"Is there any way to erase the past?"

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Ahana

Her knuckles throbbed in pain.

The rhythmic pulsing grew deeper with every hit on the heavy bag. It wasn't enough to stop her though, if anything, it gave a temporary distraction from her thoughts. Something that encouraged her to keep doing that.

People like you crack under pressure, don't they?

The punching bag swung violently, the black leather catching the sunlight that fell from the all wall windows of the gym. She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, while the chain of the bag in front of her clinked with every oscillation it goes through.

Her jaw clenched at the memory of Kai's smirk, the arrogant lilt in his voice as he tossed the comment at her like it was a fact, not a dig.

The nerve.

What does he even know about her? Nothing.

And still he dared to question her, to assume she would crack under pressure. She knew that this was most probably his way of getting under her skin, of seeing how affected she could get with words, a payback to all the composure she had kept. What bothered her the most, was the fact that he had succeeded in it.

That's why she was here trying to diffuse her annoyance by taking it out on that punching bag. Her phone dinged, the soft click resonating in the empty room. She rolled her shoulders, dropping her gloves near the bag, while she stepped out.

A thin layer of sweat shined on her forehead, despite the air condition of the room. The black tee that covered her abdomen sticking to her skin, the faint outlines of abs and muscles visible. She dropped down on the bench, her hand reaching out for a towel while she read the message from the PR team, informing her about tomorrow's debrief.

A sigh went past her lips, as she kept her phone away. Wiping away the sweat that clung to her skin, for a second, her gaze caught her reflection in the mirror that graced an entire wall, the punching bag swinging a few feets from her visible, though she averted it quickly after adjusting her sleeves near her wrists.

Just as she reached for her water bottle, the door to the gym opened behind her, and an all familiar voice ringed out.

"Are you just in a bad mood or have that punching bag offended you?"

Ahana exhaled sharply, already knowing who it was.

Of course, who else could it be.

"Are you here to waste my time or you wanna proxy for this bag, I wouldn't do that, believe me," she said, standing up and turning around to give him an annoyed smile.

Standing there leaning on the door stood– Ryan Dickenson. Muscled in a way that made gym enthusiasts weep with envy and wearing an easy confidence that bordered on cocky, he looked every bit the golden boy of the Dickenson legacy. His dark hair was artfully messy, as though he'd just rolled out of bed, and his sharp hazel eyes sparkled with mischief and a subtle lit of arrogance as they took her in.

"I don't hurt girls, sweetheart, figured out you would know that by now," he said, his voice containing a sickly sweet drawl that made Ahana almost think about throwing the bottle in her hand at him, or punch him to bruise that pretty face of his– almost.

But she was used to his antics by now.

"As if," she snorted, "you are just afraid, you would be walking away from here with broken ribs,"

The subtle roll of his eyes didn't miss her eyes, as he stepped forward with his hands stuffed in his leather jacket, "Whatever makes you sleep at night, sweetie, whatever makes you sleep at night," he said, with a mock salute, "anyway, should I consider you interested because you recognized me by my voice as soon as I walked in,"

Ahana blinked her eyes in amusement, for a second she wondered if he was just being silly to make her laugh or delusional. Seriously delusional, if he was being that. "For the first thing, there are not many people who could just walk in my suite, Mr. Croc,and second, I knew it was you because there is an whole ass mirror in front of the bench I was sitting on,"

His smile turned into a scowl soon enough, eyes narrowed in subtle annoyance that made Ahana felt like she succeeded, "I had told you a thousand time, not to call me that," he said exasperated, "it don't suit my personality,"

She raised a challenging eyebrow at that, "Oh yeah? Well I had told you a hundred times too that if you want to live peacefully, don't push your luck by entering into my suite unannounced, you never listen too, Croc, do you?"

"Whatever,"

"That's what I thought too,"

She walked toward the door shaking away the subtle twitch of her lips, despite how annoying and self assured Ryan was, there was something about him that always eased her nerves. Maybe it was their constant bickering– that made her forget about her problems, or maybe it was his stubborn nature to not leave her alone even when he knew that she was hiding things from him.

It was comforting in a sense. He never pushed her to talk, he let her be what she wants to be.

Or maybe at this point he had just drugged her, to think about him this civilly. Who knows.

All of a sudden, her wrist was seized by a firm grip and within a second her arm was subtly twisted and yanked backward.

For a moment, her heart stopped.

Before it pounded harshly.

Years of training kicking in, and her instincts took over. She threw her head backward, the impact sending the grip on her wrist loose taking the advantage of the momentarily distraction, she twisted out of the grip, before twisting and sending a forceful kick on the shin of the person.

When she finally gained her senses back, her hand was hovering inches away from Ryan's throat, her knees on either side of him. The rapid trump of his heart was rhythmic beside her hand.

A sharp breath left past her lips, "What the fuck was that for?" she hissed, removing her hand from his chest, "If I had a knife, you might have been dead,"

"Relax," he murmured as he raised his hand to gently touch the bruise forming on forehead, "I was just testing if your reflexes were as good as they say,"

The small wince of pain didn't go past her notice, making her clench her jaw, "Testing? By grabbing me from behind? You could have been seriously hurt, moron."

"Well, I still think I am seriously hurt. Pretty sure that kick broke a muscle or two," he said, leaning his head back against the cold floor.

She stood up, taking a step back, dusting her track pants from the invisible lint, her gaze lingered on him for a second longer than she intended. A familiar clenching of her heart made her look away, "Umm you are not-" she cleared her throat, "-not hurt seriously, are you?"

He tilted his head, one hand holding his weight from the floor. For a moment, his eyes softened before his smile was once again graced by the ever- infuriating smirk, "Aww, is someone worried?" he said with a grin, but backtracked as soon as he saw the glare she gave him that screamed 'I could hit you again, you know' , "Not to worry, Ahana. I will survive... the only thing that might not survive this is my ego,"

She sighed, relief replacing the guilt that clawed at her. "You would survive just fine with a little less ego,"

***

Soft breeze brushed against her cheeks, her hand moving with practiced precision as she jotted down some more points on her tab. The sun was about to set, the day soon to and end, and so was the first day of training of Bladebreakers in her supervision. Today was not much different than their regular routine.

She had asked them to practice as they did regularly, to find techniques that they would be comfortable with while noting down their weaknesses and areas of improvements.

They were all good, she had to admit. Tyson's unrelenting spirit, Ray's precision, Kai's unyielding control, and Max's resourcefulness—they each had strengths that could dominate the stadium. But strengths weren't enough everytime, what decides a win are the weaknesses, something that could be exploited no matter how small.

She wasn't here to encourage them anyway, she was here to ensure they wouldn't be broken– neither inside nor outside the stadium.

The sound of clashing beyblades rang out, pulling her attention. Her sharp gaze settled on Tyson's match with Ray. Tyson's moves were predictable, relying too much on brute force, while Ray waited for the perfect moment to counter. She jotted down some more points, "Focus, Tyson," she murmured to herself, knowing he was too far away to hear.

Her gaze then shifted to Max's match with Kai. Max's energy was boundless but it often leads to mistakes. She watched as his beyblade took an risky trajectory and a second later her instincts screamed a warning.

The beyblade shot out of the stadium like a bullet, its sharp edges catching sunlight as it hurled toward her.

Time slowed.

Her hand closed around the spinning beyblade just before it could hit her face. The momentum of the blade slowed down and it rotated and stilled in her hands, its edge smeared with blood.

A thin cut welled in her hand, crimson lines following the scratches.

"Ahana!" Max shouted, his face pale as he ran over to her, "Oh man! I didn't mean to- are you okay?"

"I am fine," she said, as she dropped the beyblade in his hand. Her gaze for a brief second flickered to all of them who had gathered there, their previous enthusiasm replaced with worry– well almost every one of them. "Really, I am okay. Just be careful, if it was someone else they might have gotten severely injured,"

"You are bleeding," Ray murmured, his brows creased with worry while he forwarded her a handkerchief looking hesitant between coming over and patching that wound or not.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a small smile, as she took the white cloth wrapping it around her hand in a practiced motion. "Okay, now everyone, back to practice. You better make it worth this cut,"

They all nodded, turning around toward the stadium, as she convinced them she was okay.

Or maybe she was just convincing herself.

Cause even she couldn't unnotice the faintest tremble in her hand, and the pounding of her heart.

The harsh scars hidden under her shirt seemed to burn at that moment.