Rain poured under a colorless sky, drumming against rooftops and soaking the empty streets. The cold night air was thick with tension, broken only by the distant echoes of shouting, fists colliding with flesh, and footsteps slamming against concrete.
The schoolyard—usually quiet after hours—was now a battlefield.
Five figures stood beneath the floodlights, backs against each other, bruised but unshaken.
Axel, the leader, stood front and center. Calm. Focused. His stance was that of someone who had been in countless fights and never lost. He moved with purpose—every punch was clean, every block timed to perfection. An all-around fighter, not just in skill but in instinct.
Beside him was Ken—a wall of muscle with fists like sledgehammers. He didn't dodge hits; he took them and kept walking. When Ken hit, bones cracked.
Sean weaved through the chaos like wind. Speed was his domain—quick jabs, faster kicks, too fast to track, too unpredictable to catch. He was the first to strike and the last to be touched.
Josh, the wild card, fought dirty. Knee strikes, feints, and surprise hits. He never played fair, and that was exactly why he was feared. He smirked through the brawls, enjoying every second.
And then there was Alex, the mind behind the madness. Calm, analytical—he could read his opponent before the first punch was thrown. He shouted directions mid-fight, turning a street brawl into a choreographed destruction.
Together, they weren't just a gang. They were a legend in the making. Schools across town whispered their names like rumors. Even rival groups knew to steer clear of Axel and his pack.
⸻
The next day, the school was silent as the five walked the hallway.
Heads turned. Conversations stopped. The students parted like water around a stone.
They weren't just feared—they were respected, untouchable.
But all legends have cracks. And Axel's was waiting outside the school gates.
⸻
A black car was parked at the curb. Leaning against the driver's side was a tall man in a coat—Axel's father.
"Happy birthday, son," he said, voice stiff but sincere.
Axel didn't answer right away. Their relationship had never been close. Years of silence and absence had built a wall between them.
"You got time?" his father asked. "Thought we could hang out. Just us. Maybe grab dinner."
Awkward silence.
"…Sure," Axel muttered. "Why not."
⸻
They sat across from each other at a quiet diner.
Dinner was slow, filled with half-sentences and long pauses. Small talk came like pulling teeth. They ate in silence more than they spoke.
And yet, in some part of Axel, something long-buried stirred.
⸻
The ride home was dimly lit by streetlights and passing rain. The windshield wipers dragged rhythmically, matching the steady awkward silence.
Then, Axel's father broke it.
"You've grown," he said.
Axel stared out the window. "No thanks to you."
A sigh. "I know I haven't been the best father. I missed a lot. Too much. But… I want to fix that. I'm trying to be here now."
"You're late."
"I get that. But I also know what you've been doing—fighting, leading a gang. I'm not judging, just… warning you. That path doesn't end well. You should walk away before it takes everything from you."
Axel turned to him. "Don't pretend like you care now. You left me in the dark for years. Why should I listen to anything you say?"
His father's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Because I've walked that path too."
That's when the headlights flashed.
⸻
Four black sedans cut across the road and boxed them in.
Men in suits stepped out—calm, professional, dangerous.
Axel's father muttered, "Stay here."
"Dad… what's going on?"
Before he could answer, the first punch was thrown.
His father moved fast—faster than Axel had ever seen. He fought them off with trained skill, countering and dodging, but they kept coming.
Axel jumped out of the car, fists raised—but one of the suited men intercepted him.
He tried to fight, but they were too strong. Too experienced.
One of them slammed him to the ground, pinning him.
From where he lay, he could only watch.
His father, bloodied and surrounded, fell to his knees.
"Dad!"
Axel screamed, struggling under the weight pressing down on him.
He reached out—his father looked back.
Their eyes met.
And in his father's eyes, he saw it.
Regret.
Tears.
A goodbye.
"Please!" Axel cried. "STOP!"
But the world went silent.
And then—
⸻
Axel woke up.
Sweating.
Breathing hard.
It was the same nightmare. The same memory. The same night.
It had been years, and still… it haunted him.
No matter how far he ran, it always found him.
Because it wasn't just a dream.
It was the night everything changed.