No matter how long Vael waited, the unknown boy who had run from him never returned. The storm had passed, the pain in his legs lingered, and yet there was no sign of the boy anywhere.
As the sun finally broke through the clouds and that familiar, earthy scent of rain filled the air, Vael turned back toward his apartment, wearing a grim expression.
He felt like the villain in a schoolyard story—the bad guy everyone avoids. That feeling wasn't going away any time soon. His eyes wandered to the painting resting on the table, and once again he was struck by its beauty.
Maybe it was because he wasn't very familiar with art, or maybe it was something else, but the painting truly seemed incredible to him. Still, he knew it wasn't his. It didn't belong to him. So he decided to return it—and this time, apologize properly.
He picked up the painting along with the tarpaulin, walked to the door of his apartment, and stepped outside. The smell of rain lingering in the air was oddly comforting.
With a sense of purpose, he climbed the stairs—but once he reached the second floor, a thought stopped him cold. He didn't know where the boy lived. Knocking door to door wasn't an option. Not in this situation. Who knew how the boy would react if he showed up unannounced?
"Hmm..." He thought for a moment. Maybe he could check the names on the mailboxes... but then again, he didn't even know the boy's name.
Running out of ideas, he came up with a plan that seemed logical enough—at least in his head—but he really hoped it wouldn't make him look like a stalker.
He went back downstairs and walked toward a nearby shop. It didn't take long to find one. As he entered, he set the tarpaulin and painting gently on the floor, earning a puzzled look from the man behind the counter.
"This isn't your house..." the man trailed off, his gaze falling on Vael's missing right hand. A flash of shame crossed his face. Vael didn't mind—he was used to this reaction by now. He had more pressing things to worry about.
"Could you give me a small notebook and a pencil too, please?" he asked.
The man snapped out of his thoughts and nodded. "Sure... I've got some notebooks in the back."
While the man disappeared into the shop's interior, Vael stood quietly, already playing through his plan in his head—how to make it work without coming off like some kind of creep.
"Here we go. Which one do you like?" The man returned, holding out three small notebooks with different designs.
One had a space-themed kitten on the cover, another showed a volcano, and the third featured a dinosaur. Vael didn't think too hard about it.
"The one with the space kitty," he said.
The man smiled and handed it over, putting the others aside. Vael reached for his wallet, but the man stopped him.
"Don't worry. This one's on the house."
The words hit Vael like a dagger to the chest. He hated that feeling—being pitied.
"Take the pencil too," the man added.
Vael looked down at the notebook and pencil with resignation, but nodded. "Sure…"
He pocketed both items, picked up the painting and tarpaulin under his left arm, and made a show of heading out.
As he heard the man's footsteps retreat deeper into the store, Vael moved quickly—leaving money on the counter, having already seen the price sticker on the notebook.
He slipped out quietly and returned to the apartment complex, ready to carry out his plan.
He figured it was better to leave the painting and tarp behind, at least for now. No need to carry them around.
As always, people stared at him as he walked by. No matter how subtle they tried to be, their gazes lingered longer than they should have.
When he finally arrived, it felt like an eternity had passed. He climbed the stairs and placed the painting and the tarpaulin in the middle of the walkway, where everyone passed when exiting their apartments.
He propped the painting against the wall railing—a common feature in buildings like this—then took out the notebook and pencil, using the floor as support.
He wrote:
> "Please forgive my behavior. I never meant any harm or to make you feel scared. I truly didn't want to hurt you.
I sincerely apologize, and I hope you won't be afraid of me.
Here is your painting—I made sure it didn't get damaged.
—Your new neighbor, Vael."
Satisfied, he tore out the page, placed it next to the painting, and walked away, hoping this wouldn't end with him being seen as the bad guy again.
Back downstairs, he decided to head to the gym his coach had recently opened. After grabbing his essentials—his boxing gear and cellphone—he left and used his phone to look up the gym's location on the map.
It was a good chance to get in some cardio on the way, so he ran toward the gym, eager to get lost in the rhythm of training.
He ran and ran down the sidewalk until the imposing structure stood before him. It was only three floors tall, but he still wondered how Lilia could afford something like this. Maybe if he had listened to her advice, his situation would be much better.
Entering through the glass doors, he marveled at the activity inside. The gym was full of people training, and that made him feel uncomfortable. The last gym he attended barely had anyone. With so many people around now, things were bound to get more complicated.
His heartbeat quickened, like he was doing something wrong—even if he wasn't. It was normal to feel this way, or so his old psychologist had told him. But he stopped going to those sessions a while ago, tired of being treated like someone on the verge of suicide—each meeting more irritating than the last.
A sudden shove to his back made him stumble and fall. Looking up, he saw a group of boys casually walking past.
"Oops, sorry. Thought you had two hands to break your fall," one of them laughed.
Vael flinched, his fury barely contained. He knew people like this existed everywhere, but it always caught him off guard.
"No problem..." he muttered, trying to stand up.
"Need a hand?" another one mocked, and the rest burst into laughter.
In Vael's eyes, their faces distorted—they looked like pigs. Their laughter was disgusting. Without thinking, as he got to his feet, he threw a punch straight into the face of the one in front of him, landing squarely on his nose.
The guy stumbled back and fell, just like Vael had a moment ago. "What the fuck, man!?" one of his friends shouted, stepping forward aggressively.
The entire gym paused. All eyes turned toward the scene—toward Vael, as always.
Just as the fight was about to escalate, a firm, feminine voice cut through the tension.
"That's enough! If you want to fight, do it in the ring, not under it! I thought you knew that, Vael."
Lilia's tone was sharp and disappointed. Vael avoided her gaze, looking to the side.
The guy Vael had punched stood up and stepped in front again. "Then I'm asking for a sparring match."
Lilia sighed and rubbed her forehead in frustration as people in the gym gathered around, excited to see the show.
"Sounds good to you, one-armed?" the guy grinned as the crowd leaned in, buzzing with morbid curiosity.
"I'm fine with it," Vael replied before Lilia could intervene.
They prepared for the fight—Vael put on the protective gear: helmet, glove, and boxing shorts.
Lilia watched nervously as they stepped into the ring. The energy in the room swelled, but she knew what it really was: the crowd wanted to see Vael lose. She knew it well. She had gone through the same thing.
"Why is it so hard for him to stay calm?" she muttered, glancing at her prosthetic leg. She remembered her own failure. Vael was repeating the same painful story.
Back in the ring, Vael was the only one wearing protective gear. His opponent stood there proudly, unprotected.
"Someone scared? You look ridiculous in that gear."
"The only one who'll be scared is you after this," Vael muttered, taking a defensive stance.
"When I'm done with you, you'll be crying on the floor—and people will tremble at the name Redson!"
The crowd cheered wildly. Redson was popular among the rookies.
He charged in first—exactly what Vael expected. He countered with quick blows to Redson's unguarded upper body, three clean hits that forced Redson to adjust his stance.
Now on the offensive, Vael pressed forward, trying to keep the momentum.
"He's doing better than last time…" Lilia whispered, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
But it didn't last.
Redson retaliated with a barrage of blows, hammering Vael's lower defense. Vael blocked what he could, but with only one arm, every two hits meant one landed. The pain in his chest grew with every passing second.
Changing tactics, Vael pushed forward with fury, ignoring the hits to his body. Sweat flew from their bodies with each blow.
"Hit the right side! End him, Redson!" one of Redson's friends shouted.
Lilia's eyes darkened.
Attacking the side your opponent can't defend… She knew that tactic all too well. It was cruel—and impossible to counter.
Redson circled around, targeting Vael's right—his armless side. Vael tried to keep up, but his hits missed or lacked power. Every time he swung with his left, Redson was already on the other side.
With a grin, Redson began pounding Vael's right side, blow after blow. Vael's grunts of pain filled the gym, cutting deep into Lilia's heart.
She saw herself in him—and she couldn't help but wonder if people like them weren't meant for the world of boxing at all.
Finally, after too many hits, Vael collapsed like a broken piñata. But Redson didn't stop. He kept punching him on the ground. All Vael could do was cover his face and listen to the crowd cheer for his beating.