The punch landed anyway. Not from the brute. From somewhere else. A phantom fist. The video glitched—blocky artifacts, green squares, a frozen frame of Young Leo’s eyes going wide. Then black.
But there was a note in the comments section. A single line, time-stamped 3:47 AM.
Leo stared at the frozen last frame. His own face, half-corrupted by compression artifacts, stared back. He reached up and touched his left temple, where the scar was. He had always been told the punch came from his opponent. That it was a lucky shot.
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