Saeles's mother returned later that evening, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. The room smelled of stale alcohol and rice. Her gaze swept over Saeles, assessing every bruise, every wound, every mistake.
"You're slower than ever," she said, voice cutting like a knife. "Do you think I've spent all these years raising you for mediocrity? Every second you waste, every punch that isn't perfect—it's weakness. You'll never survive if you falter."
Saeles's fists clenched around the bag, blood mixing with sweat. She struck again and again, each punch harder than the last. Her muscles screamed, her knuckles split, and yet she didn't stop. Pain had become life itself.
Her mother leaned close, cold and calculating. "Weakness will destroy you. If you can't endure this, if you can't become perfect, then you are nothing. Do you understand? Nothing."
Saeles didn't respond. She nodded mechanically, the words echoing in her head, driving her strikes faster, sharper, more precise.
Outside, Bada crouched behind the fence, her body trembling. Her bruises still burned, but she couldn't move. She couldn't leave. Every punch, every grunt, every motion Saeles made drove her chest to ache, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks.
"I… I'll come back… I don't care… even if she hurts me… I'll never leave…" Bada whispered.
The obsession was no longer just emotional—it was physical. Her mind, body, and heart were bound to Saeles, and no amount of fear or pain could sever that connection.
Inside, Saeles struck the bag with an intensity fueled by years of abuse, neglect, and her mother's relentless cruelty. She didn't notice the small, broken figure outside. She didn't see the devotion, the love, or the obsession that had already rooted itself in Bada's heart.
And outside, Bada's chest heaved. She knew the cycle of violence would continue, that she would be beaten again, that she would cry again—but she didn't care.
Because for her, Saeles's world had become everything.