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Fight or Flight
Three months into therapy. The FFIX poster on Kyle’s wall was starting to feel like furniture. So was the routine.
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’ve been thinking for three minutes. That’s stalling with better posture.”
“Fine. It’s better.”
“‘It’s better.’ Inspiring stuff, Matt. Really painting a picture.”
“What do you want, a speech?”
“I want more than two words. But we’ll come back to that. Time for the boss fight.”
“It’s a goddamn elevator, Kyle.”
“It’s Golbez. We’ve been over this.”
Fourth floor, end of the corridor. Kyle nodded at the call button.
Weeks of drilling had made the breathing ladder a reflex instead of technique.
He pressed it.
In. The doors opened.
Matt rolled forward. A month ago, this was where his chest would lock up. He reached for the ground floor button himself.
Hold. The descent began.
His stomach clenched, hands tight on the armrests. The panic didn’t go away, but today, he was building a cage around it.
Out. The elevator stopped.
Sweat on his palms. Shirt damp at the collar. He was still gripping the armrests, and it took him a second to let go. But his breathing was even. His head was quiet.
For the first time in what felt like ages, he wasn’t falling.
The cafeteria was half-empty this time of day. They sat at one of the tables near the window.
“Not bad, Matt. You chipped off five percent of Golbez’s health bar today.”
“Five percent. Generous.”
“I am. But you know what’s interesting about Golbez?”
“Here we go.”
“Cecil fights him, what, three times? Four? But Golbez isn’t actually the problem. He’s working for someone. The fights with him are distractions. Cecil keeps thinking this is the real battle, and he keeps being wrong. The actual threat is something he hasn’t looked at yet.”
Kyle took a sip of coffee.
“The elevator is your Golbez, Matt. You’ve been grinding this fight for months, and you’re getting better at it. But it’s not the endgame. There’s something else running the show, and you haven’t gone near it.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you tell me. What’s the thing you’re not fighting?”
Matt didn’t answer.
“No rush. But at some point, you’ve got to stop grinding Golbez and start asking who’s pulling the strings.” Kyle glanced past his shoulder. “That your little brother?”
He turned. Danny was outside the cafeteria window, waving like he was flagging down a helicopter.
“Yeah. Good kid.”
“See you next Monday then.” Kyle stood. “You earned the save point, but game’s not over yet.”
Maybe. But I still won the boss fight.
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