Bada had been outside, waiting as always, hoping to see Saeles. She entered the house when she noticed the front door ajar and the room eerily silent. Her eyes fell on the bloody scene. Panic surged through her chest.
"Saeles…?" Bada whispered, her voice cracking.
Saeles turned, eyes still hard, expression unreadable. She looked at Bada, blood and sweat dripping from her hands, heart pounding. For a fleeting moment, something softened. She stepped forward and gently cupped Bada's face.
"I… I have to go," Saeles whispered. "I… I hope… you stop coming back…"
Before the police arrived, Saeles kissed Bada on the lips—a brief, desperate gesture, a silent plea that she might leave, that she might finally let go.
Bada staggered back, tears flowing, unable to speak. She wanted to stay. She wanted to follow. But the moment passed. Saeles was taken away.
Days, weeks, and months later, Bada's grief became unbearable. The girl she loved, the girl she had devoted herself to, was gone behind cold walls. The emptiness consumed her. One evening, she took her own life, unable to endure the separation.
Yet death could not sever her connection. Even after her suicide, Bada's spirit returned to the house where Saeles had trained, where Saeles had lived. A ghostly presence lingered—silent, watching, and loving endlessly.
Years later, Saeles was released. She returned home and resumed her training, fists raw, body conditioned to endurance and pain. Unseen, unspoken, Bada's ghost watched from the shadows, hovering near windows, lingering in corners, a reminder of love, devotion, and loss that would never fade.
Even in death, Bada's presence remained—haunting, patient, and endlessly loyal. Saeles could never truly escape it, no matter how far she tried to go, no matter how deeply she immersed herself in violence.
The story ended with blood, obsession, and ghostly devotion—a cycle of pain and unrelenting love that would never end.