Shadowed Legacy

Tayo awoke to the first rays of sunlight slashing through the blinds, painting her room in streaks of pale gold. Her body ached, every muscle tight and bruised from the previous night's fight. She stretched gingerly, wincing as a sharp pain flared 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. The motions were precise, mechanical, like clockwork. Stay sharp, she told herself. The underground doesn't forgive weakness.

The faint scent of liniment oil and sweat wafted in as she descended to the school's main floor. The Anurak Muay Thai School was alive with energy. The rhythmic smack of fists meeting pads reverberated through the hall, interspersed with the sharp cries of effort from students. Tayo paused near the doorway, taking it all in—the echo of determined footsteps against the mat, the collective breath of a class pushing its limits.

Her father, Phuwadon Anurak, stood at the center of the action. His sharp eyes scanned the room, his commanding presence requiring no words. He corrected a younger student's stance with a firm yet patient hand, his voice even but resolute.

Tayo's chest tightened as she watched. He never spoke to her like that. His words to her were clipped, precise, as though she was a tool in need of sharpening rather than a person in need of guidance.

"Tayo." His voice cut through the air, a blade slicing clean. 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 replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes locked onto hers, unflinching. "You've been distracted. Sloppy."

Her jaw tightened, but she swallowed the retort bubbling up in her throat. Phuwadon's gaze flicked to a younger student who approached with trembling hands, holding pads. Tayo stepped into position without a word.

The first kick landed with a sharp crack, and the boy stumbled under its force. Tayo followed with a flurry of strikes, each blow sharper than the last. Sweat trickled down her temple as she pressed harder, the echo of her strikes bouncing off the walls like gunshots.

"Enough," Phuwadon said, raising a hand. His gaze bore into her, unreadable but heavy. "You're holding back."

"I'm not," she snapped, her voice sharper than she'd intended.

Phuwadon's silence was deafening. His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before he turned away, his voice quiet but cutting. "If you want to waste your potential, that's your choice. But don't waste my time."

The words struck harder than any punch. For a moment, her fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to shout at him, demand he see her, really see her—but the fire in her chest smoldered, giving way to the familiar ache of disappointment. Without a word, she stepped off the mat.

As she moved toward the back of the school, a familiar voice called out. "Rough morning?"

Tayo froze, frustration bubbling over before she even turned around. Yi-jun Chaiyasing stood leaning against the wall, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. Arms crossed, he looked every bit the picture of relaxed confidence, as though nothing could faze him.

"What are you doing here?" Tayo demanded, her tone sharper than she'd intended.

He shrugged, pushing off the wall with a grace that irked her. "Your father invited us. Didn't he tell you?"

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 let out a bitter laugh. "I don't need your respect."

"Maybe not," Yi-jun said, his tone steady, almost gentle. "But you've earned it. And you've caught the city's attention. Fighters are starting to talk about Shade. They're watching you now."

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Yi-jun stepped closer, his voice lowering just enough to unsettle her. "You're not just another underground fighter anymore. People are curious. And curiosity in this world?" He paused, his gaze hardening. "It can be dangerous."

Tayo opened her mouth to reply but found herself at a loss. It wasn't just his words—it was the way he said them. Not as a warning, but as a challenge.

"Careful, Shade," Yi-jun added, his tone light but his eyes serious. "Even shadows can be exposed if they're not quick enough."

Her stomach twisted, the strange mixture of admiration and challenge in his expression throwing her off balance. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her pace hurried as if trying to escape the weight of his words.

---

That night, long 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.

She began to strike, her movements wild, unrestrained. The shadows of doubt and frustration swirled around her, threatening to suffocate her.

Her father's voice rang in her ears. Yi-jun's smirk flashed in her mind. The jeers of last night's crowd echoed in the empty hall.

They're watching. Waiting.

What if someone recognized her? What if they connected Shade to Tayo Anurak? The thought of Phuwadon discovering the truth sent an icy jolt through her chest. She imagined his expression—cutting, disapproving, cold.

Would he see her as a fighter? Or as a failure who tarnished his name?

She fought harder. Her strikes grew faster, sharper, more precise. She pushed through the burn in her muscles, the roaring ache in her ribs, the storm in her mind. She fought until there was nothing left but the sound of her breath and the silence pressing in around her.

This fight wasn't just in the ring. It wasn't about her father's approval, Yi-jun's respect, or the crowds cheering her name.

The fight was within her. Against the fear of being exposed. Against the desire to be more than what her father saw.

And she would face it, over and over, until she emerged victorious—or until the light finally caught her.