Blū lay on his roof, contemplating the choices laid before him.

  He needed purpose desperately. But now that the opportunity to make something of himself stood plainly within reach, he found himself uncertain.

  Why was he unsure? He’d turned Crit’s offer down without much thought.

  The offer still stood, though or so Crit had said.

  A job as a Hero, just like he’d always wanted.

  Now that Mearly was moving away, new ideas kept popping into his head.

  For instance, if she’d stayed, maybe he could’ve landed a job at her mansion. Then he’d have work, food, and a friend close by.

  If only he’d thought of that sooner.

  He turned over to grab his glass. It was dry.

  He felt foolish for not realizing it hadn’t rained in days.

  He should have gone to fetch water from a lake or river. Blū rubbed his hair in frustration, nearly tearing it out. How could he be a Hero if he couldn’t even get clean water? If he couldn’t think of good ideas until it was too late?

  If he couldn’t win a fight? But being nothing—that was worse.

  Blū wouldn’t let himself die as a… nobody.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Blū poked his head into the warehouse. The sounds of heavy punches and grunts echoed off its empty walls.

  The crowd was lighter today, but still decent. Fifteen, maybe twenty kids watching the arena. At least, that’s what Blū estimated with a quick glance.

  He made his way closer for a better view. Some older boys tried to block him, but he squeezed through. Inside, he spotted the boy from the day before.

  Figree fought with a wild, almost animalistic determination—like a rat doing everything it could to escape a predator. Each punch seemed driven by raw desperation, striking with full force and zero hesitation.

  In a way, it was more frightening than a skilled fighter—a man with plans and tactics.

  Figree’s spirit felt irrational, nearly unstoppable.

  As unnerving as it was to watch, Blū hoped he could one day fight with that kind of passion—without second-guessing every other thought.

  Figree landed a sharp chop to his opponent’s neck, then swept the boy’s legs.

  The bigger fighter hit the ground hard, kicking up a cloud of dust. Figree grinned and accepted a towel from a friend. The crowd didn’t seem as impressed as usual.

  “That’s the fourth today,” Blū heard someone mutter.

  “Bwahaha!” Figree’s friend bellowed, leaping into the ring to slap him on the back.

  “You see that? My man’s unstoppable! I’ve got twenty for anyone who can knock him down!”

  The room went silent. Some even backed away from the ring.

  Blū was stunned none of them had the guts. Most street kids he knew had too much pride to back down from a challenge. But right now, they were all as timid as sheep.

  Still grinning, Figree stood tall.

  “How about it, then?” the boy behind Figree called again.

  “Sure,” Blū said, stepping into the arena. “Why not?”

  Some boys behind him chuckled. He recognized a few from the day before.

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  They had some nerve laughing after cowering like mice.

  “Blū?” Figree said, extending a hand. “Back again so soon?”

  Blū wished he had a witty comeback—but stayed quiet. Let your fists do the talking, he told himself.

  “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you,” Figree said, stepping to his side of the ring.

  The two stood firm, eyeing each other with tense anticipation.

  Blū’s body buzzed—charged and ready. Any moment, the call would come.

  He’d replayed his loss in his mind a dozen times.

  This was his chance to “Fight!!!” someone shouted. Blū wasn’t sure who. Maybe it wasn’t even the right guy. Either way, they launched forward, ready to clash.

  Figree threw a punch. Blū didn’t care. He skipped side to side, using his smaller size to his advantage. His opponent had no clue where he’d gone as Blū slid under his legs.

  Behind Figree now, Blū planted his palms to the ground and flipped into the air—striking the older boy with a sharp heel.

  Figree bent over in pain, reaching for his back.

  Blū didn’t let the opportunity slip by. As his opponent staggered in reflexive recoil, still processing the last attack, Blū ran around, leapt up again, and struck Figree across the face, digging his knuckles deep into his cheek.

  Blū surprised himself with the hit—and, lost in the rush, landed another punch before dropping to the ground.

  The surprise sweep caught him mid-air.

  He hit the ground face-first, scrambling to dodge as a kick whooshed past.

  As he backed up, Figree got to his feet, arm wound back for the next blow.

  Blū rolled to the side, tucking his head into his hands.

  As he stood, he spotted another punch coming and stepped back just in time.

  Figree was still smiling—it threw Blū off.

  He stumbled backward, staring up as his opponent closed in.

  Then, as if his body moved on instinct, Blū raised both legs and kicked Figree square in the chest.

  It wasn’t over yet. This was his moment.

  As Figree rolled across the ground, Blū dashed forward and landed five swift punches—all to the face.

  He barely realized he’d lifted his leg before stomping down, smashing Figree’s head harder into the rough floor.

  He stepped back, panting. For a second, everything had been so tense.

  Blū smiled. The thrill of combat washed over him all at once.

  He’d never had a fight like that. He felt strong. He felt… like a Hero.

  More than any dojo ever had, this fight proved something.

  He could fight.

  Wait, he thought. He’d stomped on Figree’s head. That wasn’t exactly sportsmanlike.

  He turned to apologize—but Figree was already getting up, still smiling.

  “Well fought,” Figree said with a chuckle. “You little runt.”

  “You’re not mad?” Blū asked, catching his breath.

  “No, of course not.” Figree extended his hand. “You’ve already improved. It’s impressive.”

  The crowd didn’t seem particularly excited by Blū’s win. Maybe they were just glad to see Figree off the floor. To be fair, it hadn’t been a long match—something more gruelling probably would’ve entertained them more. Still, Blū had beaten Figree just about as quickly as he’d lost the day before.

  He hadn’t even practiced since then. Figree was right—he really had gotten stronger.

  “Hey, Figree!” a familiar voice called. “Don’t tell me you lost.”

  Crit burst through the crowd and hopped into the arena, jogging up to them.

  “Just isn’t my day,” Figree replied.

  “Are you kidding?” Blū laughed. “I heard you took out three or four guys before I showed up!”

  Crit glanced between the two. “Wait—you guys know each other?”

  “A little,” Blū said.

  Crit chuckled. “You should’ve said.” He pointed behind him with a grin. “This is the guy I’m travelling with.”

  Blū blinked. “Really?” A crew with Figree at the front would be unstoppable.

  There was no doubt heroes like that could rake in a fortune in rewards.

  “Really,” Crit confirmed with a smile.

  “Have you offered him a spot?” Figree asked, now seated in the corner of the ring.

  “I did. But he turned me down.”The words hit Blū like a punch.

  Only now did it really sink in—that he’d been offered a chance like that and almost let it slip away.

  With fighters like these beside him, he might actually become a true Hero.

  “No,” he said, the words escaping before he’d even realized.

  “I’m coming… I’ll be a Hero with you.”