Just the end. He who should been the undefeated Muay Thai's strongest fighter but he lay there - unmoving.
~~
Fun fact: Rukon is a Reformist.
A/N: So, How was the OC Life before SI. Would love to hear your thoughts?