Renji stood before the skeletal remains of what was once a source of fierce pride and devastating betrayal: an abandoned and dilapidated boxing gym.
The paint was peeling, the windows were boarded up, and a faint, stale odor of dust and decay drifted from the broken entrance.
This was the place that held the most profound significance to him—a knot of triumph, treachery, and, ultimately, unexpected salvation.
Back in his middle school years, this gym was his kingdom. The coach, a gruff but discerning man, had spotted Renji's natural, explosive talent.
"With your speed and footwork, Renji," the coach had often said, his voice husky with pride, "you can surely challenge the world championship."
Renji had lived up to the hype, completely dominating the middle school circuit and winning the national championship title twice in a row.
