Three days in, Mikey hit a wall.
Literally.
His knuckles were red and raw from punching an old pillow he'd duct-taped to the wall of his room. It was a sad excuse for a punching bag, but it was all he had. His form was sloppy, his jabs weak, and his breathing out of rhythm.
His body hurt. Constantly. Muscles he didn't know existed screamed with every movement.
Worse, the mirror didn't lie—he still looked like the same skinny, hunched-over kid who got laughed at in the hallway.
"What's the point?" he muttered.
He sat on the floor, staring at his reflection.
Same sunken eyes. Same messy hair. Same tired expression.
"You'll never be strong."
That voice in his head—the one that always doubted him—was getting louder. It sounded too much like Jason. Like the teachers who looked away. Like the "friends" who watched him get humiliated and said nothing.
Mikey clenched his fists.
---
Later that night, he pulled out his mom's old laptop and searched:
"How to box without a coach."
Most of the articles were garbage. But one video caught his eye: a retired boxer talking to the camera, his tone blunt and cold.
> "No one's coming to save you," the man said. "Not your friends. Not your family. Not your trainer. You want to be strong? Be your own damn hero."
Mikey stared at the screen.
Those words… they hit.
He watched the full video—then another. And another. He took notes. Shadowboxed in front of the mirror. Rewatched clips until his movements improved by fractions. It wasn't much, but it was real.
---
By the end of the week, he'd added one more push-up to his routine. One more squat. One more jab with proper form.
He started walking taller in the halls. Not because he was confident—he wasn't. But because he was training himself to stop shrinking.
People noticed. Not everyone, but enough.
Even Jason.
At lunch, Jason sat at a nearby table, watching him.
"Yo, Mikey!" he called out loud enough for others to hear. "What happened? Lose a fight with your mirror?"
A few people chuckled.
Mikey didn't respond. He didn't look away either. He just stared.
Not with hate. Not with fear.
With silence.
And for the first time… Jason looked away first.
---
That night, Mikey added a sticky note to the wall above his bed.
"No one's coming."
"Do it anyway."
And he did.
Push-up.
Punch.
Breathe.
Repeat.
---