The crowd felt different this time.
They weren't here to watch her anymore.
They were here to test her.
To see if the girl with the bleeding knuckles and silent rage lived up to the whispers.
To see if the myth could still bleed.
Aara laced her boots tighter than usual, hands trembling as she pulled on her gloves. Not from fear — not anymore — but from the weight of being known.
They chanted her name as she stepped out.
Ash. Ash. Ash.
Not Aara.
Not the girl with homework and a broken family.
The fighter.
The weapon.
The story.
And she let them believe it.
Because sometimes, being a lie was safer than being the truth.
Haru stood behind the chain-link barrier.
Same place as last time.
But this time, he wasn't hidden in the dark.
He stood in full view. Watching.
His arms crossed, eyes locked on her.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Just there — like a shadow she'd summoned.
Her opponent was shorter but broader. Built like a tank with fists like bricks. He smiled at her when they met in the ring — cocky, overconfident, already convinced he had the fight won.
She didn't smile back.
Didn't even acknowledge him.
Because tonight?
She wasn't fighting him.
She was fighting everything else.
The bell rang.
And she moved.
A jab to the temple.
A sharp kick to the knee.
He lunged. She dodged. He grabbed her hoodie — she twisted, elbowed, cracked his nose with her shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
The crowd screamed.
But she barely heard them.
All she could hear was the rush in her head — a flood of noise and memory.
Her mother crying.Minji's voice: "I fixed the story."Haru whispering, "I'll burn the pages myself."The silence of her sister never returning.
It all hit at once.
And then — she snapped.
She wasn't just blocking anymore.
She was breaking.
Every hit landed harder than necessary.
Every breath came with fire.
When the referee tried to call time, she shoved him aside and kept going — one punch, then another.
Her opponent went down.
But she didn't stop.
Not until someone grabbed her arm — hard — and dragged her back.
It was Haru.
Inside the ring.
No one stopped him.
No one dared.
He didn't say a word.
He just held her.
One arm locked around her middle, the other bracing her shoulder, pulling her against him like he was the only thing holding her together.
Her breathing was ragged.
Hands trembling. Blood on her gloves. Sweat in her eyes.
She didn't recognize herself.
And it scared her.
Not because she'd lost control.
But because she liked it.
The crowd was still roaring when Haru led her out of the ring.
No words passed between them.
But every eye followed them.
And for the first time since this started, they weren't cheering for a fighter.
They were staring at a pair.
The girl made of violence.
And the boy who could walk into that violence and pull her out — or burn in it with her.
Outside, in the alley behind the warehouse, the cold air hit her lungs like ice.
Aara leaned against the wall, heart pounding in her throat.
Haru stood in front of her, face unreadable.
"You lost yourself in there," he said.
"I know."
"You weren't fighting him."
"No."
"Who were you fighting?"
She looked up.
And the answer came without hesitation.
"Everyone."
He stepped forward.
Close enough that their breath mixed in the cold.
"You scared me."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because I saw something in you," he said, voice low. "And I don't know if I can put it back once it breaks loose again."
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then reached up — just barely — and touched the collar of his shirt.
"You don't have to put it back."
Haru didn't smile.
But something in his eyes burned.
"You're not afraid of losing control?"
"I'm more afraid of pretending I ever had it."