The sun dipped behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets as Harry dragged himself home. His steps were slow, heavy not from exhaustion, but from the weight of disappointment pressing on his chest. The cold wind brushed past him like whispers of judgment, and with each step closer to his front door, his dread grew heavier.
He didn't need to check his phone to know what was waiting for him.
The college had already called.
As he turned the knob and entered the modest apartment, the smell of leftover curry lingered in the air. His mother stood near the dining table, arms crossed, phone in hand, waiting. Her eyes darted toward the bruises on his face, the fading cut near his eyebrow, the stiff way he moved.
"Harry," she said, voice sharp with worry, "What the hell have you done now?"
Harry exhaled but said nothing.
His mother walked toward him, eyes wide with disbelief. "They called from the college. You've been restricted what does that even mean, Harry? They said there was violence, a fight! What is going on with you?"
He flinched but kept quiet, brushing past her. She grabbed his arm.
"I'm your mother. I have a right to know what's happening to my son! Your face is full of bruises! Your knuckles are torn. Are you out there brawling like some thug?"
Harry yanked his arm free, his voice cold. "You wouldn't understand."
Her eyes softened, but the pain was unmistakable. "Try me. I'm not your enemy."
He looked away. "They humiliated me. In front of the whole college. Made me into a joke. I didn't start this."
She stepped back, stunned. "So you fought back…?"
Harry didn't reply. Instead, he walked into his room, picked up his hoodie, and stormed out again. He couldn't breathe inside that house not now. Not when everything inside felt like it was caving in.
Outside, the world was quiet. The stars above didn't care about grades or humiliation. They simply burned like the fire in his chest.
He walked for hours, his fists clenched, his mind spinning with flashes of rage and helplessness. His feet led him to the edge of town, to the abandoned construction site where no one came anymore. Rusted cranes. Empty containers. A concrete wall, covered in graffiti.
He walked up to it and stood still.
He remembered Jessica's laughter.
Tyler's smug face.
Mrs. Royce's apology.
His breath quickened.
He screamed.
With all his strength, Harry drove his fist into the concrete wall.
BOOM.
The wall shattered—not cracked. Not chipped. Shattered. Concrete crumbled like sand, the entire panel collapsing to the ground in a heap of dust and stone.
He stared at his hand in horror.
No blood. No pain.
Just strength.
Inhuman strength.
He stumbled back, heart racing. "What the hell... what the hell...?"
Was this a dream?
He looked around, but no one was there. No witnesses. Only the silent rubble. He turned and ran—ran so hard his legs burned, his heart thudding like a drum. His breath was sharp, but his limbs felt lighter, faster, stronger. He reached home past midnight, breathless.
The lights were off.
His mother had already gone to sleep.
Silently, he entered, locked the door, and stepped into the bathroom. He peeled off his shirt.
And stared at his reflection.
His body had changed. His arms were leaner but packed with definition. Veins visible. His biceps and chest had grown. Not like a bodybuilder's—but tight, athletic, powerful. His abs were clearer, his shoulders broader.
He had never looked like this before.
Was this from the injection? He remembered just for a moment that night of the accident. The scientist in the car. The injection stabbed into his neck before the man died.
Was this what it did to him?
He sat down on his bed, pulled up the viral YouTube video of the underground fight.
Over 2.3 million views.
Comments were flooded with awe.
"Who is this guy? He beat Zane like a trained beast."
"That punch! Holy crap, is he MMA?"
"New street legend born. Harry the Slayer?"
He watched himself move in the ring fast, focused, angry. A smile crept to his lips.
They didn't see a loser anymore.
He turned off the screen and lay back.
For the first time in a long while… he felt peace.
Even if his body still ached.
One Week Later
Knock knock.
"Pizza delivery, sir!"
Harry handed over the order to the old man in the apartment across town. "Thank you, have a good day," he said, forcing a tired smile.
The man tipped him a dollar.
Harry took the bike keys from his pocket and returned to the street. The red Pizza jacket clung tight to his now-muscular frame. He placed the box bag behind the seat and sat down, pulling the helmet over his head.
Life had taken a strange turn.
He was restricted from college. Disgraced, in a way. His mother still didn't talk to him the same way anymore. She was worried all the time. Quiet. Sad.
And Harry?
He was somewhere between regret and realization.
This pizza delivery job paid barely enough, but it was the only gig he could get without a college ID or recommendations. He worked long shifts and most days, he didn't even have time to think.
But sometimes… fate played cruel tricks.
Some deliveries were just a few blocks away from that street fight club. That place. That night. That victory.
The fame.
He avoided that alley. Every time he saw the black door, the faint music coming from inside, he looked away. He didn't want to go back.
Not yet.
He had more questions than answers.
What exactly had changed inside him?
Why could he break concrete with bare hands?
And most of all what had that dying scientist injected into him?
As he rode through the dusky streets, delivering pizzas to strangers, one thing was certain Harry was no longer the same boy he was two weeks ago.
He was something else now.
Something powerful.
The sun was setting, casting an orange hue over the small neighborhood as Harry pedaled his bike down the narrow street. He had just finished his last pizza delivery shift of the day. Tired and sweaty, his shoulders ached and the delivery bag straps had dug marks into his skin. The job was grueling, the tips were small, and the looks people gave him still carried a stain of judgment. No one cared to ask what really happened the night of the fight they only saw the viral video. But tonight… something felt different.
As Harry pulled into the narrow driveway of his house and opened the creaking gate, he heard hurried footsteps. Before he could step inside, the front door flung open and his mom ran out with tears in her eyes, throwing her arms around him.
"Harry! Oh my God, you're back! They called! The college Harry they want you back!" she said, her voice trembling with excitement.
Harry stood there frozen, too stunned to react.
His mother pulled back slightly, her eyes shining. "Come inside, there's someone waiting for you."
Still panting from the surprise embrace, Harry stepped into the living room and there she was. Mrs. Royce, his teacher, sat stiffly on their worn-out couch, holding a leather-bound file in her hands. She smiled softly when she saw him but didn't stand.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "You?"
His mom nudged him gently. "She came with good news, Harry."
Harry didn't smile. He was tired, emotionally worn, and in no mood to trust the people who had already turned their backs on him. He hung his bag, took off his shoes, and walked straight to the couch, standing in front of Mrs. Royce, arms crossed.
"I'm listening. What do they want now?"
Mrs. Royce sighed, clearly uncomfortable, but she maintained her gentle voice. "Harry, I came because the college wants to take you back."
Harry didn't blink. "Why? Did Jessica's dad suddenly lose his influence?"
Her smile faded. "No, it's not like that. It's because of... your video. The one from the fight. It's gone viral. Millions of views, Harry. You're trending. And the administration... they think you can help."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Help? Help with what? Did someone finally care about the truth?"
She hesitated before answering, "Every year, our college participates in the State Inter-College Fighting Tournament. And every year, we lose. This year, they believe with your popularity and skills you can change that. They want you to represent the college."
There it was the truth, spoken plainly.
Harry scoffed and shook his head. "So let me get this straight. They expelled me after I got jumped by a rich kid. Didn't even bother hearing my side. Just threw me out like trash. And now, because a video makes me famous, they want me back? To win a tournament for their reputation?"
Mrs. Royce looked down at her hands. She didn't deny it. "Yes. And... I'm sorry, Harry. I really am. I opposed the restriction, but I had no power. Jessica's parents... they threatened legal action. It was politics. It was unfair. But this might be your way back in."
Harry stared at her, and for a long second, said nothing. Then he turned to the side and sat down in the chair across from her.
"I'll come back," he said finally.
His mom gasped behind him in relief.
Mrs. Royce looked surprised. "You will?"
"But," Harry added, his tone sharpening, "I have conditions."
She nodded slowly. "Okay... What are they?"
"One," Harry began, holding up a finger, "I want one hundred dollars for every fight I win in the tournament."
Mrs. Royce blinked in surprise but remained silent.
"Two. I want every penny of my college fee refunded. You kicked me out I deserve that money back."
Mrs. Royce pressed her lips together and nodded.
"And three," Harry leaned forward, his voice firm, "for the rest of the year, I study completely free. No hidden charges, no harassment. I get to focus on my education and nothing else."
Mrs. Royce stared at him for a second, visibly stunned. Then slowly, a small smile formed at the corner of her lips. There was something about the fire in Harry's eyes—he wasn't the same boy from weeks ago. Something had changed. He looked stronger, more confident, and most of all, determined.
"I'll call the administration," she said, standing up. "I'll relay your conditions right away."
Harry gave her a nod but said nothing. She gathered her things, glanced at his mom with a sympathetic smile, and left the house.
His mom closed the door slowly and turned toward him.
"Harry... are you sure?"
He looked back at her, a bitter smile forming. "They used to laugh at me, mom. Now they want to use me. But this time... I set the rules."
She walked over and hugged him again, tighter this time. "Just promise me one thing don't lose yourself in this."
Harry didn't respond. He was already thinking ahead.
The Next Morning
The news was official. The college had accepted his terms. Harry was re-enrolled, and not only that—his name was now plastered across a poster: "Harry Representing St. Andrew's College at the National Inter College Fight Tournament!"
When he stepped into the college gates again, it wasn't the same.
Students turned to look, but this time, there was no laughter. No whispers. Just silence and awe. He was no longer the quiet kid they could bully or prank. He was the boy who knocked Tyler out cold and smashed a concrete wall like it was made of sand. He was the fighter.
Harry didn't return their stares. He didn't need validation. He walked toward the main building, muscles taut under his shirt, his footsteps steady.
This wasn't about revenge.
It was about proving to everyone that they had underestimated him for far too long.