Lying in bed, Julian stared at the ceiling of his room. Shadows stretched across the plaster, and yet his mind wasn't here. It was in that moment when he first opened his eyes in this world, Crest's voice ringing like a bell inside his skull.
You were never meant for small leagues.
Step further. See the world.
The words clawed at him now more than ever.
He needed more than this town, more than this league. The cage was too small. His soul pressed against its bars, demanding release.
But… leaving Lincoln, leaving the team—
Julian's jaw tightened. That weight, that loyalty, was still there.
He rolled over, grabbed his phone.
The time blinked back at him. 11:30 PM.
Too late to disturb Coach Owen. Too late for answers.
So he let it go. Closed his eyes.
Sleep dragged him down.
...
Morning.
Julian woke the way he always did—with training. The rhythm of fists against the air, body straining through forms of martial arts drilled into his soul.
