Hanma always yearned for calm, carefree, and untroubled days—a quiet life with late classes, a stack of books, and a future free from the chaos of high school drama.


    But on this cloudy afternoon, as he walked down the narrow corridor behind the school, fate had other plans. The world, it seemed, had queued an unwanted encounter.


    Behind him, the school stretched out, its dilapidated brick walls draped in ivy and the occasional cracks from decades of stubborn winters. Flickering fluorescent lights blinked above rows of lockers; worn doors plastered with peeling club posters and forgotten exam reminders.


    The air had the taste of strong industrial cleaner and the lingering scent of yesterday''s rain.


    Somewhere far off, a door tapped loudly in an empty hall, while near the back exit, a deep, quiet silence settled like spilled ink.


    *I can do this,* Hanma thought, his hand instinctively reaching for the brass amulet in his pocket. *Yahim didn''t hesitate. He just... acted.*


    The image of the strange new student standing calmly before Daisuke and his crew, utterly unfazed, flashed in Hanma''s mind. There had been something so effortless about the way Yahim handled himself—not just the fighting, but the confidence. Like the concept of fear was a foreign language he''d never bothered to learn.


    As Hanma stepped into the dimly lit passageway, he heard the muffled voices of a small gang. His heartbeat quickened, but unlike before, there was something else mixed with the fear now. Curiosity. Anticipation, even.


    Two forms emerged ahead.


    One was lean and gangly, with a piercing grin that twisted his face like a cheap mask. As he moved, a heavy chain glistened on his shoulder, reflecting the faint light like a hound''s teeth.


    Another one was solid and unyielding. He followed his every step.


    Their eyes shone with a mischievous trick as they blocked the way out.


    *Level 3 and Level 2*, Hanma noted automatically, the numbers floating above their heads visible only to him. His own practice sessions with the punching bag had increased his Quick Jab from Level 2 to Level 4. The odds were... not terrible.


    "Hey, loser," the lanky bully jeered, swaggering forward. "We heard you''ve got some cash. Hand it over, or else."


    For one heartbeat, Hanma''s thoughts raced.


    Inside his quiet core, a familiar game image emerged—clear and luminous, seen only by him.


    In his mind''s eye, the interface materialized like a familiar video game menu. It pulsed with options: Basic Jab, Guard—each move inscribed with detailed stats.


    *Options: Basic Quick Jab*


    Thump-thump. His heart wouldn''t quiet down.


    *What would Yahim do?* The thought came unbidden. *He wouldn''t even blink. He''d just... solve the problem.*


    Escape. The instinct was primal, overwhelming. But to simply run… a bitter taste rose in his throat.


    *I''ve been running my whole life. What has it gotten me?*


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Fight? Could he even consider it? He hesitated, trapped between the burning desire to flee and a nascent, terrifying urge to stand and face them.


    *I''ve practiced for hours. My form is better. The system recognized it.*


    His back straightened slightly, shoulders squaring almost imperceptibly. The amulet felt warm against his skin through his pocket.


    Keeping his voice steady, Hanma replied, "I''m not your target. Just let me pass."


    The words came out clearer than he expected, lacking the tremor that usually accompanied his confrontations.


    The other bully snorted. "Oh, you think you''re too good for us?"


    The lanky one didn''t say anything at first. Just fixed Hanma with a narrowed gaze, eyes raking him up and down like he was something unpleasant stuck to his shoe. A slight tilt of his head back, a flicker of arrogance in his jaw. Then, the words finally came, with a tone full of disdain. "Yo, bastard!"


    Time seemed to be in doubt—a fleeting second, his lips curling into an inarticulate smile, as if he were muttering a secret just between cynical pauses.


    "Don''t waste my time. Come on, cough it up. Unless… you want things to get messy."


    *They expect me to cower. To apologize. That''s what the old Hanma would do.*


    But something in him had changed since watching Yahim. Since hitting that punching bag for hours until his knuckles were raw. Since seeing his Quick Jab improve in the system.


    *I''m not just code to be overwritten anymore.*


    For a brief moment, Hanma felt a tiny push in his mind. It was soft but clear. The Bodega game system whispered its directive—a suggestion to select [Basic Quick Jab].


    Almost without thinking, his body obeyed. His fist streaked forward, a swift flash of motion. The text-based overlay that only he could see confirmed his action:


    [Executing Quick Jab… Success!]


    His technique was clean—wrist straight, weight properly distributed, just as he''d practiced. Not the wild, desperate swing of someone who''d never thrown a punch, but the deliberate strike of someone who''d rehearsed the motion a hundred times.


    *Just like Yahim—economy of movement. No wasted energy.*


    The leader''s eyes grew wide as the quick strike hit its mark. A sharp shock surged through him, and he staggered back, hand clutching his jaw.


    "What the—" The bully''s shock was evident, his entire worldview rewriting itself in real-time. Hanma Tanaka, the perpetual victim, had just *hit* him. Worse—it had *hurt*.


    The underling, startled by his leader''s sudden frailty, paused in his tracks.


    In the chaos, the balance of power had been irrevocably shifted.


    Hanma stood his ground, fists still raised, a strange calm washing over him. His breathing was steady, controlled. The adrenaline that once would have sent him into a panic now seemed to sharpen his senses.


    *This is what Yahim experiences all the time,* he realized. *This clarity. This control.*


    With his leader visibly reeling, the bully muttered, "You''ll pay for that…!" before the underling''s resolve broke. One by one, they backed away into the shadows, their gang dissolving like mist at sunrise.


    [Minimal Reward Unlocked: XP +30]


    [Reward Unlocked: RP +50]


    The system''s notifications pulsed in his mind, but Hanma was more focused on the feeling in his chest. Pride. Not arrogance, but the quiet satisfaction of standing up for himself.


    He glanced back down the corridor. The shadows were empty, the bully and his crony vanished like fleeting nightmares. A pit of silence echoed behind them, in sharp contrast to the initial anxiety.


    He should go home. Think about…everything.


    *Yahim didn''t need the interface. He just... knew what to do. Maybe someday, I won''t need it either.*


    Pushing off the brick wall, Hanma started walking towards the back exit, the rhythmic *tap-tap* of his shoes against the asphalt echoing in the damp passage. The world seemed subtly different now, sharper, as if a layer of fuzziness had been lifted. He could hear the distant caw of a crow, the faint rustle of ivy against the brick, sounds he''d usually filter out.


    *[Attack Power increased]*


    The system message flashed again, confirming the subtle shift within him. He felt… stronger. Not just physically, but… something else. A quiet hope, perhaps a refreshing realization that he wasn''t as weak as he''d always believed.


    His posture as he walked was different too—head higher, steps more deliberate. Not the hunched, hurried gait of someone trying to make himself invisible, but the measured pace of someone who had a right to occupy space.


    "Maybe that''s what Yahim was trying to show everyone," he murmured to himself. "That the natural order isn''t fixed. That anyone can change the system if they just... refuse to follow its rules."


    He stepped out into the late afternoon, the grey sky reflecting his pensive mood. The school grounds were mostly deserted now, the last stragglers heading towards the gates. He walked in a daze, the system and the bully''s stunned face replaying in his mind.


    But for the first time in years, Hanma wasn''t calculating the safest route home or scanning for potential threats. Instead, he was thinking about tomorrow—about what new moves he might learn, about how to earn more Respect Points.


    About who he might become if he kept refusing to be what everyone expected him to be.


    The brass amulet pulsed warmly against his skin, as if in agreement.