The first time Aara saw her, it felt like looking into a mirror that had been rewired.
She was younger — maybe sixteen — thinner, sharper around the edges, hair dyed black at the ends like she'd dipped it in rebellion.
But it was the hoodie that stopped her.
Aara's hoodie.
The one she used to wear during backlot fights. Oversized. Torn at the sleeve. Burn mark on the left cuff.She hadn't seen it in months — had tossed it after one too many nights bleeding into it.
And now here it was. On someone else.Striding into a fight ring under the name Ashling.
The crowd cheered.
Cameras flashed.
Someone whispered:
"That's Rae's new girl."
Aara felt her stomach knot.
Not from jealousy.
Not even from rage.
But from something worse.
Recognition.
They hadn't replaced her.
They'd cloned her.
The announcer hyped her up like she was the second coming of underground fight royalty.
"A new fighter rising out of the shadows — brutal, quiet, undefeated in three regional circuits…"
"…and she's got the look, the name, the rage."
Haru stood next to Aara in the observation row, jaw locked.
"That hoodie."
"It's mine."
"They pulled footage. Built a persona around it. Fast-tracked her."
Aara didn't speak.
She just watched.
Every move the girl made — sharp, desperate, patterned.
A mimicry of pain she hadn't earned.
"She's fighting like she's been through fire," Aara said softly."But she doesn't smell like smoke."
By the end of the second round, Ashling had taken her opponent down with a brutal knee to the jaw. No hesitation. No mercy. Blood on her boots.And she smiled.
That's when Aara snapped.
"She's performing me."
That night, the fight was posted across Rae's private network.
Edited.
Stylized.
Overlaid with voiceovers pulled from Aara's old interviews.
"I don't fight for fun. I fight because no one else will."
Except…
Aara never said that.
Not like that.
They'd taken her silence.
Her scars.
Her image.
And turned it into a script.
Back in the apartment, Aara paced.
Her hands trembled, but not from fear.
From fury.
"I said no. I refused. So they found a yes somewhere else."
"They didn't find it," Haru said from the corner."They built it."
He handed her a drive.
"This is everything from the girl's records. She was pulled from a shelter. No real past. No documented fights. Just appearances at paid events. Rae's fingerprints are on her recruitment."
"What's her real name?"
"I don't think she knows."
Silence.
Then Aara whispered:
"They gave her mine."
Haru stood slowly.
Crossed the room.
Stopped just close enough to be felt.
"Say the word."
"And?"
"And I'll tear the campaign down. Every server. Every feed. Every license."
She looked up at him, voice brittle.
"That's not enough."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want them to choke on it."
Two days later, Aara walked into the training floor of Rae's facility without permission.
Security tensed.
Didn't move.
They recognized her.
Still remembered what she'd done to Vega.
She found Ashling mid-combat session — working with a trainer, throwing predictable strikes, bruises half-faked, aggression rehearsed.
Aara waited.
Then spoke:
"Do you even know who you are?"
Ashling turned.
Blinking.
"I'm Ash."
"No, you're not."
"They said—"
"They lied."
The girl stared.
Confused.
Young.
Not evil.
Just programmed.
Aara stepped closer.
"They dressed you in my blood.But you haven't bled for it."
The trainer stepped in.
"You're not authorized to be here."
Aara didn't look at him.
"Then throw me out."
He didn't move.
No one did.
She turned back to Ashling.
"When you figure out what your name actually is, come find me.Until then…stop wearing mine."
She left without waiting for a response.
The silence she left behind was louder than any punch.
Back in the apartment, Haru was waiting.
"You didn't hit her."
"She's not the enemy."
"Then who is?"
Aara didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
They both knew the answer had Rae Jin's smile.
That night, she opened her journal and wrote:
"They didn't make a monster.They made a shadow.And the thing about shadows is —they can't exist without the original flame."