Gemotions

The rhythmic thud of the punching bag was normally a source of catharsis for Kai, but today it was failing. Each blow felt weak, lifeless, reflecting the turmoil inside. His arms ached, but the fatigue was different. It wasn’t the good kind, the satisfying exhaustion that followed a grueling workout.

His coach's words, "We're going with someone else," echoed in his ears. His fists were clenched so tight, his knuckles were white. He was a second-degree black belt, dammit. He was supposed to be on the team.

He stopped punching, leaning his forehead against the bag. The leather was rough and smelled of sweat and liniment. The air in the dojo felt stagnant, heavy with the unspoken disappointment. He finally pulled away, his face etched with something akin to defeat.