Chapter 2:
The alarm didn't ring.
Stephen didn't have one.
Instead, he woke up to silence.
For a moment, he lay still on his thin mattress, staring into the darkness. The house was quiet, no coughing, no movement, just the soft breathing of his father in the next room.
Then he remembered.
Four in the morning.
His heart jumped.
He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes. The air was cold, biting through the thin blanket he pushed aside. Outside, Mdantsane was different at this hour still, almost peaceful, like the township was holding its breath before the day began, No loud music, barking dogs or random bouts of conflict.
Stephen dressed quietly, pulling on his worn hoodie and old takkies. He moved carefully, trying not to wake his father.
Just as he reached the door
________________________________________
"Stephen."
He froze.
Slowly, he turned around.
Holomisa stood in the doorway, arms folded, his eyes sharp even in the dark. But there was something else there too—something heavier. Something buried.
"Uyaphi ngalixesha?" his father asked.
Stephen hesitated. There was no point lying.
"The gym," he said softly.
A long silence followed.
Holomisa stepped closer. "To do what?"
Stephen swallowed. "Just… trying to be healthier."
His father let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly.
"Healthy?" he muttered. "At four in the morning?"
Stephen said nothing.
Holomisa's eyes drifted past him for a moment, unfocused—like he wasn't seeing the room anymore, but something far away.
"You think it starts like that," he said quietly. "Running. Training. Discipline…"
His jaw tightened.
"Then one day, you're standing in front of someone who wants to hurt you. And you realize, it's not just a game."
Stephen frowned slightly. "Tata…"
Holomisa snapped back, his expression hard again.
"Just that?" he said, brushing it off. "To get healthier?"
Stephen took a small step forward. This time, he didn't look away.
"I need to try this."
Silence.
Heavy. Thick.
Holomisa studied him really studied him now. His eyes moved over Stephen's face, his shoulders, his stance… like he was measuring something.
Or remembering.
Slowly, his gaze dropped.
For a brief moment, his hand tightened into a fist instinctively, unconsciously.
Then he loosened it.
"You don't know what that world takes from you," he said, almost to himself.
Stephen's voice was steady now. "Maybe not. But I know what staying here will take from me."
That landed.
Holomisa looked up sharply.
For a second, something flickered in his eyes pain, pride… recognition.
A younger version of himself.
Then it was gone.
Another long silence.
Finally, he stepped aside.
"Hamba," he said quietly. "But understand this…"
Stephen paused at the door.
Holomisa's voice dropped lower.
"Once you step into that life… it doesn't let you go easily."
Stephen nodded slowly. "Ndiyabulela, Tata." Sensing the acceptance in his father's tone.
He stepped out into the cold.
Behind him, Holomisa remained standing in the doorway.
Alone.
His hand curled into a fist again.
This time, he didn't stop it.
________________________________________
The streets were empty.
No taxis. No shouting. No music.
Just the sound of Stephen's footsteps echoing softly as he jogged through the dark streets, his breath visible in the cold air.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
What am I doing?
His mind started talking.
You've never trained before.
What if they laugh at you?
What if you're not good enough?
He slowed down.
Then stopped.
For a moment, he stood there, alone in the middle of the street.
The doubt crept in fast.
But then
He remembered the fight.
The focus. The discipline. The power.
And the feeling in his chest when he watched it.
Stephen clenched his fists.
"No," he whispered.
He started running again.
________________________________________
By the time he reached the gym, his legs were already burning.
The building looked even smaller in the early morning light. The door was slightly open, and a dim light flickered inside.
Stephen stepped in.
Coach Sipho was already there.
Of course he was.
Standing in the center of the gym, arms folded, watching.
"You're late," Sipho said.
Stephen blinked. "Late? It's"
"Four o'clock means you arrive before four," Sipho cut in.
Stephen nodded quickly. "Sorry, Coach."
Sipho didn't respond. Instead, he pointed to the floor.
"Warm up."
Stephen looked around. "How?"
Sipho raised an eyebrow. "You came here to learn, didn't you? Start moving."
Stephen swallowed and began jogging in place.
It felt awkward.
Uncomfortable.
Wrong.
But he kept going.
"Faster," Sipho said.
Stephen increased his pace.
"Phantsi."
Stephen froze. "What?"
"Push-ups."
Stephen dropped to the floor and started.
One.
Two.
Three
By ten, his arms were shaking.
By fifteen, he collapsed.
The gym was silent.
Sipho didn't move.
"Get up," he said.
Stephen pushed himself back up, breathing heavily.
"Again."
Stephen stared at the floor.
Everything in his body screamed no.
But he got down again.
________________________________________
An hour passed.
Then another.
Running.
Push-ups.
Sit-ups.
Shadowboxing.
Stephen had never felt pain like this before.
His lungs burned. His legs felt like stone. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision.
At one point, he stumbled and fell.
He stayed down.
I can't do this.
The thought came quietly.
Dangerously.
Sipho's voice cut through it.
"Finished?"
Stephen didn't answer.
"Good," Sipho said. "Then you can leave."
Something about that hit harder than the training.
Stephen slowly lifted his head.
"I didn't say I'm done," he muttered.
Sipho watched him carefully.
Stephen pushed himself up again shaking, exhausted, barely standing.
"I'm not done."
For the first time
Sipho smiled.
Just a little.
________________________________________
Later, as the sun began to rise, the other fighters started arriving.
They stopped when they saw Stephen.
Sweaty. Tired. Struggling just to stand.
One of them laughed. "This one won't last a week."
Another shook his head. "He's too small."
Stephen heard every word.
But he said nothing.
Sipho stepped forward.
"This is Stephen," he said. "He trains here now."
The room went quiet.
Stephen looked at the fighters strong, confident, experienced.
Then he looked down at his shaking hands.
Doubt crept in again.
But this time
He didn't let it stay.
He clenched his fists.
I belong here.
Even if he didn't believe it yet
He was going to prove it.
________________________________________
As he walked home under the rising sun, every step hurt.
His body ached.
His muscles screamed.
But inside
Something had changed.
This wasn't just a dream anymore.
This was work.
This was sacrifice.
This was the beginning of something real.
Stephen smiled to himself, despite the pain.
Tomorrow, he would be back.
Even earlier.
Even stronger.