That evening, Saeles's mother returned, her expression sharp and unyielding. She surveyed Saeles as if she were inspecting a fragile weapon, noting every bruise, every mark of imperfection.
"You're slow," she snapped. "Your punches are sloppy. Do you think all these years of training have been wasted? Every mistake is weakness! Every hesitation will destroy you! Do you understand?"
Saeles's fists clenched around the bag. Blood oozed from her knuckles, her arms burned, yet she didn't stop. Pain had become her existence. Obedience was her only language.
Her mother leaned closer, voice low and venomous. "You will never be strong unless you endure everything I throw at you. If you falter, you are nothing. And nothing is all you deserve."
Inside, Saeles struck the bag harder, faster, sharper. Every punch was fueled by fear, rage, and desperation. She didn't notice the small, bruised figure outside, crying silently, her heart breaking at every strike. Bada's devotion had already rooted itself in her heart, unshakable and obsessive.
"I… I'll come back… I'll always be here… no matter what…" Bada whispered to herself, clinging to the fence. Pain, fear, and rejection meant nothing. She had accepted her place outside the storm of Saeles's life, watching, loving, suffering, and waiting.
And inside, Saeles's world of pain, control, and violence continued, unaware that a shadow of unwavering love and devotion had entwined itself around her existence—a love that would not relent, even as it drove both girls further into darkness.