Chapter 1: The Ballad of a P.E. Casualty
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"And that is why Trevor was the first human to land a paperclip on the surface of Mars."
The voice came from a man with a pot belly and a beard so scrubby it looked like it had been slapped onto his face by a medieval goblin. He said it with such confidence that I began to question whether I had missed something in life—or sanity.
Now, you may be asking yourself, "Whose voice is this narrator speaking in, and why does it sound like warm molasses poured over gravel?"
The answer? It's me.
The boy sitting beside the boy sitting beside the window. Yeah, I know. Very specific. But that's what you get from a fanfic skating on the thinnest sheet of ice called copyright.
(A)N: COUGH!! Focus!)
Anyway.
The classroom paused—figuratively—as an imaginary spotlight found me. I, the humble narrator. The MC. The hopelessly attractive, totally relatable protagonist.
The bell rang.
Students evacuated the room with the dead-eyed shuffle of post-apocalyptic survivors, dragging their emotional baggage through the hallway like it owed them money. I swear.
And there I remained. A lone figure, standing stationary in his existential dread.
There he stood—me—with a chin so sharp it could slice diamonds, and hair blowing from a random anime wind, courtesy of an open window left ajar by an unnamed NPC. Towering at 6'7" with the muscle mass of a Greek god (read again: lies), I was eighteen and radiating pure misunderstood hotness.
Or so I told myself.
"Leon! Get your ass to P.E.!" my history teacher barked, steamrolling my inner monologue like a budget Thanos.
Ah. Reality. Always the cockblock of fantasy.
I groaned and pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from my bag. The trembling in my hands wasn't fear—it was… Okay, yeah, it was fear.
[LION U_ME_TOILET AFTER P.E.]
Misspelled. Aggressive. And signed with in cruelest handwriting:
[xoxo… XANDER]
I sighed. The high school cliché was real, and it had my name spelled wrong. Again.
Our school was divided into four social kingdoms:
1. The Rich (who ruled)
2. The Popular (who bullied while bootlicking the rich)
3. The Smart (who hid and got dunked anyway)
4. The Goons (a mystery to science and God)
I was somewhere between Smart and Pathetically Invisible. My only power? Inner monologue and premature back pain.
Dragging myself toward the gym, my hair lost its anime flow, and my diamond-cut jaw became slack with dread. The Aura of masculinity? Now just last night's microwave pizza churning in my stomach.
The gymnasium loomed ahead—reeking of sweat, regret, and unachievable dreams. The bounce of basketballs echoed like war drums. Coach Johnson, the P.E. warlord with the whistle and a hairline that had long surrendered, spotted me immediately.
"Leon! You're late! TEN laps!"
Ten laps? I'd rather fight a bear. But arguing with Coach was a death sentence, so I accepted my fate like a true coward.
I began running—each step a cry for help. My lungs burned, my legs screamed, and my spirit whispered, "Let go."
Then I saw him.
Xander.
Leaning against the bleachers like a dollar store anime villain. Surrounded by goons reeking of toxic masculinity and Axe body spray.
His eyes met mine.
"Having fun, Lion?" he sneered, every syllable dunking on my already crippled will to live. Again, he got my name wrong.
"Just... just doing my laps," I mumbled.
"Inspiring," he smirked. "You really motivate me to keep the toilets sparkling."
His entourage erupted in hyena laughter. One even slapped the wall. Another smacked his knees in laughter...
I wanted to melt into the floor. Instead, I just kept running. Broken robot style.
Then came the final blow.
Coach blew his whistle and screamed, "DODGEBALL!"
My knees buckled. My soul ascended.
Xander's eyes lit up like he'd been handed a Christmas bonus. "Don't worry, Lion," he said. "I'll make sure you catch something today."
And in that moment, I knew.
This was going to be the longest hour of my life.
And yes, the toilet was calling my name.
---
Dodgeball.
The modern-day coliseum. The battlefield of the broken. Where dreams are shattered and nerds become target practice.
Coach Johnson split us into two teams. Naturally, Xander was captain of Team Testosterone. I, meanwhile, was sorted onto Team Underdog, featuring a kid with asthma, someone in a neck brace, and Chad—who only showed up to P.E. to sell expired energy drinks.
"Let the games begin!" Coach roared like a mad king.
The first ball flew past my ear with a Doppler effect so dramatic I felt it in my hair scalp.
Xander was already charging, gripping a dodgeball like it owed him rent. I swear his arm glowed. I ducked just in time for the ball to decapitate a water bottle on the bench behind me.
"One down!" he shouted, even though I was still very much up.
Another ball came at me. I dodged. Barely. My dodge was more of a desperate falling forward motion that just so happened to work. But to the untrained eye? Graceful.
"Ooooh!" someone from the sidelines cheered. Probably sarcastically.
I grinned, channeling every ounce of courage left in my rapidly failing body. My eyes flared to life.
This is it, Leon. Redemption arc. Rise up. Dodgeball your way into legend.
*Twack!*
A ball nailed me square in the face.
My legend died in the womb.
I landed flat on the gym floor, hearing the faint sound of laughter above the ringing in my ears. The room spun like a bargain bin Beyblade.
"Get up, Lion! We believe in you!" Chad called out, cracking open an energy drink and handing me a can like it was a health potion.
I took a sip.
Terrible.
But effective.
My eyes flared open. My body buzzed like a car battery dipped in caffeine.
Xander smirked and grabbed another ball. "Round two?"
"Bring it on, Baldilocks," I muttered, wiping imaginary blood from my nose. (It was sweat. Probably.)
The crowd gasped. Even Coach raised a brow.
We both charged.
He threw.
I sidestepped.
Gracefully? Maybe not. Successfully? Absolutely.
I scooped up a ball and, with the strength of a caffeinated energy juice, hurled it with all my might.
It hit Xander in the shoulder.
The gym went silent.
He stared at me like I'd just insulted his protein powder.
Coach blew the whistle. "That's the game!"
We'd lost, but I didn't care.
For one glorious moment—I stood tall.
Well, wobbly.
But standing nonetheless.
And somewhere in the cosmos, a dodgeball god nodded in approval.
Little did I know, this was the last normal day I'd ever have.
Because tomorrow… the underdog bites back!