𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄. the curse

JIEUN INHALED DEEPLY, THE COOL, STERILE air of the arena filling her lungs. It was air unlike anything from outside — filtered, sharp, almost clinical, tinged with the faintest scent of sweat, rubber mats, and something metallic she couldn't quite place. It was the kind of air that pressed against her skin, making her hyperaware of her own breathing, of the rise and fall of her chest.

Her eyes closed, shutting out the muted murmurs and distant announcements echoing across the cavernous space. The world narrowed to this singular act: inhale, exhale. She imagined the air moving like an invisible tide, rushing into her lungs with icy precision, expanding her ribcage, filling every microscopic pocket until her entire torso felt taut and alive. For a suspended moment, her body held the breath, oxygen spreading like ripples through her bloodstream, reaching every cell, every corner of her being.

When she exhaled, it was slower, more deliberate. The air unfurled from her lips in a warm stream, carrying with it the weight of tension she hadn't realized she was holding. It felt as though she were expelling not just carbon dioxide but every doubt, every stray thought, leaving her lighter, clearer, grounded.

Her bare feet pressed against the cool, textured surface of the arena floor — smooth but not slick, the kind of material designed to grip and support without yielding. She flexed her toes, feeling the faint grain against her skin, the subtle grooves that gave her traction. The sensation was grounding, tethering her to the present moment. She could feel the earth beneath her, even if it was layers of concrete and synthetic material.

From the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet, Jieun felt connected. Not in some abstract, spiritual sense, but viscerally, tangibly. She was acutely aware of the way her hair shifted with the faintest currents of air, the way the fine hairs on her arms responded to the fluctuating temperature in the room. She could feel the blood pulsing through her fingertips, the slight tingling in her legs from standing too long in the same position, and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat — a constant, reliable drumbeat.

She shifted her weight slightly, the movement sending a small cascade of sensations through her body. The stretch of her calves, the subtle pull in her arches, the shift of muscles balancing her center of gravity — it was as though her entire being was a finely tuned instrument, every part working in harmony.

Even the air around her seemed alive, its molecules brushing against her skin like a whisper. She imagined them swirling, tiny particles in constant motion, a chaotic ballet she could almost see if she concentrated hard enough. The air didn't just surround her; it embraced her, pressing lightly against every surface of her body, filling the spaces between her fingers, slipping into the hollows of her collarbones.

The arena itself felt like a living entity. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead was faint but ever-present, a steady drone that merged with the soft echoes of movement — footsteps on mats, the shuffle of competitors warming up, the occasional thud of a punch or kick landing on a target. The sounds reverberated through the space, bouncing off high ceilings and distant walls, creating an ambient symphony that ebbed and flowed like the tide.

Jieun opened her eyes slowly, her vision sharpening as she adjusted to the light. The arena stretched before her, an expanse of polished floors and neatly arranged mats, their colors vibrant against the muted backdrop of the room. The boundaries of each ring were marked with precision, their clean lines a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the competitors who would soon fill them.

She glanced down at her feet again, her bare toes flexing instinctively. There was something liberating about the lack of shoes, the way it allowed her to feel every texture, every shift in temperature. It was a reminder of why she was here, of the simplicity at the core of it all.

Her focus turned inward again, tracing the flow of energy within her body. She could feel it coursing through her, a subtle hum that connected her from head to toe. It wasn't something she could see or measure, but it was there, a quiet, persistent force that fueled every movement, every breath. She imagined it pooling in her core, a reservoir of strength waiting to be unleashed.

Her arms hung loosely at her sides, but even in their stillness, she could feel the potential energy stored within them. Her fingers twitched slightly, the muscles primed and ready, a subtle reminder of the hours of training that had brought her here.

She knew every movement by heart — the precise angles, the controlled bursts of power, the fluid transitions from one stance to another. Her body was a map of muscle memory, every fiber attuned to the demands of the tournament.

She stood rooted to the spot, the breath in her chest steadying her, anchoring her in the present even as her mind wavered on the precipice of what was to come. Her heart beat a slow, deliberate rhythm, as though preparing itself for the inevitable acceleration, the sharp spikes and erratic thuds that would accompany the matches ahead. It wasn't pounding yet — no, it was measured, patient, a muscle biding its time before the storm broke.

She felt the weight of the previous day lingering in her body, like the faint hum of a distant engine. Her muscles ached in that familiar, satisfying way that came from pushing her limits. Her shoulders were tight, her thighs burned faintly with every shift of her weight, and her forearms carried a dull throb from countless blocks and strikes. Even the calluses on her palms and the skin of her knuckles — thicker, tougher than they had been weeks ago — ached faintly, a testament to the hours of repetition, the endless drills, the countless times she and Robby had thrown themselves at each other, each session more grueling than the last.

But the soreness wasn't unwelcome. If anything, it felt like a reminder, a physical manifestation of the work she had put in, the sacrifices she had made. Pain, for her, was a companion, not an adversary. It whispered to her of progress, of effort, of the countless hours she had given to this dream. She rolled her shoulders back, subtly, almost imperceptibly, and felt the pull of tight muscles, the faint creak of her body adjusting. Even this small movement was enough to bring her fully back to herself, to remind her that she was here, whole and present.

Despite her focus, nerves flickered at the edges of her consciousness, delicate as moths fluttering around a flame. It wasn't the kind of fear that made her want to run — it was something sharper, deeper, more primal. It was the anticipation of combat, the innate tension that came with knowing she would soon stand across from someone whose sole purpose was to defeat her. The nerves weren't debilitating; they were electric, alive, a current running just beneath her skin. She could feel them in the way her fingers twitched slightly, in the restless shifting of her stance as she adjusted her footing.

Her mind darted to the enormity of the moment. These were the finals. The most prestigious karate tournament in the world, the culmination of every fight, every bruise, every early morning and late night. She had made it this far, farther than she ever imagined, and now it all came down to this. There was no next time, no second chance. The weight of it pressed against her, heavy but not unbearable, like carrying a stone in her chest.

Her focus narrowed, and yet her thoughts sprawled, a strange contradiction she had grown used to in moments like this. On one hand, she was acutely aware of her body, of the air in her lungs, the faint pulse in her temples, the ground beneath her feet.

On the other, her mind raced, cataloging every possible scenario, every move her opponent might make, every counter she might need to employ.

She thought about Robby's advice from the night before, about the way he had demonstrated a particularly tricky sweep, his voice steady and reassuring even as they both struggled to keep their balance after hours of training. She thought about Daeun's sharp, cutting words, the way they had stung but also clarified her focus, stripping away distractions and leaving her with only the essentials.

The exhaustion, though faint, lingered in the background, a quiet reminder of how much she had already given to this journey. Her limbs felt heavy, her movements slower than they had been when she first stepped into this tournament days ago. The matches had taken their toll, and though she had recovered as best she could, there was no denying that her body was not as fresh as it had been at the start. Yet, she didn't see this as a disadvantage. She had always fought best when pushed to her limits, when her body screamed for rest, and she refused to listen. It was in these moments, when others faltered, that she found her strength.

Her heartbeat quickened slightly, the nerves beginning to build as the minutes ticked by. She could feel the anticipation in the room around her, the way the air seemed to thrum with unspoken tension. She wasn't alone in her nerves — every competitor here was feeling the same pressure, the same weight of expectation. Yet, for Jieun, it felt personal, singular. She wasn't just fighting for herself; she was fighting for her dojo, for her teammates, for everyone who had believed in her when she doubted herself.

She flexed her fingers, the motion small but purposeful, a way of grounding herself. Her nails were short, neatly trimmed, her knuckles scarred from years of training. Each mark told a story — a missed block, a particularly aggressive sparring session, a hard-fought victory.

She rubbed her thumb against the rough skin of her palm, a habit she had developed over the years, and felt a strange sense of comfort in the familiar texture.

And yet, beneath the focus and determination, there was a flicker of doubt, a small, insistent voice that whispered of failure, of what might happen if she didn't win. She acknowledged it but refused to let it take hold. She had faced doubt before, countless times, and each time she had overcome it.

This time would be no different.

Her gaze wandered across the arena, skimming over the clusters of dojos preparing for the final matches. Her focus landed on a familiar figure at the edge of the crowd, a silhouette that stood apart from the rest, both in stature and presence.

Kim Daeun.

Jieun could feel the weight of her gaze, steady and unyielding, as though Daeun had been waiting for this exact moment to be seen.

The light in the arena was harsh and artificial, spilling unevenly across the polished floor, but somehow it caught Daeun perfectly. It traced the sharp angles of her face, the curve of her cheekbones, the faintly furrowed line of her brow. She seemed illuminated, distinct from the chaos around her, as if the universe had drawn a circle of light just for her.

Jieun's breath caught, and for a moment, she forgot the ache in her legs, the tension in her shoulders, the soreness in her hands. All she could feel was the pull in her chest, an ache that was more than physical. It was raw and unexpected, a pang of longing so sudden it nearly knocked the wind out of her.

Because now, as she stared at Daeun, she saw it. The resemblance. How had she not noticed before? The set of Daeun's jaw, the slope of her nose, the faint shadow in her eyes that mirrored her father's so perfectly. It wasn't exact, of course. Daeun's features were sharper, her expressions colder, honed by years of discipline and hardship. But the essence was there, a thread of familiarity that tied them together across time, across memories, across the vast chasm of their separate lives.

And suddenly, Jieun wasn't just looking at her aunt. She was seeing a piece of her father, resurrected in the most unexpected place.

The ache deepened, spreading through her chest like a bruise blooming under the surface. It wasn't just grief — it was something more layered, more complex. It was the weight of everything unsaid, everything unknown.

She wondered if Daeun could feel it too, if she saw the same echoes in Jieun's face, if the tilt of her head or the curve of her mouth reminded Daeun of the brother she had lost. Did it hurt her as much as it hurt Jieun? Or had Daeun buried that pain so deeply that it no longer registered, just another scar on a body already marked by so many wounds?

Jieun's mind drifted, unbidden, to questions she had tried to avoid asking herself. Had Daeun known the whole story of her brother's death? Or had she only known what was on the news — the sanitized, incomplete version presented to the world? Did she know about the accident, about the way everything had unraveled so quickly, so irrevocably? Did she know how Jieun's father had suffered in his final days, the weight of secrets and regrets pressing down on him until he could no longer stand?

And then there was the other question, the one that twisted like a knife in Jieun's chest: Had her father known Daeun was alive? For months since finding out, Jieun had assumed he hadn't. After all, how could he have known and said nothing? But now, staring at Daeun, the possibility crept into her mind, dark and insidious. What if he had known? What if he had kept tabs on her, quietly, from a distance, without ever reaching out? What if he had carried the knowledge of her existence all these years and still chosen silence?

Had it been fear that kept him away? Fear of their mother, of the woman who had ostracized Daeun, cast her out like she was nothing? Or had it been something else — shame, perhaps, or guilt? Had he been too broken by their family's history, too tangled in his own regrets, to face the sister he had lost?

Or worse, had he simply not cared enough to try?

The thought made Jieun's stomach twist, a sickening churn of anger and sorrow.

Her eyes stayed locked on Daeun's, and for a moment, it was as if the world around them had dissolved. The noise of the arena faded into a low hum, the movements of the other competitors blurred into the background. They were the only two figures in focus, the only two illuminated in the vast space. Jieun felt exposed, as though Daeun could see straight through her, past her hardened exterior, past her carefully constructed walls, to the raw, vulnerable truth beneath. And maybe she could. Maybe that was what made this moment so unbearable.

Daeun didn't look away, her gaze steady, almost piercing. There was something unreadable in her expression — not quite approval, not quite disappointment, but something in between. Jieun couldn't tell if it was pride or pity or something else entirely. She wondered, suddenly, what Daeun saw when she looked at her.

Did she see a reflection of herself, a younger version of the girl she used to be? Or did she see something else — a niece who had been raised in privilege, shielded from the worst of their family's history, and yet still marked by it in ways she couldn't fully understand?

And then there was the question Jieun couldn't push away: Would Daeun ever tell her the truth? Not just about their father, but about everything — about their childhood, about what it had been like to grow up in a family so fractured, so broken, that it had splintered them into separate worlds.

What had it been like for Daeun, to be cast out by her mother, to grow up in the shadow of that rejection?

How had she survived it, and what had it cost her? And yet, even despite all of that, here she was, standing in the same arena as Jieun, her presence as unyielding as the mountains Jieun remembered from her childhood trips to Korea.

The questions pressed against Jieun's mind, heavy and relentless, but she couldn't ask them — not now, not here. Instead, she let the silence between them stretch out, heavy with meaning, the unspoken words hanging in the air like mist. It was enough, for now, just to look at Daeun and let herself feel the ache, the loss, the strange, bittersweet connection that tied them together.

Daeun broke their locked gaze first. The movement was slight — an almost imperceptible shift in her shoulders, a subtle tilt of her chin — as if the act of looking away cost her something. She turned deliberately, her attention now on the figure standing just beside her: Tory.

Jieun hadn't even noticed her there at first, obscured as she was by Daeun's commanding presence, but now that her eyes adjusted, the sight of Tory made Jieun's chest tighten with confusion.

Daeun leaned toward Tory, her lips moving with slow, deliberate precision. She was whispering, the gesture intimate but authoritative, the way a sensei might murmur instructions to a student before sending them into the ring. Jieun couldn't make out the words, but she could see the way Tory's expression hardened as she listened. Her jaw clenched ever so slightly, her posture straightened, and her hands, previously relaxed at her sides, curled into loose fists.

Jieun's confusion deepened. Daeun's whispering in Tory's ear wasn't, but what unsettled her even more was the way Tory turned her head — just enough to look at her. Tory's eyes were sharp, unreadable, as they locked onto Jieun's face. It wasn't a casual glance, nor was it the kind of animosity-laced glare Tory often reserved for her rivals. This look was something else entirely, something layered and intense, as though Tory were trying to decode her, to pull her apart and analyze the pieces.

Jieun furrowed her brows, the ache in her chest from moments earlier shifting into something sharper, something tinged with suspicion. Why was Tory staring at her like that? And why would Daeun whisper something to her, of all people? It didn't make sense. Tory wasn't her opponent in the finals — Zara was.

Zara, the one everyone said was untouchable. Zara, the competitor who had torn through every match leading up to the finals without so much as a scratch. Zara, the golden child of the Sekai Taikai, the favorite to win it all.

Jieun had spent the past twenty-four hours replaying Zara's matches in her mind, dissecting her movements, anticipating her strategies. She had braced herself for every possible angle of attack, every counter. She had thought of nothing but Zara, her nerves tightly wound around the idea of facing someone who seemed, by all accounts, invincible.

The voice of the announcer echoed through the arena, weaving itself into the air like an invisible thread. Jieun's focus snapped back to the present as the words sank in, sharp and clear against the rising hum of anticipation in the crowd.

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The Sekai Taikai Tournament of Champions." The crowd roared, their cheers reverberating against the high ceilings of the arena. Jieun could feel the energy shift, an almost electric charge coursing through the room, as if every spectator, every competitor, and even the air itself was bracing for what was to come. "Welcome, competitors, to the semifinal round of the Sekai Taikai. Each dojo will retain the points they have accumulated thus far. Each match will consist of three two-minute rounds with unlimited scoring and no stoppages. One point for a hit. Ten for a knockdown. And should anyone score a knockout, that's worth 20."

Jieun's heart thudded harder in her chest as the stakes were laid out, each word from the announcer a reminder of the monumental task that lay ahead. The finals were closer now than they had ever been, and yet they still felt miles away. She let the rules settle into her mind, repeating them like a mantra to block out the nerves that were bubbling just beneath the surface.

"At this stage of the tournament, no deficit is too large to overcome. Best of luck to you all. And may the best dojo win."

The crowd erupted again, and Jieun felt her pulse quicken. Her eyes darted toward the mat as the first pair of semifinalists stepped forward: Diego Aguilar of Furia de Pantera squaring off against Kwon Jaesung from Cobra Kai.

Kwon moved with a controlled arrogance, his steps precise and deliberate as though each one were calculated to intimidate. Diego, on the other hand, seemed lighter on his feet, bouncing slightly, his energy contained but restless, ready to explode at a moment's notice.

The match began, and Kwon proved why he had made it this far. He moved like a predator, his strikes sharp and unrelenting, his defense impenetrable. Diego fought valiantly, his movements fluid and clever, but it wasn't enough. Kwon's relentless assault broke through his guard again and again, and by the end of the second round, he had secured his victory. The cheers of the Cobra Kai contingent were deafening as Kwon raised his arms in triumph, his expression smug as he glanced toward the other competitors.

Next was Tory Nicholas against Maria Alvarez, also from Furia de Pantera. The match was fierce, each strike landing with a sharp crack that echoed through the arena. But Tory's focus was unmatched. She moved like a storm, unpredictable and overwhelming, her attacks coming from every angle with precision and force. Maria held her ground for as long as she could, but in the end, Tory emerged victorious, her victory cementing Cobra Kai's dominance in the semifinals.

Then came the next match: Robby Keene versus Axel Kovačević of Iron Dragons. Jieun felt a knot tighten in her stomach as Robby stepped onto the mat. She had seen Axel fight earlier in the tournament, and his sheer presence had been enough to send a ripple of unease through the crowd. He was a towering figure, his movements measured and deliberate, his strikes devastating in their power.

The match began, and Axel's defense was like an iron wall. Robby's strikes, no matter how fast or precise, seemed to bounce off him as though he were made of stone. Axel didn't flinch, didn't waver, his guard impenetrable. Robby circled him, searching for an opening, his movements quick and agile, but Axel remained steadfast.

Jieun's fists clenched at her sides as she watched. She could see the frustration building in Robby's movements, the way his strikes became more forceful, more desperate. Axel was unyielding, his calm almost unnerving, as though he were waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And then he did.

Axel's movements shifted, and suddenly his defense transformed into a brutal offense. His strikes were faster than they had any right to be for someone of his size, each one landing with a force that made Jieun wince. Robby dodged as many as he could, his reflexes sharp, but Axel's attacks were relentless.

Jieun felt her chest tighten as Axel's fist connected with Robby's face, the impact resounding like a thunderclap. Robby stumbled, blood trickling from his busted lip, a crimson stain against the stark white of the mat.

The crowd gasped, the tension in the arena palpable. Jieun's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Robby steady himself, his determination unwavering despite the blood on his face and the pain in his eyes. But Axel wasn't finished.

With a quick, almost casual movement, Axel grabbed both of Robby's arms, his grip like a vice. There was a brief moment of stillness, a fraction of a second where everything seemed to pause, and then Axel threw him.

Robby's body hit the mat with a sickening thud before skidding off the edge, his momentum carrying him out of bounds. Jieun's breath caught in her throat as she saw Kwon and another Cobra Kai member step forward, catching Robby before he could hit the ground.

But Kwon couldn't resist.

As he helped Robby to his feet, he drove an elbow into Robby's ribs, the motion quick and subtle, but no less vicious. Robby flinched, the pain evident in his face, but he said nothing, his jaw set as he straightened himself.

Miguel and Jieun stepped forward almost in unison, their movements sharp and deliberate, like the snap of a coiled spring. The air around them bristled with tension, thick and oppressive, as if the entire arena was holding its breath, teetering on the edge of chaos.

Kwon's smirk deepened as he stood his ground, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, a picture of defiance and mockery. Miguel's eyes flashed dangerously, his attention locked on Kwon, ready to meet fire with fire. But before he could say a word, Axel stepped between them, his sheer size a wall of muscle and intimidation. With a dismissive shove, he pushed Miguel back, sending him stumbling a step.

It was all the provocation Miguel needed. His focus shifted instantly, his body pivoting toward Axel with the precision of a trained fighter. Jieun could see the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his muscles coiled as he prepared to redirect his energy toward this new opponent. But her focus stayed on Kwon.

She took a step forward, her bare feet whispering against the cool mat. Her movements were fluid yet brimming with controlled fury, her body a taut wire straining under the weight of her emotions. Robby had already closed the distance to Kwon, his face inches from his rival's, his voice low and venomous.

"Cheap shot, bitch. Wanna try it again?" The words were quiet, almost a growl, but they carried, slicing through the murmurs of the crowd like a blade. Kwon's grin only widened, his stance relaxed as if Robby's anger was nothing more than a passing breeze.

Jieun quickened her pace, her steps purposeful as she moved to flank Robby, her eyes locked on Kwon with a glare that could have burned through steel. But before she could close the gap, another Cobra Kai member shot up from the sidelines, his hand latching onto her forearm in a grip that was both firm and intrusive.

Without hesitation, Jieun twisted her arm free and shoved him with enough force to send him sprawling onto the mat. The impact reverberated with a dull thud, his body skidding slightly as he landed. The other fighters and spectators erupted in a cacophony of gasps and cheers, the kind of visceral, collective reaction that only came when a storm was brewing.

"Try it again," Jieun hissed, her voice low and steady, a challenge wrapped in ice.

Meanwhile, Robby's focus never wavered. He shoved Kwon, the motion sharp and deliberate, his voice rising as he pressed. "Hit me."

Kwon didn't flinch. His smirk never faltered as he leaned in slightly, his tone mocking as he replied, "Push me harder. I dare you."

The energy in the room shifted from tense anticipation to full-blown chaos. Fighters from different dojos began to gather at the edges of the mat, their whispers growing louder, feeding the atmosphere like dry kindling tossed into a fire. The crowd's collective energy morphed into the frenzied buzz of a high school fight about to break out in the cafeteria.

And then Jieun moved again. The Cobra Kai fighter she had shoved earlier scrambled to his feet, his face twisted with anger, but before he could lunge at her, she delivered a swift, open-palmed smack to the back of his head. The sound was loud and deliberate, a sharp thwap that drew even more gasps from the crowd.

The fighter froze for a second, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and rage. But before he could react further, the announcer stormed into the center of the mat, his voice booming with authority.

"Stop. Stop this! Get a hold of yourselves!"

His words echoed through the arena, but they fell on deaf ears. The tension was too far gone, the energy too frenzied. Even Jieun didn't spare him a glance, her focus locked on the fighters in front of her as the chaos swirled around her like a storm.

"Everybody off the mat now!" the announcer bellowed, his voice cracking with desperation. "Or this tournament —"

But he never finished. The sharp crack of a fist connecting with flesh silenced him mid-sentence. The crowd collectively inhaled as Ivanov, the towering and volatile sensei of Udar Tigra, stepped into the fray. His fist collided with the announcer's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

For a moment, the entire arena froze, suspended in a vacuum of stunned silence. All eyes were on Ivanov as he turned slowly, his face a mask of fury and purpose. Blood roared in Jieun's ears as she watched him raise his fist high, his voice booming in Russian, each word sharp and guttural.

"Let's go!"

The room exploded into chaos. Fighters surged forward, the boundaries between dojos dissolving as the energy spilled over into unrestrained mayhem. Axel moved first, grabbing Miguel by the shoulder, but Miguel countered with a sharp elbow to the ribs, the sound of impact lost in the cacophony.

Jieun barely had time to react before another Cobra Kai member lunged at her. She sidestepped, her body moving instinctively, her foot catching the edge of his ankle and sending him sprawling. The mat became a battleground, the carefully laid rules of the tournament forgotten as fists and feet flew in every direction.

The air was thick with the sound of grunts, shouts, and the dull thud of bodies colliding. Jieun's movements were sharp and efficient, her training taking over as she dodged and countered, her mind racing to keep track of Robby, Miguel, and the others.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ivanov wading through the chaos like a general on the battlefield, his booming voice rallying his students as they clashed with fighters from every dojo. The announcer lay crumpled at the edge of the mat, clutching his jaw, his attempts to restore order drowned out by the pandemonium.

Jieun's chest heaved as she caught her breath, her eyes darting around the arena. The chaos was relentless, but beneath it all, she could feel the weight of what was happening — the raw, unfiltered energy of years of rivalry, anger, and desperation spilling out in a way that no tournament rules could contain.

The chaos was unrelenting, a maelstrom of bodies, fists, and feet colliding under the glaring fluorescent lights of the arena. Jieun found herself in the eye of the storm, moving with a dancer's grace and a warrior's precision. Every breath she drew was sharp and shallow, her lungs burning as she fought to maintain control amidst the cacophony. The crowd was a blur, their voices indistinct roars punctuated by the occasional sharp cheer or gasp.

She spun to dodge a wild punch from a Cobra Kai fighter, her bare feet skidding slightly on the mat's polished surface. Her mind was clear despite the chaos, a singular focus guiding her movements. But before she could regroup, a sudden, searing pain radiated through her lower back, sharp and visceral, like a lightning bolt splitting her spine. She stumbled forward, her balance wavering as the force of the kick sent her reeling.

For a moment, the world around her blurred into a haze of light and sound, the pain overtaking her senses. Her breath hitched, her body stiffening instinctively as she fought to stay upright. When she finally twisted around, her vision cleared just enough to catch a glimpse of the culprit — a fighter in the unmistakable black and red gi of Udar Tigra.

Adrenaline surged through her veins, hot and unrelenting, banishing the pain to the periphery of her awareness. It wasn't rational, this sudden need to retaliate, but it was primal, born of instinct and fueled by the electric energy of the fight. A scream tore from her throat, raw and guttural, as she launched herself toward the fighter, her body moving on autopilot.

The Udar Tigra girl met her charge with equal ferocity, her eyes hard and unyielding, her posture radiating confidence. She was built like a tank — solid, powerful, and undeniably strong. There was a wildness in her movements, a lack of precision that Jieun recognized as the hallmark of brute force over technique. But there was something else, too — a simmering energy beneath the surface that felt unnatural, almost inhuman.

The rumors of Udar Tigra's disqualification for steroid use surfaced in Jieun's mind, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Jieun ducked low as the girl swung a wide, powerful punch, the force of the air displaced by her fist brushing against Jieun's cheek. She pivoted sharply on her heel, her body twisting like a spring unwinding as she delivered a quick front kick to the girl's midsection. The impact landed solidly, but it was like striking a brick wall. The girl barely flinched, her only reaction a slight step back to regain her balance.

The Udar Tigra fighter surged forward, her hands reaching for Jieun in an attempt to grapple. Jieun sidestepped, her movements fluid, her arms snapping up to block a barrage of punches aimed at her head and torso. Her forearms stung with each deflected blow, but she didn't let it slow her down. Instead, she retaliated with a swift roundhouse kick aimed at the girl's ribs. The move landed, eliciting a grunt of pain, but it wasn't enough to stop her.

The girl charged again, her movements unrelenting, her strength overwhelming. Jieun ducked and weaved, her body a blur of motion as she evaded the onslaught. She could feel the edges of exhaustion creeping in, the earlier adrenaline rush beginning to wane, but she pushed it aside. This wasn't just a fight — it was a test of everything she had trained for, every ounce of discipline and skill she had honed over the years.

Jieun shifted her weight onto her back foot, her stance widening as she prepared for the next attack. The girl lunged, and Jieun countered with a spinning back kick, her heel connecting with the girl's shoulder. The impact sent the Udar Tigra fighter stumbling, but she recovered quickly, her expression twisting into one of frustration and anger.

The exchange became a brutal dance, each move and countermove blending into the next with a rhythm that was both chaotic and precise. Jieun executed a series of quick jabs and low kicks, targeting the girl's legs in an attempt to weaken her foundation. But the girl was relentless, her strikes growing more aggressive, her movements more erratic.

A particularly vicious punch grazed Jieun's cheek, the force of it snapping her head to the side and leaving her ears ringing. She retaliated immediately, her body twisting into a low sweep that caught the girl off guard, sending her toppling to the mat. But she didn't stay down for long. With a guttural growl, the girl pushed herself up, her eyes blazing with fury.

Jieun's breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, her chest heaving as she squared off once more. The pain in her back flared up again, a dull ache that pulsed with each movement, but she refused to let it slow her down. She focused on her breathing, on the way her body moved through space, on the precision of her strikes.

The fight reached its climax in a flurry of motion. The Udar Tigra girl charged again, her fists swinging wildly, her power unchecked. Jieun ducked under one punch, sidestepped another, and then found her opening.

She pivoted sharply, her body twisting like a coiled spring, her leg snapping up into a high kick. Her foot connected with the side of the girl's head, the impact reverberating through Jieun's leg as the girl crumpled to the mat.

Jieun stood over her fallen opponent, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, her body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. The crowd's roar returned slowly, like a wave crashing back onto the shore, their cheers and shouts filling the arena once more.

Jieun barely had time to catch her breath, her chest still heaving from the last fight, when she felt the ground shift beneath her feet. For a fleeting second, she thought it was exhaustion overtaking her, her legs buckling under the strain. But then her body hit the mat, hard, her head snapping back as her vision blurred.

When she blinked through the disorientation, she saw her attacker: Zara.

A smirk pulled at Zara's lips, her form imposing as she stood with a bo staff in her hands. Zara's voice rang out, sharp and clear amidst the chaos. "Aw, did you trip?" The words cut through the din, but Jieun ignored them, a flash of heat surging through her veins. "Maybe you should just stay down and save yourself the embarrassment."

As Zara leapt into the air, the staff raised high above her head, Jieun reacted instinctively. She rolled to the side, the staff whistling through the air and crashing into the mat with a resounding thud. The sound reverberated in Jieun's ears, a sharp reminder of how close she'd come to disaster.

She pushed herself to her feet, her muscles screaming in protest, but there was no time to dwell on the pain. Zara straightened, her smirk widening into something feral and predatory. The staff spun in her hands with practiced ease, a blur of polished wood that caught the light as it arced through the air. She was toying with Jieun, and it was working.

Zara lunged, the staff slicing horizontally toward Jieun's ribs. Jieun jumped back just in time, the air displaced by the weapon brushing against her skin. She countered with a quick roundhouse kick aimed at Zara's midsection, but Zara anticipated it, shifting her weight and using the staff to block the strike. The impact sent a jarring vibration through Jieun's leg, and she stumbled back, her balance momentarily faltering.

Zara pressed the advantage, the staff now an extension of her body as she attacked with a fluid combination of thrusts and sweeps. Each movement was precise, calculated to keep Jieun on the defensive. Jieun ducked under one swing, sidestepped another, her movements growing increasingly desperate as the gap in their armament became glaringly obvious. She had her fists and her feet, but they felt inadequate against the unyielding force of the staff.

A sharp crack echoed through the air as Zara struck the mat near Jieun's feet, forcing her to retreat further. The smirk on Zara's face deepened. "You're slowing down," she taunted, her voice cutting through the pounding in Jieun's ears. But Jieun didn't respond. Words wouldn't win this fight, and she knew it.

Instead, she focused on her breathing, on the rhythm of her movements, on the space between her and Zara. The staff swung toward her head, and Jieun ducked, her body coiling low before springing upward into a high kick. The tip of her foot grazed Zara's shoulder, enough to knock her off balance but not enough to disarm her. Zara staggered back, her grip on the staff tightening as she steadied herself.

Jieun pressed forward, her fists flying in a flurry of quick jabs and hooks, each one aimed at Zara's torso. Zara used the staff to block, her movements precise and almost mechanical, as if she were anticipating every strike. Frustration bubbled in Jieun's chest, but she pushed it down, channeling it into her attacks.

Zara retaliated with a sweeping strike aimed at Jieun's legs. Jieun jumped, the staff passing harmlessly beneath her, and landed with a forward kick aimed at Zara's chest. Zara caught the kick with the staff, twisting it to throw Jieun off balance.

The move worked, and Jieun fell to one knee, the sharp sting of the mat against her skin grounding her.

Zara took a step forward, her eyes gleaming with confidence. The staff came down in a vertical arc, aimed at Jieun's head. Jieun rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow, again, and sprang to her feet once more. Her muscles screamed in protest, the earlier exhaustion now a roaring fire in her veins, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.

The fight reached a fever pitch, each exchange more brutal and desperate than the last. Jieun ducked under another swing, her movements fluid and low to the ground as she swept Zara's legs out from under her. Zara fell but rolled with the momentum, coming back up with the staff spinning in her hands.

Jieun shifted her stance, her body coiling like a spring, and waited for the next attack. Zara lunged, the staff thrusting toward Jieun's chest. At the last second, Jieun sidestepped, her hand snapping out to grab the staff near its center. Zara's eyes widened in surprise as Jieun twisted, using the momentum of the attack to pull the staff from Zara's hands.

But Zara didn't let go. Instead, she used Jieun's grip to pull herself closer, her knee coming up in a sharp strike aimed at Jieun's stomach. The blow landed, driving the air from Jieun's lungs, but she didn't release the staff. Instead, she twisted again, her body turning in a tight arc as she brought her leg up into a spinning high kick.

The impact was solid, the force of the kick snapping the staff in two with a sharp, splintering crack.

Zara stumbled back, her grip on the broken halves of the staff faltering as she stared at them in disbelief. Her eyes were wide, her expression a mixture of shock and frustration as she looked down at the broken weapon in her hands.

Jieun didn't hesitate. She surged forward, her fist connecting with Zara's jaw in a powerful right hook. The blow sent Zara sprawling to the mat, the broken pieces of the staff clattering to the ground beside her.

Her fists were still clenched, her knuckles aching from the force of the final punch. She looked down at Zara, who was lying motionless on the mat, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Jieun didn't wait for a reaction. She turned, her focus shifting to the next challenge, the next fight. There was no time to celebrate, no time to process what had just happened.

The brawl wasn't over, and Jieun knew she couldn't afford to let her guard down.

Jieun's lungs burned as she twisted through the crowd, her gaze scanning desperately for Robby. The last she'd seen of him, he had been fighting Kwon, and a new swell of anxiety clawed at her chest at the thought of him lost somewhere in this relentless tangle of limbs and fury. Her heart hammered in her ears, muffling the shouts and cries, turning the outside world into a haze of muted sound and frantic movement.

Through the sea of bodies, Jieun caught a glimpse of him — his silhouette unmistakable, even amid the chaos. His form was sharp and precise, each motion deliberate as he blocked and countered a strike from Kwon. But he wasn't alone. Another figure loomed near, striking fast and with deadly precision. Yoon, she realized.

Without thinking, Jieun broke into a sprint, dodging fighters and fallen bodies, her muscles screaming in protest. Her path was erratic, weaving around clashes and narrowly avoiding strikes from strangers who barely registered her presence. Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, but she pushed through the exhaustion, her focus singular.

When she was close enough to see the sweat glistening on Robby's face, he turned suddenly, as if he had felt her approach before she even reached him. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment, an unspoken connection sparking between them amidst the chaos.

Without hesitation, Robby's arm shot out, his hand finding hers in one swift, fluid motion.

What happened next felt like instinct — like they'd rehearsed it a thousand times, though they never had.

Robby twisted his body, his grip on her arm firm but not painful, and threw her in a way that sent her spinning into the air. Time seemed to slow as Jieun found her balance mid-flight, her body coiling tight with precision before she lashed out with both legs. Her kicks connected solidly with Yoon and Kwon's faces, the impact reverberating through her legs as the two dropped to the ground with heavy, resounding thuds.

She landed on her feet, her stance firm despite the jarring descent. For a moment, everything around her seemed to pause, the chaos fading into a dull hum as her gaze darted to Robby. His face was a mixture of exhaustion and something softer, a quiet kind of concern that made her chest tighten in an entirely different way.

He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, his hands moving to her face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the violence they'd just escaped. His fingers brushed against her skin, rough but steady, as he tilted her face this way and that, inspecting her for any signs of injury.

Her breath hitched at the intensity of his focus, his thumbs grazing over a fresh bruise forming on her cheekbone. His brows furrowed as his gaze lingered on the mark, his lips pressing into a thin line as if the sight of it caused him physical pain.

She nodded slightly, the motion small but deliberate, her way of reassuring him. "I'm okay," she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat, unnecessary in the face of his unspoken understanding.

Robby's hands lingered for a moment longer, his palms warm against her skin, grounding her in the surreal chaos that still churned around them. His touch was protective, almost tender, and the way his fingers brushed her jaw sent a flicker of warmth through the cold adrenaline in her veins.

When their eyes met again, his expression softened further, a brief smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn't wide or bright, but it was enough to calm the storm inside her, anchoring her in a moment that felt impossibly still despite the turmoil surrounding them.

For a second, it was just them — two bodies battered and bruised, standing in the eye of a hurricane. The noise and movement blurred into the background, insignificant against the quiet connection they shared in that fleeting moment.

Then, with a final sweep of his thumb over her cheek, Robby let his hands fall away. But the warmth of his touch lingered, a quiet reassurance that settled in her chest like a steady heartbeat. He nodded once, his gaze steady on hers, before turning back to the chaos.

And just like that, the moment was gone. But its imprint remained.

The air in the arena seemed to shift, a heavy tension settling over the chaos. Kwon's voice cut through the noise like a serrated blade, sharp and menacing as he bellowed Robby's name. Jieun's heart sank, a visceral jolt of dread rushing through her, but she wasn't the first to react.

Sam was already moving, her movements fluid yet urgent as she intercepted Kwon, positioning herself directly in his path. Her determination radiated like a shield, her arms raised in a gesture that was both defensive and pleading. But Kwon's fury was a force of nature, unyielding and wild. Without hesitation, he shoved her aside with brutal force, his palm driving into her shoulder and sending her flying.

Sam's body hit the ground hard, the sound of her impact muffled by the roar of the crowd but still loud enough to reach Jieun's ears. The breath left Sam in a gasp, her frame crumpling against the unforgiving surface of the mat. She struggled to rise, one arm clutching at her side, but her movements were slow and pained, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around her.

Nearby, Axel watched the scene with a growing storm of anger. His eyes, dark and unyielding, locked onto Kwon, his expression shifting from one of detachment to righteous fury. In an instant, he was moving, his steps purposeful and unrelenting as he closed the distance between himself and Kwon.

Axel's intervention was swift, his presence a wall between Sam and Kwon's unbridled rage. His body was a fortress, his stance low and unshakable, every movement calculated and precise. Kwon, unfazed, lunged forward, his fists swinging with reckless abandon. Axel met him blow for blow, his defenses ironclad, each block and counterstrike executed with an almost mechanical efficiency.

The fight escalated quickly, the two warriors clashing with a ferocity that seemed to consume the air around them. Axel's strikes were deliberate, his punches and kicks landing with the weight of a battering ram, but Kwon was relentless, his movements wild and unpredictable. The ground beneath them seemed to reverberate with each impact, the sheer force of their fight drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

The intensity of the fight reached its zenith when Axel delivered a powerful kick, his foot connecting with Kwon's chest and sending him staggering backward. The force of the blow was enough to topple a nearby camera, the equipment crashing to the ground with a sharp, metallic clang. Sparks flew as the camera's lens shattered, the live feed still managing to stay on.

Kwon's scream of frustration tore through the air, raw and guttural, a sound that sent a shiver down Jieun's spine. His fists pounding against the mat in a fit of rage. Blood from his nose dripped freely, pooling on the ground beneath him, the crimson liquid stark against the bright blue of the mat.

But then, something changed. Kwon's screams shifted, morphing into a sound that was far more unsettling.

Laughter.

It started as a low chuckle, guttural and uneven, before escalating into a manic, unhinged cackle that echoed throughout the arena. His shoulders shook with the force of it, his bloodied face twisting into a grotesque mask of triumph and madness.

He began to crawl forward, his movements deliberate yet erratic, like a predator stalking its prey. His hands, slick with blood, moved across the mat with an eerie determination. That's when she saw it — a glint of metal catching the light.

The knife.

Kwon's fingers closed around the hilt, his grip tightening as he rose to his feet. The blade gleamed in the harsh fluorescent lighting, a sharp contrast to the dark smears of blood staining his hands. He turned, his eyes locking onto Axel with a gaze that was equal parts fury and exhilaration.

Axel stood his ground, his body tense and ready, but even he seemed momentarily shaken by the sight of the blade. Kwon's movements were wild, erratic, as he charged forward, his voice a guttural roar that resonated through the chaos. Axel reacted swiftly, his body a blur of motion as he dodged Kwon's initial strike and countered with a powerful kick aimed at Kwon's leg.

The impact was devastating. Axel's foot connected with Kwon's knee midair, the force of the blow causing Kwon to lose his balance.

His scream of pain was piercing, cutting through the cacophony like a blade, as his body twisted awkwardly before crashing to the ground.

The energy in the room shifted, its wild chaos extinguished like a flame snuffed out by a cold wind. All movement ceased as Kwon's body lay still, crumpled unnaturally on the mat. The lifeblood that had fueled his manic determination now pooled beneath him, its crimson edges seeping outward in quiet betrayal.

Silence settled over the crowd, heavy and oppressive, as if the arena itself was holding its breath.

Jieun stood frozen, her limbs trembling as the sight before her rooted her in place. The adrenaline that had carried her moments earlier began to dissolve, replaced by a deep, unshakable unease.

Her body betrayed her, shaking uncontrollably as her mind screamed at her to look away, but her eyes remained locked on Kwon's motionless form. He was too still, too silent, his chest devoid of the rise and fall that signified life.

Her breath hitched, catching somewhere between her throat and lungs, a jagged barrier preventing the air from flowing freely. Her vision blurred as tears welled, her body's instinctual response to a fear that ran deeper than the present moment. The arena faded around her, the sounds of gasps and whispers from the spectators dimming to an almost imperceptible hum.

And then she was no longer in the Sekai Taikai arena.

She was sixteen again, standing in the doorway of her home, the same tremors coursing through her as her eyes landed on the still body of her father. He had been lying there, just like Kwon now, limbs splayed in a grotesque mockery of peace.

The echo of that moment returned to her now with crushing clarity, the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils as her mind wove the two scenes together.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, spilling over as she raised a trembling hand to her mouth, muffling a sob.

The two images overlapped in her mind — her father's body outside her door and Kwon's crumpled form on the mat.

The nausea that surged through her was overpowering, a tidal wave of fear and grief that left her breathless.

Then, through the haze of her spiraling thoughts, movement caught her eye. Daniel stepped forward, his expression somber but composed as he approached Kwon. His movements were deliberate, each step reverberating in the silence as if the entire arena were holding its collective breath. He knelt beside the fallen fighter, his hands gentle yet firm as he turned Kwon's body over.

The knife's hilt protruded grotesquely from Kwon's chest, the blade embedded deep, its polished surface glinting faintly under the overhead lights. The blood pooled beneath him grew darker, richer, as the movement disturbed its spread. The sight was surreal, a macabre tableau that felt both distant and all too close.

Her eyes remained fixed on the blade, on the stillness of Kwon's body, on the crimson stain that had become the centerpiece of the arena.

Her gaze shifted, almost unwillingly, until it landed on Kim Daeun.

Jieun could see the same recognition in Daeun's expression, the same creeping horror that mirrored her own. Neither woman spoke, but the memory rose unbidden in both of their minds, like an unwelcome specter summoned from the past.

The words of Jieun's grandmother echoed, faint at first, then growing louder, insistent, as if carried on the air itself. The voice was haunting, ancient, and unyielding, imbued with the kind of certainty that came only from unshakable conviction.

"No child of this bloodline will learn the art of war," her grandmother had once said, her voice as firm as stone, "because those who do will carry death in their hands. Do you hear me? These fists are not weapons. These feet will not strike. If you disobey, you will bring ruin upon yourself and those you love."

The warning reverberated in Jieun's mind, its weight pressing down on her like an invisible hand. She could hear her grandmother's voice as clearly as if the woman were standing beside her, her tone both resigned and ominous, the cadence of each word like the tolling of a bell. The past seemed to converge with the present, the prophecy bleeding into reality in a way that left her cold.

Jieun's tears fell freely now, her vision obscured by the wetness streaking her cheeks. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, her chest rising and falling erratically as she struggled to regain control. She tried to focus on her surroundings, to anchor herself in the here and now, but the memory of her grandmother's warning clung to her, refusing to be dismissed.

Her eyes flitted back to Kwon, to the knife in his chest, and then to Daeun. The older woman's face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the scene before her. Jieun wondered if Daeun was hearing the same words, if their shared bloodline carried the weight of that curse like an invisible chain binding them to the past.

Around them, the arena remained eerily silent, the crowd too stunned to react. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that left every breath feeling labored and heavy. The chaos of the brawl had been replaced by something far more unsettling — a quiet that seemed to stretch endlessly, as if time itself had frozen in reverence for the life lost on the mat.

And yet, in that silence, Jieun could hear her grandmother's voice again, repeating the words like a mantra, a warning, a curse. Each repetition drove the message deeper into her consciousness, until it felt like an unshakable truth.

"It will claim you," her grandmother had said, the finality in her voice more haunting than any scream. "It always does. The art of war is a poison in this family, and it will seep into your bones, into your blood, until nothing remains but death."

Martial arts had never been just a discipline or a craft; it was a curse, threaded through their bloodline like an unseen poison, always waiting to bloom.

It wasn't a warning — it had been a certainty, as inevitable as the tide, and now that truth lay sprawled before her in a lifeless, bloodied heap.

For the first time, Jieun felt the full gravity of what had been forbidden, and as her gaze drifted back to Daeun, whose face was a mirror of her own unease, she could almost swear she felt it — a shadow moving just beyond the edge of sight, watching, waiting, and claiming what it was owed.

Jieun Kang couldn't deny it any longer.

Her grandmother had been right all along.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

AND WITH THAT! PART 2 IS OFFICIALLY DONE!!!

eeeeeee im so so so so so proud of what i wrote and even though i absolutely HATE writing fight scenes this was the most excited ive ever been writing them.

had to write zara low-key kicking jiji's ass bc i kept thinking i made jiji too op LOL! but in the end she won!

a small a subtle robby and jiji moment that i really loved

jibby my beloved

or keeun

but jibby is funnier

another note, thank u all so much for 100k reads !! it means the absolute world to me and every single comment, vote and share will never go unnoticed by me. and i love u all so much for supporting me and this book and for loving jiji and robby as much as i do!

goodbye until february 15th ‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ )

much love,