The mask was still where she left it.
Folded in the back of her locker at the ramen shop, tucked between her spare work shirt and the half-empty pack of cigarettes.
Black.
Plain.
Anonymous.
It didn't have to scream to be dangerous.
She sat on the back steps of the alley behind the shop, tying the tape around her knuckles. Each pull of the bandage was tighter than the last, wrapping not just her skin — but the chaos underneath it.
The shame.The anger.The fear.The part of her that almost believed what they said.
Almost.
She wasn't coming here to prove anything to them.
Not to Minji.Not to her parents.Not even to Haru.
She was doing this for herself.
Because if she didn't fight something tonight…She was going to drown in everything else.
The warehouse smelled the same.
Hot metal. Beer. Blood.
But the air felt different.
There were more eyes on her now. The crowd knew Ash. They cheered her name like she was some kind of street legend — the small girl in a hoodie who beat guys twice her size and walked away without a scratch.
They didn't know who she really was.
But they loved her.
Because Ash didn't break.
Aara did.
She stepped up to the cage.
Gloved hands. Mask up. Hoodie tight.
Her opponent was taller. Leaner. Covered in tattoos that were probably meant to intimidate.
She didn't blink.
Didn't need to.
Her mind was already gone.
She was in the fight now.
The bell rang.
And the violence started.
He threw the first punch.
She ducked. Slipped under it. Let him catch her hood — then slammed her elbow into his ribs before he even saw her move.
He grunted.
Good.
She wasn't here to dance. She was here to hurt something that could hit back.
She saw his eyes change — from cocky to focused. He swung again, and this time, she didn't dodge.
She took it.
Let it land.
Her lip split open. Blood spilled.
But it woke her up.
The crowd roared.
She hit back. Fast. Two jabs, a kick to the shin, then her signature spin and slam — taking him down like gravity owed her something.
The fight didn't last more than two minutes.
When it ended, he was on the floor.
She stood over him, fists clenched, chest heaving, mask soaked in sweat.
She didn't raise her arms in victory.
She just walked away.
Upstairs, in the shadows, Haru watched her leave the ring.
He didn't stand near the railing this time. Didn't push his presence into her space.
He just watched.
Silently.
From the dark.
She knew he was there. She could feel it — the same way you can feel thunder building before a storm.
Later, as she wiped the blood from her mouth in the locker room, the door creaked open.
Not a word.
Just footsteps.
She didn't look up.
"I told you not to come," she muttered.
"I said I wouldn't interfere," Haru replied.
She turned then, slowly. "And you didn't."
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes heavy with something unreadable.
"I didn't know you'd come back," he said.
"I didn't come back. I never left."
She tossed the bloodied towel in the bin and stood to grab her hoodie.
He stepped forward, just once.
"You feel better now?"
She paused.
Then nodded.
"Yeah."
Haru tilted his head, studying her the way someone studies a wild animal they want to touch — but don't dare.
"You scare me," he said.
Aara blinked. "I scare you?"
He didn't smile.
"I scare everyone else," he said. "But not you. And now I know why."
"Why?"
"Because you're not afraid of pain."
She walked past him, brushing his arm without meaning to.
"I'm not afraid of surviving it," she whispered.
He turned to face her again.
"You're going to keep doing this, aren't you?"
"Until I don't have to."
"And if I offered to make it all disappear?"
She stopped at the door.
"Would I still be me if you did?"
Haru didn't answer.
Because they both knew the truth.
Some pain builds you.
Some cages come wrapped in silk.
And Aara wasn't anyone's captive.
Not anymore.