Fist Of Fate: Child of Perak

"I heard about your match," Crystall said, stepping forward. "I thought this might help."

Ali accepted the box, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. He opened it to find a simple wristband with the words Never Give Up etched into the material.

"It's not much," Crystall added quickly, her cheeks pink. "But I thought you might like it."

Ali looked up at her, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with boxing. "Thank you. It's... perfect."

Zahra and Farid exchanged knowing glances, barely suppressing their grins.

"Alright, lovebirds," Zahra interjected, clapping her hands. "Let's get back to the party before Ali's head inflates from all this attention."

As the night wound down, the four of them sat on the grass under the stars, sharing stories and laughing until their sides hurt.

Zahra was sprawled out with her phone, probably editing footage for her next blog post. Farid was munching on the last kebab, his championship belt still slung over his shoulder. Crystall sat quietly beside Ali, her presence calming and reassuring.

Ali glanced around at his friends, a warm sense of gratitude washing over him. Despite his failures and insecurities, these were the people who believed in him, who lifted him up when he couldn't do it himself.

"With all of you behind me," he said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I can't lose."

Zahra looked up from her phone, smirking. "That's the spirit. Now, try not to trip over your own feet tomorrow."

Farid laughed, raising his imaginary championship belt. "And if you need a sparring partner, you know where to find me."

Crystall didn't say anything, but she smiled at Ali, her eyes filled with quiet encouragement.

Ali clenched his fists, the wristband snug around his wrist. This wasn't just about boxing anymore—it was about proving to himself and everyone else that he was capable of greatness.

"Tomorrow's a new day," he said, his voice steady. "Let's make it count."

---

---

---

Ali's knuckles stung as he reset his stance, his breathing heavy but focused. Coach Rahman stood across from him, arms crossed and expression as unreadable as ever. The small backyard gym, with its faint smell of leather and sweat, felt like the entire world in that moment.

"Focus," Coach barked, tapping the mitts in his hands. "Don't just throw your fists around like you're swatting flies. Precision. Timing. Those are what make a punch count."

Ali nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. His legs ached from the countless drills, and his arms felt like lead. But somewhere deep inside, a stubborn fire refused to die out.

"Again," Coach ordered.

Ali tightened his gloves and moved in. His eyes locked onto the mitts, blocking out everything else—the chirping of birds, the creak of the ropes from the makeshift ring, even Zahra's usual commentary from the sidelines.

Jab. Cross. Hook.

The punches came in a flurry, but most were met with a sharp shake of Coach's head. "Too wide. Too slow. Are you dancing or boxing, boy?"

Frustration bubbled up in Ali's chest. He gritted his teeth, planted his feet, and threw a punch with every ounce of strength he had left.

Smack!

The sound echoed across the yard. Coach Rahman blinked, lowering the mitts slightly. "Now that was a punch."

Ali's chest heaved, his heart pounding like a drum. He stared at Coach, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "Did... did you just compliment me?"

Coach grunted, a rare flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't let it go to your head, kid. One good punch doesn't make you a boxer. But it's a start."

---

On the sidelines, Zahra had been recording the entire session on her phone. She jumped up, punching the air dramatically. "We got it! We've officially entered Ali's villain origin story phase!"

Farid leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the screen. "Add some slow-motion effects and a heroic soundtrack. Maybe that dramatic violin thing. You know, 'Dun-dun-dun-duuuuun!'"

Ali rolled his eyes, walking over to grab his water bottle. "You guys are ridiculous."

"And you're welcome," Zahra shot back, already editing the video. "This is the kind of content that's going to make you a school legend. 'Ali lands his first punch—witness greatness in the making!'"

Farid snorted. "Don't forget to mention his manager. That's me, by the way. I take a 10% cut once you start making bank."

Ali shook his head, unable to suppress a small smile. Their antics were annoying, sure, but they were also the reason he hadn't given up yet.

---

As the trio bantered, the faint sound of footsteps approached. Ali turned to see Crystall standing just outside the gate, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder. His heart skipped a beat.

"Crystall?" he blurted, far too loudly.

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Zahra told me you were training. Thought I'd stop by and see how it's going."

Zahra immediately perked up. "Oh, perfect timing! You just missed his epic punch. Don't worry—I've got it all on video."

Crystall laughed softly, her gaze shifting to Ali. "You're really putting in the work, huh?"

Ali scratched the back of his neck, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty and disheveled he looked. "Yeah, uh... trying to, at least."

"You're doing great," she said, her tone earnest. "I can tell."

Her words were simple, but to Ali, they felt like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. He nodded, his usual awkwardness kicking in. "Thanks. I... uh... I'm glad you think so."

From the corner of his eye, Ali saw Zahra mouthing "Smooth." He shot her a glare, but it only made her grin wider.

---

After Crystall left, Ali returned to the gym, his determination renewed. Coach Rahman was waiting for him, arms still crossed and expression as stern as ever.

"Feeling good now, Romeo?" Coach asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Ali flushed. "Let's just get back to training."

Coach smirked faintly. "Good answer."

They went through the drills again, this time with Ali focusing harder than he ever had before. Every punch, every movement, every adjustment Coach made to his stance—it all felt like progress, no matter how small.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the yard, Ali finished his last set of shadowboxing. His muscles burned, his shirt clung to him like a second skin, and his fists trembled with exhaustion.