Pulse:vicious cycle

The hallway was silent now, save for the ragged sound of Jin's breathing. He stared at his trembling fists, his knuckles raw and dripping with blood—Riku's blood. The metallic tang of it filled the air, mixing with the scent of sweat and fear.

Riku lay motionless on the cold, tiled floor, his face swollen and unrecognizable. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the only sign that he was still alive. The crowd that had gathered moments ago, laughing and jeering, was now frozen in stunned silence.

Jin's vision blurred as the adrenaline coursing through his veins began to ebb, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar sensation. His body ached, his knuckles throbbed, but none of it mattered. For the first time in his life, Jin felt something he had only dreamed of.

Power.

Not the kind of fleeting strength he imagined in moments of despair, but real, tangible power. The kind that came with the ability to fight back.

His lips curled into a faint, involuntary smile, his teeth stained red with his own blood. This...this was what it felt like to win.

Earlier That Day

Jin had woken up with the familiar ache of bruises decorating his ribs and arms. Another beating, another reminder that he was at the bottom of the social food chain. He stared at the cracked ceiling of his room, the morning light streaming through the window, and sighed.

"Just another day," he muttered to himself, dragging his body out of bed.

At school, the same routine played out. Avoid eye contact. Walk quickly. Keep your head down. But as he approached his locker, the faint flicker of hope that he might make it through the day unnoticed was extinguished.

Riku Aoki was there, leaning against Jin's locker with his usual smug grin. His dyed hair was perfectly styled, his uniform crisp an irritating contrast to Jin's disheveled appearance.

"Not so fast, punching bag," Riku called out, his voice cutting through the hallway noise like a knife. The crowd began to gather almost instantly, like vultures circling a fresh carcass.

Jin's heart sank, but he forced himself to keep walking. "I'm not in the mood, Riku. Just let me get my books."

"Oh, you're not in the mood?" Riku mocked, his grin widening. "Haruki said you'd say something like that. Told me to make sure you understand your place."

Jin tried to push past, but Riku slammed him into the lockers with a loud clang. The crowd laughed, their phones already out to record the spectacle.

"Come on, say something," Riku sneered. "Or are you too scared to even talk back?"

Jin clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. The pain helped keep the rage bubbling inside him at bay.

"Leave me alone," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

"What was that? Speak up!" Riku demanded, delivering a punch to Jin's stomach.

The air left Jin's lungs in a rush, but he didn't fall. He refused to fall. Another punch came, and another, each one more forceful than the last. The crowd jeered, their laughter echoing in Jin's ears.

Before he could think, Jin's fist shot out, connecting with Riku's jaw in a sickening crunch. Time seemed to slow as Riku stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

The crowd gasped, their laughter replaced by stunned silence.

Jin didn't stop. He couldn't. He lunged at Riku, tackling him to the ground with a force that surprised even himself. His fists moved on their own, driven by years of bottled-up rage and humiliation.

One punch.

The satisfying thud of his fist meeting flesh sent a jolt of energy through him.

Two punches.

The blood splattering across his knuckles felt like a release, a catharsis he didn't know he needed.

Three punches.

The world around him faded away. There was no crowd, no hallway, no school. Just him and Riku.

"Jin, stop!" someone screamed, but their voice was distant, like an echo in a tunnel.

Four. Five. Six.

His knuckles were slick with blood, his arms trembling with exhaustion, but he didn't care. Each punch was a declaration, a roar of defiance against the world that had beaten him down for so long.

"Enough!" two boys from the crowd rushed forward, grabbing Jin's arms and pulling him off Riku.

Jin struggled against their grip, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched.

"Let me go!" he shouted, his voice hoarse and raw.

But as he looked down at Riku's broken, bloodied face, the reality of what he had done hit him.

His hands trembled, stained with crimson, and his breathing slowed.

"What…what did I do?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The crowd dispersed quickly as teachers arrived, their faces pale with shock and anger. Jin was dragged to the principal's office, his mind spinning with conflicting emotions.

He should have felt guilt, regret, fear of the consequences. But all he could feel was the echo of that moment—the moment his fist connected with Riku's jaw.

It wasn't just the physical act of fighting back. It was the feeling of liberation, of finally breaking free from the chains that had bound him for so long.

In the deepest corners of his mind, a thought lingered, unspoken but undeniable:

This is what victory tastes like.

And it was intoxicating.