The flyer went live at 6:01 AM.
Jin's name wasn't on it.
Neither was Aara's.
Just one word in red ink, block font:
ASH
Below it:đ Underground Showcase â One Night Onlyđ Ring 5B â Restricted Accessđ Fighters must survive one round to advance
And then, in fine print:
Failure to appear forfeits all rights to the name.
By 7:30 AM, the fight was trending across dark forums, invite-only message boards, and private text chains among underground fight promoters.
By 8:00, Aara had a copy in her hand.
She didn't read it twice.
She already knew what it said.
And more importantly â what it didn't say.
No name meant plausible deniability.No name meant she couldn't stop it with a threat.No name meant someone was trying to erase her legacy without saying it out loud.
Haru stood beside her, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"They're taunting you."
"They're trying to make me move first."
"What happens if you don't?"
"They'll send her in like a lamb.Let her bleed under my name.And then say I was never real to begin with."
Aara folded the flyer.
Didn't crumple it.Didn't rip it.
Just folded it neatly, like a page in a book she was going to revisit later â and burn.
"Where's Jin?" Haru asked.
"Upstairs. Sleeping. Finally."
"Does she know?"
"Not yet."
Silence hung between them for a moment.
Then Haru said what Aara hadn't dared to yet:
"Someone on the inside is doing this."
She looked up sharply.
"You think it's one of the sponsors?"
"No. I think it's someone on your side.Someone who knows how to use your name to draw blood without getting their own hands dirty."
"That narrows it down to everyone."
"Exactly."
Aara grabbed her hoodie, pulling it over her head.
"I'm going back to the pit."
"Alone?"
"No. With you."
The pit wasn't alive yet when they arrived.
Too early.
No crowd.
No sponsors.
Just the bones of the place â cracked floors, rusted fixtures, lights that flickered like they were tired of watching.
And a man sitting in the shadows near the edge of the ring.
Same one who tested Jin.
Slick smile. Bored posture.
A knife in his hand, flicking open and shut like a nervous tic.
"You two look cozy," he said, nodding at Haru.
"You look threatened," Haru replied, deadpan.
"Always am, when dead girls start resurrecting themselves."
Aara didn't bother with games.
"Why is the fight going public?"
"It's not."
"Then why is her name trending?"
"It's not her name, sweetheart. It's yours."
He stood.
Walked slowly to the edge of the ring.
"You're a brand now. You built it.Doesn't matter if she dies â they'll still print the name on the poster next month."
"Who's 'they'?"
"Who do you think?"
Haru stepped forward.
"We want the list."
"What list?"
"The sponsor list. Every name backing the event."
The man smiled, knife still in hand.
"You think I'm just going to hand that over?"
"I think you know what happens if you don't."
"You'll kill me?"
"No. I'll let her do it."
The man looked at Aara.
For the first time â not smug.Not cocky.
Just curious.
"Still got that fire, huh?"
Aara stepped forward.
"You think I'm dangerous now?Wait until you try to take something from me again."
He paused.
Then reached into his coat.
Tossed a folded paper toward Haru.
"You didn't get it from me."
They left without another word.
Outside, under the streetlight, Haru unfolded the sheet.
Six names.
Three were familiar.
Two were ghosts.
And the last?
His blood ran cold.
"This can't be right."
"Who is it?"
He handed it to Aara.
She read the last name out loud:
"Daehyun Shin."
She blinked.
"That's your uncle, right?"
"No. That's my father's fake name."
Aara froze.
"He's alive?"
"He was supposed to be dead.Buried. Gone."
"Looks like he's not."
"And he's watching my girl fight under your name."
Aara didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Because the past wasn't just creeping back in.
It was sponsoring her future.
That night, she told Jin everything.
Held nothing back.
The flyer. The betrayal. The sponsors.
Jin didn't cry.
Didn't flinch.
She just stood there, quiet.
Then said:
"So if I lose, they kill your name."
"Yes."
"Then I guess I'd better win."
Aara reached out.
Touched her shoulder.
"You won't be alone."
But what neither of them saw⊠was the camera.
Tiny. Hidden in the corner of the room.
Recording every word.
Streaming it.
To someone sitting in a penthouse far above the city.
Watching.
Waiting.
Smiling.