Shadowed Legacy

Tayo Anurak had long since learned that sweat carried the scent of struggle. The tang of it lingered in the Anurak Muay Thai School, a modest gym tucked into a corner of Bangkok's bustling streets. The slap of gloves against pads echoed through the air, each strike a sharp note of discipline and pain.

Her knuckles throbbed beneath the worn hand wraps, and her legs burned from endless drills, but she didn't stop. She was the number one fighter in the gym, and that title wasn't given—it was earned through relentless work. Her father's gaze pressed on her like the midday sun—unyielding, scorching, impossible to ignore. He stood at the edge of the mat, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone.

"Again," said Phuwadon, his voice calm and commanding, like calling a storm to rise.

Tayo gritted her teeth and obeyed. Her shin smashed into the heavy bag with a dull thud, the impact jolting her leg. Pain whispered in her ear, constant and familiar. It reminded her of the stakes.

The bag swung back, almost mocking her, and she struck again. And again.

"Good. Faster."

She glanced at her father, her chest tightening when his face didn't change. It never did. Three flawless kicks, and the approval she craved remained out of reach. Maybe it always would.

The ache in her muscles couldn't compete with the sting of his silence.

Her mind wandered as she kicked—back to the first time she stepped into the gym as a child, barefoot and hesitant. Phuwadon had looked down at her with those same unreadable eyes and placed a pair of gloves in her tiny hands. "If you want to stay here, you'll train." It wasn't a suggestion; it was a command. She'd nodded, her heart pounding with determination. She'd promised herself that she would prove her worth to him, no matter what.

Yet, years later, she was still chasing a fleeting shadow of acknowledgment.

The gym door creaked open, breaking her focus. Chatter and laughter spilled into the room, a wave of noise unwelcome in her world of discipline.

"Looks like the fun's already started," said a voice—smooth, teasing, and unmistakable.

Tayo turned, her irritation flaring as Yuthana Yi-jun strolled in, his trademark grin firmly in place. His black training jacket bore the emblem of Chaiyasing Gym, his family's rival school. His hair was swept back, and his easy confidence radiated in every step, making her fists itch.

Behind him trailed students from Chaiyasing Gym, their energy light and carefree. They greeted Phuwadon with polite bows, but Yi-jun's gaze never left her.

"Hard at work, Anurak?" he asked, his grin widening. "Or just putting on a show for us?"

Her glare could have cut steel. "What are you doing here, Yi-jun? Trying to steal some techniques?"

"Not quite," he replied, sauntering closer. "Here for the sparring match. Your dad and mine set it up, remember? Or did you forget?"

Of course, she hadn't forgotten. She just hadn't been looking forward to it. The last thing she needed was Yi-jun waltzing in, acting like he owned the place.

"Get ready," Phuwadon said, his tone brisk. "The matches start in ten minutes."

Tayo tightened her wraps, her gaze never leaving Yi-jun. He stood chatting with one of his teammates, his posture lazy and relaxed, like fighting was as natural as breathing. Unlike her, he didn't have to fight for his place in the world.

Not today. Today, she would prove that her Muay Dta mastery—her defensive timing and counterattacks—could outshine his talent.

---

The gym filled as the match began. The first fight featured Niran Mai, one of the gym's most aggressive fighters, and Sukhum Boonmee, Yi-jun's closest friend.

Niran was a Muay Mat fighter, known for his relentless aggression and knockout power. His punches came like battering rams, and he was famous for wearing his opponents down with sheer force. Sukhum, in contrast, was a Muay Femur—precise, calculating, and technical. Where Niran was fire, Sukhum was water, flowing effortlessly around attacks before striking with precision.

The crowd circled the ring, murmurs filling the space. Tayo leaned against the ropes, arms crossed, her posture a picture of calm. Her eyes flicked to Phuwadon, who stood with his usual stoic demeanor at the edge of the ring. She watched for any hint of expression, even as the fight began.

The referee signaled the start of the match.

Niran came out swinging, his fists a blur of raw power. Sukhum sidestepped the barrage, his movements light and fluid. With a subtle feint to the left, Sukhum baited Niran into overcommitting, then countered with a sharp jab to the ribs.

Phuwadon's lips twitched—a slight nod, almost imperceptible, but enough to make Tayo's stomach twist. Approval. For Sukhum.

Her knuckles tightened against the ropes. Her father never gave her that. She forced her eyes back to the ring, where Sukhum flowed into motion again, his strikes fluid and efficient.

Niran lunged with a powerful roundhouse kick, but Sukhum slipped past it, his body moving like water.

"Fight like a man, Niran!" Tayo called, her voice slicing through the noise, masking the tightness in her chest.

Niran snapped his gaze toward her, his nostrils flaring. "Shut up, Anurak," he spat. "Think you're better than me just because you've got Daddy's special training?"

Her jaw tightened. Niran always made it personal, twisting her focus into anger. She hated it—and hated that it worked.

Phuwadon's eyes flicked to her, sharp and disapproving. It wasn't a look of anger, but disappointment—the kind that weighed heavier than a thousand words. She straightened, forcing her expression back to calm.

Sukhum flowed into motion again, his strikes flowing like a river. A clean kick to the ribs knocked the wind out of Niran, leaving him gasping on the mat.

Phuwadon's nod returned—subtle but unmistakable. Tayo's chest burned. Sukhum had earned that approval. She never had.

The referee stepped in to end the match.

Sukhum stood victorious, calm and composed, while Niran lay defeated, his pride in tatters.

Tayo couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. Niran had finally met his match. But as her eyes locked with Yi-jun's across the room, her smile faded.

He was watching her, his grin as infuriating as it was unshaken.

Her father's silence pressed on her shoulders, but today, she wouldn't fight for his nod—or for anyone else's approval. By the end of the day, Yi-jun would know she wasn't just a fighter to be toyed with. She was a storm waiting to be unleashed.