Last time she spoke him, he was like a lost little cat. Now he's more like a proud tiger.

She looks down at that small square in the middle of the hall. In that little square, that lost cat she once taught is now fighting for his life. He's the Japanese champion now. She's shaking, because the match is just that exciting. She wonders if he still remembers her. She remembers how the boy would always avert his eyes when talking with her. Or was she the one averting her eyes? When she told the boy she was getting married, was that disappointment in his eyes? Or was she the one who was disappointed?

"DOWN! Go to your neutral corner!" she hears the referee shout. His opponent is down. That's only to be expected. He's the champion after all. She reminisces about that last year she taught at that middle school. On that rooftop, she told him to stop being a little boy and act like a grownup. Because it doesn't matter if you're strong or not when you grow up. How she wishes she could take back those words. On that rooftop, he asked her, "what does it mean to be strong?" She didn't want to admit it, being a teacher, but she didn't know the answer. And she still doesn't. Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a storm of punches. His opponent is going back and forth while delivering punches from both sides. It's almost too cruel to watch. With a finishing blow, her champion lands on the mat. And stands up. And falls again. Then the gong sounds. He walks away with his chest held high, dignified. Are you finally coming a bit closer, she thought, to knowing what real strength is?

Last time she spoke him, he was like a lost little cat. Now he's just like a proud tiger.