The invitation came in a velvet envelope.
Tucked neatly into her locker.
No name. No warning.
Just a black wax seal on the back, and a single card inside:
"Friday. Midnight. 27G. Come ready.And if you're not pretty, at least be brutal."
No signature.
But she knew who it was from.
Jaeyul.
She showed the card to Haru after school.
He looked at it, then at her, and said:
"I'll burn the place down before I let you walk in there alone."
She didn't laugh.
Didn't say 'don't be dramatic.'
Just tucked the card into her pocket and replied:
"Then I guess you're coming with me."
Friday, midnight.
They stood in front of a parking structure that didn't appear on GPS.
Floor 27G wasn't supposed to exist.
But when the elevator doors opened, it was real — dim, hot, loud, packed with rich kids in designer shoes and bloodlust in their eyes.
And at the center of it all?
A raised ring. Black ropes. Concrete floor.
No mats. No gloves. No rules.
Just reputation.
And money.
Lots of money.
Aara felt the shift the moment she stepped into the space.
It was different from the street fights. Colder. Cleaner. Crueler.
Here, they didn't fight for survival.
They fought for entertainment.
And that made it worse.
A spotlight flicked on.
Jaeyul stood at the edge of the ring in a blazer and sneakers, microphone in hand, grin razor-sharp.
"Looks like we've got a celebrity tonight."
The crowd turned to her.
Some gasped.
Some laughed.
Some held up phones.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out, "please welcome the undefeated, the infamous, the girl with fists like fire and a heart like a locked box — Ash."
The name hit harder than a punch.
Aara didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
She just walked straight toward the ring, hoodie still on, eyes locked with Jaeyul's the entire time.
He leaned down when she reached the ropes.
"I hope you don't mind," he whispered."You've got fans."
She climbed in without replying.
The crowd cheered.
But she only heard one voice — the only one that mattered.
Haru, from the back of the room.
Low. Dangerous.
"Don't bleed for them."
The opponent was already waiting.
A girl.
Taller. Stockier. Tattoos up both arms. Confident in the way people are when they've only fought clean.
She smirked.
"Hope you hit harder than your photos look."
Aara smiled.
"I only bruise what matters."
The bell rang.
And it wasn't a fight.
It was a message.
Every move Aara made was calculated — sharp, fast, technical, and lethal without being cruel.
She wasn't showing off.
She was showing them how out of their depth they were.
The other girl got in two punches.A kick.Then her jaw cracked, and she hit the mat face-first.
Ten seconds later, the ref called it.
Aara didn't celebrate.
Didn't smile.
She stepped out of the ring, unbothered, sweat glinting on her neck, blood on her sleeve — not hers.
And when she passed Jaeyul again, she didn't speak.
She just looked at him.
Like a warning.
But Jaeyul only smiled wider.
Because she didn't know yet:
He wasn't interested in beating her.
He was interested in owning her.
Later, back in the car, Haru was silent.
His fingers drummed against the steering wheel the whole drive.
When they pulled into the garage and turned the engine off, he finally spoke.
"You're changing."
Aara leaned her head back against the seat.
"I'm adapting."
"You don't even feel it anymore, do you?"
She looked at him. Calm.
"Feel what?"
"The difference between a stage and a war."
They didn't talk again that night.
Because there wasn't anything left to say.
Not yet.
But the war was shifting.
And Aara?
She was becoming something new.
Not a legend.
Not a myth.
But a story they wouldn't be able to rewrite.