Inside the house, Saeles's mother returned early, her expression sharp and calculating. She had a way of looking at Saeles that made every movement feel wrong, every breath feel insufficient.
"You're weak," she snapped. "Do you think I've spent all these years training you for mediocrity? You'll never survive unless you're perfect. Every weakness you show makes you nothing. Understand?"
Saeles's fists clenched around the punching bag. She didn't speak. She couldn't. Her body had learned obedience through pain. Her mind was numb, yet every word from her mother cut like a blade, driving her deeper into her own torment.
Her strikes became more violent, sharper, each blow echoing through the small room. Blood seeped from her knuckles, yet she ignored the pain. She had learned long ago that endurance was survival—and survival demanded relentless violence.
Outside, Bada pressed herself closer to the fence, her chest tight, tears streaming silently. She could see every movement, every strike, every grimace of pain. Her heart ached in ways she couldn't explain. Every punch Saeles threw made her want to run to her, to comfort her—but she stayed hidden, knowing what might happen if Saeles noticed her.
"I… I'll keep watching… I'll never leave… even if she hates me… even if she hurts me…"
Bada's tears fell freely, her small body shaking with emotion. Her obsession had grown into something unrelenting, something dangerous, something that would bind her to Saeles no matter the cost.
And inside, Saeles's fists continued their rhythm, her body a mix of controlled violence and unrelenting endurance, oblivious to the small, broken figure that had already begun to define her world—someone who loved her without limit, without reason, and without hope.
The first seeds of a destructive, one-sided love had rooted themselves in both their lives—Bada's devotion growing through pain, and Saeles's indifference growing into habit, creating a dangerous tension neither of them could yet escape.