Ichigo can't Fight

PART ONE

"Forty-eight... forty-eight... forty-eight,"

Ichigo muttered, his voice barely audible as he lay sprawled on the ground, battered and bruised. His breaths came shallow and ragged, each one a painful reminder of the street gang's assault. Teigen, though equally battered, managed to stand, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. He looked down at Ichigo, bewildered.

"You know," Teigen began, his voice tinged with exasperation, "for someone who doesn't seem to have a fighting spirit, you sure don't know how to stay out of trouble. And what's with the counting? You do this every time we get beat up."

Ichigo gritted his teeth as he forced himself into a sitting position, clutching his ribs where the gang's punches had landed the hardest. He chuckled weakly, the sound turning into a coughing fit that sent waves of pain through his body.

"Teigen," he said between labored breaths, "I've been keeping track… (coughs)… keeping track of how many times Pit and his gang have beaten us. I figure there has to be a number… a limit to how long they'll keep at it before they finally get bored and leave us alone for good."

Teigen stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and pity etched on his face.

"You really believe they'll get tired of this someday?" he asked, skepticism thick in his tone.

Ichigo gave a lopsided grin, his battered face lighting up with a spark of determination.

"Oh, absolutely," he replied, wincing as he shifted. "One of these days, we'll walk right past them, and they won't even look at us. No punches, no shoves—nothing. You just wait."

Teigen shook his head, unable to decide whether Ichigo's optimism was inspiring or downright delusional. Still, his words carried a flicker of hope, a faint light in the darkness of their harsh reality.

Their lives on the streets had been a never-ending cycle of struggle—constantly dodging gangs like Pit's, always bracing for the next beating. Yet, for some reason, Ichigo's resilience made Teigen feel like there might actually be a way out, however improbable it seemed.

A sharp intake of breath brought Teigen back to the present.

"You're hurt bad," he remarked, crouching beside Ichigo.

"Hah… nothing Sosai can't fix," Ichigo replied with a grunt, brushing off the concern. Then, as if he'd just remembered something, he reached into his pocket and, with some effort, pulled out a small, slightly bruised apple.

Teigen blinked in surprise.

"How the hell did you manage to hold on to that?"

Ichigo grinned weakly, the triumph in his eyes unmistakable.

"It wasn't easy, let me tell you," he said, wheezing slightly. "Pit's goons were too busy aiming for my ribs to notice me slipping it out of sight."

Teigen couldn't help but laugh softly despite the pain.

"You're insane," he muttered, shaking his head.

Ichigo extended the apple toward him, his hand trembling slightly. "Here," he said. "It's yours."

Teigen hesitated for a moment before taking it, his gaze shifting between the apple and Ichigo.

"Thanks," he said quietly, a mix of gratitude and admiration in his voice.

Ichigo leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly.

"Don't mention it," he murmured. "Besides, you need the energy more than I do."

Teigen studied his friend's battered but defiant face. Ichigo's unwavering spirit, even in the worst of times, was enough to make him believe—just for a moment—that maybe their luck could change someday.

Maybe.