Tayo awoke to the first rays of sunlight slashing through the blinds, illuminating her room in streaks of pale gold. Her body ached, every muscle tight and bruised from the previous night's fight. She stretched gingerly, a sharp pain flaring in her ribs. Ignoring it, she stood and began her morning routine.
The air in her small room felt heavy, like it always did after a fight. She moved through her shadowboxing with deliberate precision, each strike carving the air in silence. Her fists snapped forward, elbows cutting sharp arcs, her movements mechanical yet methodical. Stay sharp, she told herself. The underground doesn't forgive weakness.
By the time she descended to the school's main floor, the Anurak Muay Thai School was alive with energy. The rhythmic smack of fists meeting pads filled the hall, interspersed with shouts of effort from students. Her father, Phuwadon Anurak, stood at the center of the action. His sharp eyes scanned the room, his presence commanding without a word wasted.
Tayo paused near the doorway, watching him. Phuwadon didn't notice her—or pretended not to. He was focused on a younger student, correcting the boy's stance with his usual sternness. His voice was even but firm, the kind of tone that carried weight no matter how quietly it was spoken.
For a moment, Tayo lingered, her chest tightening as she watched. He never used that tone with her. When he spoke to her, it was as though he expected perfection or nothing at all. She hated how it always left her second-guessing whether she'd ever truly earned his approval.
"Tayo." His voice cut through the air like a blade, and she stiffened. "You're late."
She stepped onto the mat, her face a mask of indifference. "I didn't know I was expected."
"Every day is an expectation," he said, his tone clipped, eyes meeting hers with unyielding intensity. "You've been distracted. Sloppy."
Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Arguing would only make things worse. A younger student approached, holding pads with trembling hands, and Tayo took her place across from him.
The first kick she threw landed with a sharp crack against the pads, and the boy stumbled under its force. She didn't slow, delivering a flurry of strikes that echoed through the room. The boy struggled to hold his ground, his grip faltering with each blow.
"Enough," Phuwadon said, raising a hand. His expression was unreadable as his gaze bore into her. "You're holding back."
"I'm not," Tayo replied, her voice sharper than intended.
Phuwadon's silence was louder than any reprimand. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, his gaze piercing, before he turned away. "If you want to waste your potential, that's your choice. But don't waste my time."
The words hit her harder than any punch. Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. She wanted to yell, to demand that he see her—really see her—but the fire in her chest quickly gave way to the familiar ache of disappointment. Without a word, she stepped off the mat.
As she made her way toward the back of the school, a familiar voice called out. "Rough morning?"
She froze, frustration bubbling over before she even turned around. Yi-jun stood there, leaning casually against the wall. His ever-present smirk was firmly in place, his arms crossed as though he had all the time in the world.
"What are you doing here?" Tayo demanded, her tone sharper than she'd intended.
He shrugged, pushing off the wall with an easy grace. "Your father invited us. Didn't he tell you?"
Tayo's teeth clenched. Of course, Phuwadon hadn't told her. "So, what? You're here to gloat?"
"Gloat?" Yi-jun tilted his head, his smirk softening into something less infuriating. "I'm here because I respect you, Tayo. Even if you don't believe it."
She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "I don't need your respect."
Yi-jun's gaze lingered on her, his expression serious now. "Maybe not. But you've earned it. The city's starting to notice you. You're going to have every fighter gunning for you soon enough."
Tayo's breath hitched. She faltered, her frustration giving way to alarm. "What do you mean?"
Yi-jun stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to make her heart pound. "You're not just another underground fighter anymore. People are talking about Shade. They're watching, waiting. They're curious. And the curious can be dangerous."
Tayo's stomach plummeted. Her heart raced, panic flashing through her. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Yi-jun's brow quirked, his smirk returning faintly. "Don't you?"
She shook her head quickly, forcing her expression into something resembling confusion. "I don't. Shade, underground fights—that's not me. I don't know who told you this, but they're wrong."
"Hmm." Yi-jun tilted his head, studying her. "Interesting. Because you fight like her. Move like her. You even carry yourself the same way. But if you say so…" His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, watching her too closely.
Tayo swallowed hard, feeling like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. "You've got the wrong person," she insisted, her voice tight. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
She turned sharply, her back rigid as she strode away. Her pulse thundered in her ears, Yi-jun's words looping over and over in her mind.
---
That night, after the school had emptied and silence had settled over the mats, Tayo stood alone in the training hall. Her ribs throbbed with every breath, her body heavy with exhaustion, but her fists were raised, ready for more.
Her father's words rang in her ears: If you want to waste your potential, that's your choice. Yi-jun's warning followed close behind: They're watching. Waiting.
Her fists struck the heavy bag harder, her movements wild and unrestrained. She fought like she could beat the truth into submission. But it wasn't enough. The truth was out there now, a shadow she couldn't outrun.
What if Phuwadon found out? The thought made her stomach twist violently. He wouldn't just be angry—he'd be disgusted. She could already picture his face, cold and distant, his silence more damning than any words.
Her strikes faltered as her vision blurred with exhaustion and frustration. She leaned against the bag, her breath coming in shallow gasps. No matter how hard she fought, the panic wouldn't fade. The walls of her carefully constructed life were closing in, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to hold them back.
For the first time, Tayo felt the sharp, biting edge of fear.
The fight wasn't just against her opponents, her father's expectations, or even herself. It was against the truth. Against the shadow of exposure, which loomed over her like a predator.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure if she could win.