Chapter 34: "Gym Class Gladiators"
In which Judo becos therapy, Dash forgets what apologies are, and I channel all my trauma into legally sanctioned body slams.
If high school had a stock market, my value was skyrocketing—mostly because I was scheduled to crash and burn during fourth period gym.
As soon as I stepped into the hallway, it was like walking into a gladiator arena. Whispers followed like I had a glowing "Dead Man Walking" sign floating over my head.
"Is that him?"
"Danny Fenton? Against Dash?"
"Bro, he's toast."
"Nah, maybe he's got ghost powers now. His parents are, like, ghost tech people, right?"
"He's gonna get folded like a gym towel."
To be fair, it was a reasonable assumption. I was the sa guy who had tripped over his shoelaces and spilled orange juice into his own backpack last week. But apparently, picking a fight with the school's apex predator had put on the radar of people who previously assud I was a part-ti janitor.
Including Star.
She intercepted by the lockers with all the casual grace of soone who didn't even need to try to look cool—anwhile, I nearly dropped my ghost-proof water bottle trying to act normal.
"Hey, Danny," she said with a smile that made my teenage brain short-circuit. "I just wanted to say thanks."
"...Huh?"
"You helped the other night. I don't rember everything," she continued, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that cinematic way girls apparently practiced in secret, "but I rember bits. You carried . Fought soone. A huge guy, I think? Then I had your number. And a voice ssage checking in. That was you, right?"
My mouth opened and made a very brave attempt at language. "Y-Yeah. That was . I an—it is . Still . Currently ."
Naileddd it.
She chuckled. "Anyway, I figured you were doing so vigilante thing now. Like your parents but way cooler."
Oh, right. She was talking about the night I saved her from that ghost DJ who was literally one bass drop away from turning her soul into a Spotify playlist. She didn't rember all the details—probably because Ghost Skrillex had turned the whole party into a fog machine of intoxicated weirdness—but she rembered . That was enough to send my self-esteem into low orbit.
"It's nothing," I said, trying to sound smooth and failing with the grace of a falling fridge. "Just... responsibility. Gentleman stuff. Helping people. Y'know."
"'Gentleman stuff,' huh?" Star said with a laugh. "Well, Mr. Gentleman, I'm looking forward to watching you in gym class today. Maybe things around here will finally change."
And then—because the universe doesn't let have nice things for more than five minutes—she spotted Paulina in the distance.
"Oh no. Gotta go. If she sees talking to you, it'll be a whole thing."
She vanished down the hall, leaving behind only the scent of expensive conditioner and social validation.
Then ca Paulina.
She didn't approach . That would involve acknowledging my existence. But she made sure to walk by slowly enough for to see the disgusted scowl she now wore like designer makeup. Ever since that incident—where Naruto, casually possessing my body, had called her out in front of half the school—Paulina had looked at like I was a dog that peed on her purse.
Honestly, fair.
I an, yeah, Naruto did call her shallow and emotionally stunted. He might've also said sothing about her soul needing a software update. I don't rember the details, but it had been very ninja-roast-ets-life-coach energy. And sohow, I was the one who had to deal with the fallout.
"Nice job, Danny," she muttered as she passed . "You went from invisible to punchable."
Charming.
Tucker leaned in. "You know, if you beat Dash, you might jump up to 'mildly tolerable.' Maybe even 'background character in a cheerleader's dream sequence.'"
Sam rolled her eyes. "Ignore her. Her fashion sense hasn't evolved since fifth grade."
"...You guys are the best," I said, walking with them toward class like I hadn't just been emotionally hit by a freight train.
But I wasn't nervous. Not anymore. Star believed in . Tucker and Sam had my back. Even Naruto—ghost ntor, accidental public roaster of cheerleaders—had told I was ready.
This was it.
Today, Danny Fenton fights back.
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If there was ever a mont in my life where I understood why people get stage fright, this was it. I wasn't standing in a classroom anymore. I was in an arena. The gym lights felt brighter than usual. The floor mats were laid out like the ring of destiny. And all around us, students were lining the edges of the gym like vultures waiting to see which carcass would twitch last.
And standing across from —grinning like he just got invited to a free buffet—was Dash Baxter.
"Alright, keep it friendly!" Coach Brick barked, arms crossed like a battle-scarred war general who had long since stopped caring about teenage drama. "This is still a spar, not a showdown in an ani opening. No eye gouging, no chair-throwing, and no last-minute power-ups. You break it, you pay for it."
"Got it, Coach," I said, adjusting my borrowed judo gi like I wasn't sweating buckets beneath it.
"Understood," Dash said, and for once, his voice wasn't mocking. It was... excited?
We stepped onto the mat.
I looked at him. This guy. The bane of my high school experience. The human embodint of a wedgie. Dash had haunted my daily existence with all the enthusiasm of a villain in an '80s coming-of-age movie.
But today, I wasn't the sa kid.
I took a deep breath and stood firm.
"Dash," I said, my voice louder than I expected. "You're going to pay for everything you've done to and my friends. I don't care why you did it. The pain you inflicted was real. Your jokes, your humiliation, the tis you made feel like I was worthless. No words can erase that."
There was a ripple through the crowd. Like soone had just dropped a mic no one saw.
Dash raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "I don't care."
Of course he didn't.
"I don't think what I did was wrong," he added, shrugging. "So what's there to dramatize? You act like I ever apologized. I didn't. Because I ant it."
My fists clenched. Not with anger, but sothing deeper. Determination.
"But hey," he continued, rolling his neck like a professional fighter prepping for round one, "I know you've been working out or whatever. Maybe so special help from your parents. Doesn't matter. That's your legacy. Use it. I want to fight the real you."
Oh, the irony. If only he knew I had literal ninja soul fragnts in my corner and had just spent last night sparring against Rock Lee for five hours.
Still, sothing about Dash's words struck sideways.
He wanted this.
He wasn't scared. He wasn't even gloating like usual. He was... challenging , genuinely. Like he wanted to win. Like this twisted ss of bullying had always been leading to this—a final test.
"You know," I said slowly, "this isn't normal. You don't get to tornt people and then act like it's all part of so grand motivational sche."
He smirked. "Sure I do. If you win, that ans it worked."
I stared at him for a second. He was serious. Absolutely delusional, but serious.
"I don't need your philosophy," I said. "I just need you to hit the mat."
His grin widened. "Then make ."
Coach blew the whistle.
The crowd held their breath.
And I smiled. Not because I knew I'd win—though I really hoped so—but because, for the first ti in years...
...I wasn't scared.
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Paulina glared at the two figures in the center of the gym mat like she was trying to burn a hole through space-ti with sheer intensity. Danny and Dash were circling each other, spouting enough testosterone-fueled trash talk to power a Marvel movie trailer. The entire student body was watching. Even Coach Brick was pretending he wasn't secretly filming this for his "teacher of the year" application.
Beside her, Star leaned against the gym bleachers, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. "You know," she said casually, "Danny's kinda fun now. Like, dangerous-fun. If we're lucky, maybe he'll show us his parents' lab. I've always wanted to poke around so ghost stuff."
Paulina didn't reply right away. Her eyes were still locked on Danny. The sa Danny who had once fumbled over his own shoelaces in front of her. The sa Danny who now stood tall, confident, and full of righteous fury. She rembered the words he'd said—parasite, worthless, dead weight. She had wanted to slap him. Still did, to be honest.
But deep down?
She hated that he wasn't wrong.
"...It wasn't just what he said," Paulina murmured, arms crossed. "It's what happened after."
Star blinked. "Huh?"
"My dad. My brother. They started treating ... differently." Paulina's brows furrowed. "Not on purpose. But now I notice it. My brother goes to board etings. My dad trains him. ? They just... baby . Like I'm five and made of glass."
Star tilted her head. "Well, you are kind of our princess. I an, your closet is the size of my bedroom."
"That's not the point," Paulina snapped, then sighed. "Danny—ugh, that jerk—made see it. I was just floating through life. Parties, makeup, popularity. Easy. But now... I can't unsee it."
Star nodded slowly. "So you're mad at him for... waking you up?"
Paulina clenched her jaw. "Exactly."
"That's kinda dumb," Star said with a shrug.
Paulina whipped around. "Excuse ?"
"I an," Star went on, unfazed, "yeah, he was rude. But we were kinda awful to him. I laughed at jokes Dash made. You made so of them. We were just part of the whole high school feeding frenzy. And now that he's, like, cool and mysterious and maybe also a vigilante, we're mad because he's not groveling for our attention?"
Paulina narrowed her eyes. "I'm not mad because he's cool. I'm mad because he made feel powerless."
Star raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he made you realize you were already powerless in ways you didn't notice. That's different."
Paulina groaned and rubbed her temples. "Ugh, why do you always go full therapist when I'm trying to be mad?"
"I just think we owe him an apology," Star said, then smiled cheekily. "Though if you do want him to kiss your hand, I won't stop you. Just don't get mad if he punches Dash through a wall first."
"I'm still making him apologize," Paulina muttered. "Publicly."
Star snorted. "Good luck. That boy just declared emotional war on the guy who bench-presses bikes for breakfast. He's not in an apologizing mood."
As the whistle blew and the match began, both girls watched closely. Not for blood. Not for drama.
But because, sohow, in all the chaos of supernatural battles and schoolyard politics...
Danny Fenton had beco soone worth watching.
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