Jin didn't sleep the night before her final training.
She sat on the floor of her room, legs crossed, back pressed against the cold wall, journal open in her lap.
The page was empty.
Not because she had nothing to say.
But because the words she wanted — the ones that mattered — weren't bleeding yet.
She stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror across the room.
Black eye, scabbed lip, bandaged wrist.
But she didn't look broken.
Not anymore.
She looked deliberate.
Like someone who'd stepped into the fire and learned how to breathe in it.
At 5:04 AM, Aara found her in the gym.Already stretching. No music. No gloves.
"You're early," Aara said.
"Couldn't sleep."
"Nightmares?"
Jin looked over.Shook her head.
"No. Just... tired of pretending I'm not angry."
Aara set her bag down.Tossed her a bottle of water.
"Anger can carry you."
"But it can't finish the fight."
"Exactly. That's what pain's for."
The final session wasn't about technique.
Not anymore.
Aara didn't stop her.Didn't give corrections.
She watched.
And Jin?
Jin didn't pull back once.
Her strikes weren't clean — but they meant something now.
No panic.No hesitation.
Just clarity.
By 6:45, her knuckles were raw again.
Blood from a reopened cut slipped down her forearm.
She didn't flinch.
She smiled.
"You're ready," Aara said quietly.
Jin turned.
Sweat dripping down her jaw.Breathing ragged.
"You sure?"
"No," Aara replied. "But you are."
They didn't embrace.
No soft music.
No tears.
Just a quiet look between them — something carved out of scars and shared fury.
Aara tossed her a sweatshirt.
"They're going to try to make you feel small when you enter the pit.Remember how big you are."
"And if I start to forget?"
Aara smirked.
"Hit them until you remember."
That evening, Haru met them outside the venue.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just stared at Jin — took in the black hoodie, the taped hands, the fire under her skin.
"You're different," he finally said.
Jin nodded.
"Good different or bad?"
"The kind that burns quieter," he said. "But hotter."
They made their way inside together.
The new pit wasn't like the old one.
It was sleeker. Colder.Corporate money dressed up as underground rebellion.
Cameras hidden in the corners.Private booths with tinted glass.
And overhead?
The name:
ASH
Projected in blood-red light across the back wall.
Aara felt it in her bones.
The theft.
The performance.
This wasn't just a fight anymore.
This was them reclaiming her legend — without her.
Jin stood at the edge of the prep room, staring at the empty ring.
"How many are watching?"
"Too many," Aara said. "But none of them know your name yet."
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because I want the first thing they remember to be the sound of me hitting the floor last."
A bell sounded.
Not loud — just enough to echo.
Fifteen minutes.
Aara turned to her.
"You know what this is, right?"
"My name trial."
"No. It's your funeral. For the girl you were before this moment."
Jin swallowed.
Then nodded once.
"Then let her rest.I've got someone else to introduce."
Ten minutes.
Haru leaned against the doorway.
Silent.
Then said:
"The sponsors are upstairs. My father's watching."
Aara's jaw tightened.
"He won't touch her."
"He won't have to."
"Why?"
"Because if she wins — she becomes more dangerous than you ever were."
"And if she loses?"
"He gets to say you were nothing but a brand."
Five minutes.
Jin rolled her neck. Cracked her knuckles.Checked her wrist wraps.
"Who am I fighting?"
Aara handed her a photo.
Big. Fast. Older.A name Aara recognized from her own early matches.
"Kwan Do. Brawler. Fights dirty. Thinks girls are just warm-up rounds."
"Then I'll make sure he doesn't walk into round two."
Final bell.
The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers.
"In this corner... the heir of flame. The one who walked through the legend. The name you all whispered—"
"ASH."
Jin didn't flinch.
Didn't smile.
She stepped into the ring like it was hers.
Not borrowed.Not inherited.
Claimed.
Aara stood in the hallway, just out of view.
Hands clasped.
Heart calm.
Because whether Jin won or lost — they'd already failed to break her.
And that?
That was the real victory.