The air felt different after the question.
"Uncle… what's your name?"
The wind slowed, as if even it was waiting for the answer.
The man looked ahead, not at Kihoru, eyes fixed on the empty road stretching beyond the school gate. For a moment, he seemed like just another tired adult walking through a world that never asked how he was doing.
Then he spoke.
"Alan."
Just one word.
No weight attached to it.
No explanation.
No pride.
Yet something about the way he said it made the name feel… settled. Like a stone placed firmly into the ground.
"Kihoru," Alan continued, turning toward him, "if you follow me from this point forward, understand this."
Kihoru straightened instinctively.
"I will not save you every time," Alan said calmly. "I will not soften things for you. And I will not lie to you."
Kihoru nodded.
"You may regret asking me for help."
"I already regret not asking sooner," Kihoru replied quietly.
Alan studied him for a second longer, then gave a short nod.
"Then come," he said. "We need to fix a few things before we begin."
Fixing What Could Be Fixed
They walked through the streets together.
Kihoru noticed it immediately — people didn't shove him aside as easily when he walked beside Alan. Not because Alan looked threatening. He didn't.
But he walked like someone who belonged wherever his feet landed.
Their first stop was a small clothing store.
Alan didn't ask for sizes.
Didn't ask for preferences.
He simply picked clothes that made sense.
Simple shirts. Loose but clean trousers. A jacket thick enough to block early-morning cold.
"Change," Alan said.
When Kihoru stepped out of the changing room, he didn't recognize himself.
Not thinner.
Not stronger.
Just… less broken on the outside.
Next came the optician.
The moment the new glasses settled on his nose, the world sharpened so suddenly that Kihoru froze.
Edges were clearer.
Faces distinct.
Distance honest.
"I didn't know," he whispered. "I thought the world was just… blurry."
Alan paid without comment.
Outside, as evening approached, Alan finally spoke again.
"Tonight, eat," he said. "As much as you want."
Kihoru looked up, surprised.
"Because starting tomorrow," Alan continued, "you won't eat like this for a while."
They ate at a small place nearby.
Kihoru ate slowly at first, then faster, then with an intensity that surprised even him. Not greed — fear. As if his body knew this comfort was temporary.
When he finally leaned back, stomach heavy, eyes tired, Alan stood.
"Sleep," he said. "We start early."
4:00 A.M.
The world was dark and silent.
Kihoru felt a firm shake on his shoulder.
"Wake up."
His eyes opened instantly.
Alan stood above him, already dressed, already awake.
"Four a.m.," Alan said. "Get up."
The cold slapped him awake as soon as they stepped outside. The streetlights hummed faintly. The sky was still black, stars barely visible.
Alan handed him a folded paper.
"Your entrance test."
Kihoru unfolded it with shaking hands.
ENTRANCE TEST
Run 12 kilometers
steady pace
short standing breaks allowed
After running:
20 short sprints
150 jumps
300 sit-ups
Kihoru's mouth went dry.
"That's… today?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And if I fail…?"
Alan didn't raise his voice.
"If you stop on your own," he said, "don't come back."
Kihoru folded the paper carefully.
A smile touched his lips — small, tired, but real.
"Uncle," he said, "I'd rather die today than quit."
Alan didn't respond.
He simply stepped aside.
"Begin."
The Run
The first kilometer felt manageable.
Kihoru focused on breathing. On rhythm. On not thinking too far ahead.
By the third kilometer, sweat soaked his clothes.
By the fifth, his thighs burned with every step.
He slowed.
Stopped.
Bent forward.
His heart hammered violently in his chest.
Just breathe.
He straightened and ran again.
At the seventh kilometer, his feet felt heavier, slapping against the road without coordination. His breath came in sharp bursts.
He stopped again.
Standing only. Just like Alan said.
You can stand. Just don't sit.
By the ninth kilometer, his vision flickered. White spots danced at the edges.
Keep moving.
The tenth kilometer nearly broke him.
His legs screamed. His lungs burned so badly it felt like breathing glass.
He stumbled.
Caught himself.
At twelve kilometers, he collapsed to his knees.
Time blurred.
Minutes passed.
He didn't know how many.
Eventually, he pushed himself upright.
The Sprints
Short distances. Explosive movement.
The first five were sloppy.
By ten, his legs trembled uncontrollably.
By fifteen, he fell forward after each sprint, palms scraping against the road.
He forced himself up every time.
The twentieth sprint ended with him vomiting onto the pavement.
He wiped his mouth with shaking hands.
The Jumps
The jumps came next.
Each one sent pain through his knees.
Twenty.
Fifty.
A hundred.
His breathing turned erratic.
At one hundred twenty, his legs buckled.
He fell.
Lay there.
The sky had started to lighten.
Get up.
He rolled onto his side.
Stood.
Finished all one hundred fifty.
The Sit-Ups
This was where his body began to revolt.
Ten.
Twenty.
His stomach cramped.
Fifty.
A sharp pain twisted deep inside.
A hundred.
His breathing was no longer rhythm — just survival.
At one hundred fifty, something rose in his throat.
He coughed.
Dark red splattered onto the ground.
Kihoru froze.
Blood…?
Fear surged.
Then anger.
You don't get to stop me.
Two hundred.
Each sit-up felt slower.
His arms shook.
His vision dimmed.
Two hundred fifty.
He gagged again. More blood.
Three hundred.
The final sit-up felt like lifting a mountain.
When he finished, his body gave up.
Collapse
Kihoru fell flat onto the road.
Chest barely moving.
The world felt distant.
Sounds faded.
The sky above him was pale blue now.
Morning…
His thoughts scattered.
Faces passed through his mind.
Laughter.
Cruel words.
A staircase.
His mother's hands.
Her voice.
Don't stop.
His eyes fluttered.
The road vibrated faintly.
A sound.
Low.
Growing.
An engine.
Somewhere down the street, a truck turned the corner.
It moved steadily forward.
The driver didn't see the boy lying motionless ahead.
Five meters.
Four.
The sound grew louder.
And Kihoru did not move.