Despondency

  The panel is blank.

  The next page opens behind the school bleachers. Teachers are already walking up the steps, calling students down and escorting them toward the office. The camera drops into a low angle as the crowd shuffles forward, eventually settling on Nikui and Eartha sitting side-by-side outside the principal’s office. Eartha’s knees are drawn in, her hands folded, her eyes lowered. Nikui leans back in his chair, tapping his foot as if trying to keep his irritation contained.

  The panel then draws closer to the window of the principal’s office. Inside, their parents sit stiffly across from Taddo’s parents. Voices aren’t heard, only gestures. Hands opening, heads shaking, the principal speaking calmly. Whatever tension had filled the room before now seems to dissolve. Smiles spread across both families’ faces… all except Taddo, who slouches in his chair, arms pressed against his sides.

  Everyone stands to leave. As they step out, Taddo hesitates at the doorway and glances toward Eartha. She doesn’t say anything, just sits quietly, but something about her stillness intimidates him. He retreats behind his mother’s arm. She gently rests her hand on the back of his head, guiding him forward. Taddo’s father motions toward the exit door. Together, the family heads out of the school.

  On the ride home, the car is silent except for the hum of the road beneath them. Taddo’s dad glances in the rearview mirror and sees his son’s face tightening, tears forming. He shifts his eyes toward his wife. Without a word, she turns around, reaches for Taddo’s hand, and kisses the back of it before turning his palm over and kissing that too. She looks up at him with a soft smile, warm, reassuring.

  Taddo forces a small smile back as they pull into their driveway.

  That evening, the panel shows the mother and father cooking together. The warm glow from the kitchen lights fills the house as they prepare dinner. When the food is nearly done, the father nods his head toward the hallway. Noticing for the mom to check on the young boy. The mother wipes her hands on a towel and quietly makes her way into Taddo’s room.

  He’s lying on his stomach, book open, feet kicking back and forth in the air. When she enters, he lifts his head, eyes lingering for a moment before setting his book aside. He follows her out to join his father at the dinner table.

  The family sits around an impressive meal, almost too impressive. Taddo looks from dish to dish, confused. He studies his father’s face, then his mother’s. The tension is thick enough to feel. His mother finally speaks, though her voice trembles. His father stiffens, as if afraid of what she might say. Their eyes lock, then shift back to their son, who is already tearing up. They meet his gaze with strained smiles and raise their thumbs in an awkward attempt at reassurance.

  The scene cuts to the three of them going out for ice cream. They return home afterward, the house dark against the quiet night.

  The panel holds on the exterior of the home as time passes. The sun sets. The moon rises. The cycle repeats through several frames. In the final panels, we see Taddo’s father helping his frail wife into the car. Later, he returns alone.

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  When he walks through the front door, he stops. Taddo is in the middle of training, practicing Soul Fighter moves with fierce determination. The father steps forward, places a hand gently on the back of his son’s head, and pulls him into a hug. Taddo freezes, confused, then slowly relaxes into the warmth of his father’s trembling arms.

  When Taddo looks up, he sees tears running down his father’s face. The man quickly wipes them away, trying to regain composure. He kneels in front of his son, touches his shoulder, and points toward the door.

  They leave together.

  The next scene opens at the hospital.

  The panel goes blank

  Present day returns at the Soul Fighter base. The rookies stand in the same groups of three. Teachers guide them across the training grounds, demonstrating stances, techniques, and forms. Panels show each group practicing, kicks slamming into pads, energy swirling around hands, the echo of effort filling the temple.

  Nikui works with Bosatsu, adjusting his form, correcting his balance. But both of them keep glancing toward Taddo, who is struggling more with each attempt. His punches wobble, his breath shakes, his concentration breaks again and again. The teachers encourage him, but frustration keeps clouding his face.

  Class ends. The rookies return to their bunks. Night settles over the temple.

  Taddo lies in bed, staring upward, his chest tightening. Tears spill onto his pillow. Unable to bear it, he slips out from under his blanket and walks quietly to the restroom.

  At the sink, Bosatsu is washing his hands. When he notices Taddo step inside, he turns toward him..

  “Hey… are you okay?” Bosatsu asks softly.

  Taddo doesn’t even try to answer. He bursts into tears.

  Bosatsu immediately steps forward and wraps him in a tight hug. When Taddo finally calms enough to breathe, Bosatsu holds him by the shoulders, gives him a confident thumbs-up, and says, “We are going to be okay.”

  Taddo looks up at him. His tears faded. He forces a small smile and gives him a thumbs-up back.

  The next panel returns to the hospital from the past.

  Taddo walks ahead of his father into a dim room. His mother lies in the hospital bed, barely able to lift her eyelids. Her breathing is weak, heavy. When she sees her son, she tries to sit up, coughing violently.

  “Please, don’t move like that,” the nurse pleads, rushing forward. His father echoes her concern, steadying the bedrail.

  She waves them off and pulls Taddo closer to her frail body.

  Her hand is cold, clammy. Taddo looks at her, fear widening his eyes. She reaches up, removing the soft blue beanie from her bald head. With trembling fingers, she places it in his open palm.

  He curls his fingers around it instinctively.

  She turns his hand over and kisses the top of it. Tears spill from Taddo’s eyes as he looks up at her.

  She smiles at him, weak, gentle and raises her thumb.

  With her final breath, she whispers, “We are going to be okay.”

  The heart monitor flatlines.

  The next page is white, with only two words centered in the middle:

  GOOD GRIEF.