University Football Ground — Afternoon
Ling Kwong stepped onto the field like nothing had happened.
That was the lie.
Her body was flawless. Her face unreadable. Her posture sharp enough to cut. If anyone looked closely, they'd notice the tension in her shoulders — too tight, too contained — like something inside her was trying to break bone.
The crowd went insane anyway.
They always did.
Ling didn't look at the stands.
She couldn't afford to.
The whistle blew.
She moved.
And God — she was brutal.
Ling didn't just play football. She dominated it. Every run was precise, every pass lethal. She tore through defenders like they were obstacles, not people. She didn't miss. She never did.
Because missing meant thinking.
And thinking meant last night.
The elevator doors.
The silence.
The sound of Rhea's breath breaking into panic.
The warmth of Rhea in her arms.
Ling intercepted the ball, sprinted, scored.
The roar shook the stadium.
Rhea sat rigid on the bleachers, spine straight, eyes fixed anywhere but the field. Sunglasses hid nothing — not the tight jaw, not the pulse beating at her throat.
Don't look, she ordered herself.
Ling wiped sweat from her face, lifting her jersey for half a second.
The crowd lost its mind.
Rhea didn't move.
But her fingers curled slowly into her palm.
Ling felt it.
That pull.
That awareness.
She glanced up — just once — and there she was.
Still. Regal. Refusing her.
Something sharp twisted in Ling's chest.
She crushed it instantly.
Irrelevant.
She played harder.
Faster.
Like she was trying to outrun the memory of Rhea curled unconscious in her bed. Like she could erase the weight of Rhea's body in her arms. Like she could undo the way her own hands had shaken first time when the doctor said, She'll be fine.
Goal.
Another.
Another.
Ling Kwong didn't lose.
Ever.
But this wasn't winning.
This was control under siege.
From the stands, Rhea finally stood, smoothing her dress, pride snapping back into place.
"This is nothing," she murmured to herself. "She's nothing."
She turned to leave.
On the field, Ling scored the final goal — flawless, absolute — and the crowd erupted.
Ling didn't celebrate.
Her eyes were already searching the stands.
Rhea was gone.
Something inside Ling cracked — quiet, dangerous.
She clenched her jaw, swallowing it whole.
You don't feel, she told herself.
You don't fall.
You don't need.
But denial doesn't erase impact.
And Ling Kwong had already been hit.
And Mira saw it before anyone else did.
Not the goals. Not the flawless control. Not the crowd screaming Ling Kwong's name like a prayer.
She saw the pause.
That fraction of a second after the final whistle — when Ling didn't immediately turn toward her usual exit. When her eyes scanned the stands instead.
Searching.
Mira's fingers tightened around her phone.
Ling had never searched for anyone.
The realization settled in Mira's chest like poison.
Outside the Private Changing Room
Ling emerged moments later, towel around her neck, expression carved back into ice. Jian and Rawen trailed behind her, laughing too loudly, trying too hard to pretend nothing was wrong.
Mira stepped into Ling's path.
"Nice game," she said sweetly. "As usual."
Ling didn't slow. "Move."
Mira walked with her. "You didn't let me in last night."
Ling stopped.
Slowly, she turned. Her gaze was lethal. "That's your fault."
Mira smiled — brittle. "The party ended early. People noticed."
Ling leaned closer, voice low. "People should learn to mind their place."
Mira swallowed. She hesitated — then crossed the line.
"She was in your arms at morning," she said lightly.
Something dark flashed across Ling's face.
"Who told you?"
Mira shrugged. "Everyone in family knows that, the way you both were fighting."
Ling stepped closer — too close. "You weren't there."
"No," Mira said softly. "But I could've been."
Ling's jaw tightened. "Say what you want."
Mira said nothing.
That evening, Mira found Rhea near the humanities building — alone, phone in hand, expression unreadable as ever.
Perfect.
"Rhea," Mira called sweetly.
"Ah," Rhea said flatly. "The friend is doing a lot of work there."
Mira ignored the jab. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay after last night."
"I don't need checking," Rhea replied. "Especially not from you."
Mira stepped closer anyway. "You shouldn't get used to Ling's kindness."
Rhea's eyes sharpened. "I didn't ask for it."
Mira leaned in, lowering her voice. "She breaks easily when people get too close. You wouldn't want to be the reason."
Rhea smiled then — slow, dangerous.
"You're threatened," Rhea said. "How embarrassing."
Mira's composure cracked. "She doesn't fall for girls like you."
Rhea tilted her head. "She already did."
The words landed like a slap.
Mira recoiled — then hardened.
"You fainted. You ran. You're nothing but a distraction." Mira hissed.
Rhea stepped forward, eyes cold flame. "Then why are you shaking?"
Mira stared at her, breathing hard — and in that moment, she made the mistake that would destroy her.
She smiled.
"You know," Mira said casually, "elevators malfunction more often than people think."
Rhea's face went still.
Dead still.
"Say that again," Rhea whispered.
Mira turned to leave. "Just friendly advice."
She didn't see Ling until it was too late.
Ling stood at the end of the corridor.
Had heard everything.
Her expression wasn't angry.
It was something far worse.