The doors slammed open.
Isac didn't slow down. He carried Daniel like he was weightless—like carrying someone bleeding out wasn't something new to him.
"Emergency!" he barked.
Nurses looked up. A few stood frozen for a second, unsure what to make of the white-haired teen with the bloodied boy in his arms.
"Get him a room," Isac growled. "Private. Now."
"He needs ER—" one nurse started.
"No. Private room. ICU. Don't ask. Move."
The authority in his voice cut through the confusion. A pair of male nurses came running with a stretcher. Daniel was laid out—his blood smeared on Isac's shirt, the floor, everywhere.
"Vitals are dropping—" one nurse muttered.
A doctor came sprinting in.
Isac grabbed him by the collar. His voice wasn't loud. But it was cold.
"If he dies," Isac said slowly, "I will kill you."
The doctor looked into his eyes. Whatever he saw made him nod. No protest. Just… move.
They wheeled Daniel away, disappearing behind swinging white doors.
Isac stood still, fists clenched.
Behind him, Sunny limped in. His face was bruised, a faint trail of blood near his temple. He didn't speak. Didn't even look at Isac. Just pulled out his phone and dialed.
[Daniel's Home – Phone Call Scene]
ring… ring… click
"Hello?" came a voice — Daniel's dad.
Sunny hesitated. For just a second.
"…It's Sunny."
"…What is it? Daniel's phone—"
"He's in the hospital," Sunny said flatly. "ICU. He is in ... bad condition."
There was silence on the line.
Then a breath. A sharp, panicked one.
"…Wh—what happened?!"
"I… can't say." Sunny's voice cracked slightly. "Just get here."
The sound of something falling — the phone.
"Dad?!" came Lyra's voice, muffled.
"Pheno, don't lick— Dad, what's wrong?!"
Sunny could hear the panic.
"Dad?? What happened?!"
The phone was picked up again.
"Y–Your brother—"
click
Sunny ended the call.
Lyra came rushing in with her dad trailing behind her. She looked around frantically, her breath already uneven.
Then she saw him.
Through the glass, past the ICU doors — Daniel, lying in bed. Motionless. Machines beeping. A tube in his mouth. Wires everywhere. Oxygen mask. Bruised. Cut. Pale.
Lyra took a step forward—then froze.
Her lips trembled.
Her knees wobbled.
And suddenly, without meaning to—
A single tear slid down her cheek.
Just one.
She wiped it away quickly. Pretended like it didn't happen.
But it did.
Even Sunny saw it.
He said nothing, of course. He just looked down, resting his head against the white wall of the hospital. He wasn't good with emotions. Or talking. Or comforting.
So he just waited there quietly.
Isac sat on the chair, elbows on his knees, eyes to the floor. His fingers were clenched together, rigid. He hadn't moved in ten minutes.
[Later That Night]
The doctor came out.
Everyone stood.
He pulled his mask down.
"…He's stable," the doctor said. "Condition was critical. Two broken ribs, heavy internal bruising. But… we managed."
Everyone let out a breath.
Sunny closed his eyes.
"But?" Daniel's dad asked.
"He's safe. But another inch to the left, and he'd have been paralyzed. For life."
No one spoke.
Isac didn't lift his head. He just exhaled through his nose. Quietly. Calmly.
"But he's not paralyzed?" Lyra asked.
"No. He's going to recover. Slowly."
And that was it.
Everyone thanked the doctor.
Eventually, Daniel's family stayed.
Sunny left silently.
And Isac remained in the hallway, sitting alone—long after visiting hours ended.
[Years Ago]
The streetlights flickered above.
The wind was cold, but not sharp. Just enough to make you feel... small.
Isac was 13. His shirt was oversized. His eyes were red. His hands were stuffed into his hoodie pockets as he sat beside a streetlamp, chin tucked into his knees.
He'd run away.
He didn't even pack a bag. Just left.
His father wouldn't notice.
Too busy with his third wife. Too rich to care.
Too hollow to be human.
Isac wiped his face with his sleeve. The fabric smelled like dust.
Then—
Footsteps.
Someone else walked down the street. Limping.
He looked up slightly.
It was a boy. His school bag dragged behind him. His arm was scraped. One eye was a bit swollen. He looked… small. Beaten. But still walking like it was just another Tuesday.
He stopped when he saw Isac sitting there.
"…Yo," he said, voice soft.
Isac looked away.
"You okay?" the boy asked.
"Do I look okay?"
The boy tilted his head. "Nope. But neither do I."
Isac squinted. "You got beat up."
"Yeah."
"…Why are you talking to me?"
The boy just shrugged.
Then sat down beside him. Not close. Just… beside.
From his bag, he pulled out a box. Opened it. Spring rolls. Still warm.
"…Want one?" he asked.
Isac looked at him like he was insane.
"You're bleeding."
"Yeah. Still hungry though."
"You don't know me."
"You looked sad."
"…You don't know anything about me."
The boy turned to him. His face had bruises. Little cuts. Tired eyes.
But the weird thing? He didn't look defeated.
He looked… alive.
Like he was still fighting.
"Maybe," the boy said. "But I know you look like you needed this."
Isac blinked.
The boy held out a spring roll again.
"C'mon," he said. "You eat one, I eat one."
"…I don't need help," Isac muttered.
"Sure," the boy said, smiling. "Guess I'll just eat both then."
He made a show of biting into it.
Isac rolled his eyes. Grabbed one.
They sat in silence. Chewing. Resting their backs on the same lamp pole.
Isac didn't realize how hungry he was.
After a while, the boy spoke again.
"You ever feel like giving up?"
Isac didn't answer.
"…I do," the boy said. "A lot."
"…So you have?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "I gave up once. For a while."
"…Then what?"
"But I learned something," the boy said. "Giving up doesn't mean you can't start again. Y'know?"
Isac stared at him.
The boy stood, brushed off his pants, and turned toward the street.
"Anyway… I gotta go. Homework."
"Hey," Isac said suddenly. "What's your name?"
The boy smiled faintly.
"Daniel."
Then he walked off into the night.
Isac sat there, spring roll in his mouth, heart weirdly full.
[Back to Present – Isac's POV]
The hospital hallway was quiet now.
A vending machine buzzed somewhere in the distance.
Isac leaned back in his chair, eyes staring at the ceiling.
He thought about that moment a lot.
That small boy with the bruised face who still had the audacity to offer him food and hope in the same breath.
That boy who could barely stand… but still sat with him.
Who had given up… but chose to get back up.
Daniel.
He'd never forgotten him.
That night changed something.
That night made Isac train.
Not for revenge.
Not for his father.
Not for anyone else.
But so he could be like the boy with the sad eyes and a spring roll in his hand — someone who could smile, even through pain.
He got stronger.
He became a young kickboxer. Won fights. Appeared on local sports channels. Even international news once.
That's why people recognized him now.
That's why they backed off when they saw his face.
Because behind the cold white hair and blank expression… was a fighter forged from a spring roll under a flickering streetlight.
And that fighter owed Daniel everything.
So he'd stay.
He'd wait.
Until Daniel opened his eyes again.