Days passed like held breath.
Practice became ritual—five p.m., the same ground, the same unspoken pull tightening every time they crossed into each other's space. Ling stopped pretending she wasn't provoking; she did it deliberately now. A brush of shoulder. A pause too close. A comment that sounded like strategy and tasted like flirtation.
The day before the competition, the air was sharper.
Ling pressed harder from the first minute, her play aggressive, precise—designed to corner, not to win quickly. Rhea matched her, teeth bared in every move, pride refusing to bend.
The net met Rhea's back again.
Ling pinned her there with ease—forearm braced beside Rhea's head, the other hand trapping the ball, body close enough to steal breath. Her voice dropped, intimate without apology.
"If you lose tomorrow," Ling said, eyes locked on Rhea's, "you do what I say."
Rhea didn't look away. She smiled—slow, dangerous.
"And if you lose," she replied evenly, "you do what I say."
Ling's mouth curved. Confidence, absolute. "I will win. I know it."
She leaned closer, close enough that the net bit into Rhea's shoulders. "So hear this now—when you lose tomorrow, you kiss me."
A beat.
"In front of everyone. For a full minute."
Rhea's pulse jumped—but her pride rose faster. She tilted her chin, eyes sharp with intent that had nothing to do with fear.
"Fine," Rhea said softly. "Then when you lose—"
She stepped into Ling's space just enough to flip the balance.
"—you'll say it loud. In front of the crowd."
Her lips curved, cruel and precise.
"That you're nothing. That you have no control. No discipline."
She held Ling's gaze, unblinking.
"Just a small Kwong."
For a split second, something cracked behind Ling's eyes.
Then it sealed.
Ling pulled back, posture snapping into command like armor. Her voice was calm—too calm.
"Deal."
She stepped away, already turning, already claiming victory that hadn't happened yet.
Rhea went straight to the Nior mansion.
The house was quiet in the way only power made it—guards distant, lights soft, everything controlled. Kane was waiting, seated on the edge of the bed in Rhea's room as if she had known her daughter would come tonight.
Rhea didn't sit. She stood, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"I made a deal," she said.
Kane looked up slowly. "With her."
It wasn't a question.
Rhea nodded once. "The competition. Tomorrow."
Kane's expression didn't change. "Tell me."
Rhea did. The net. The terms. The crowd. The kiss.
For the first time, Kane's composure slipped—not into anger, but into something colder. Fear dressed as control.
"So," Kane said evenly, "you will kiss her for one minute."
Rhea's head snapped up. "No."
Kane stood. Walked closer. "Rhea." Her voice softened just enough to be dangerous. "We both know no one beats Ling Kwong in football. Not physically."
Rhea's fingers curled into her palms. "I will."
Kane tilted her head. "How?"
Silence stretched.
Then Rhea exhaled, slow, deliberate. "If not physically… then mentally."
Kane's eyes sharpened.
Rhea lifted her chin, voice steady now, cruel in its clarity. "If I fall hard enough, she'll stop playing to win. She'll try to take care. She'll hesitate. A minute will pass."
A pause.
"I mean—anything can happen."
For a heartbeat, Kane simply stared at her.
Then she laughed.
Not loud. Not warm.
Sharp. Knowing.
"You really are my daughter," Kane said, reaching out to cup Rhea's face. "You don't break rules. You bend people."
Rhea didn't smile. "I won't break myself."
Kane's thumb brushed under her eye. "Just remember—if you fall, history doesn't forgive."
Rhea stepped back, resolve settling like armor. "Neither do I."
That night, far away in another mansion, Ling Kwong trained alone.
Every kick was precise. Every movement disciplined. Every thought locked on victory.
She didn't hear the echo of Rhea's plan.
Didn't see the trap forming.
She went to Dadi's room late at night.
The lights were low, curtains half drawn, the room smelling faintly of cardamom and old books. Dadi sat on her bed, glasses perched low on her nose. Rina was there too—arms crossed, worry written plainly on her face.
Rina opened her mouth the second she saw Ling.
"Dadi, she's not fine. She's—"
"Enough," Ling said quietly.
Not sharp. Not loud.
Final.
Rina froze. She looked at Ling—really looked—and swallowed whatever she had been about to say.
Dadi lifted her gaze slowly, eyes sharp despite her age. "So," she said, "she's learned how to silence people now. Ling"
Ling didn't react. She stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders straight, hands loosely clasped.
Ling nodded again. "Yes, Dadi."
Only then did Dadi lean back. "Now tell me."
The room went still.
Ling exhaled once—slow, controlled—and spoke.
"The competition," she said. "Tomorrow."
She told her everything. The deal. The net. The kiss in front of the crowd. The words Rhea wanted from her if she lost.
Rina's breath hitched. "Ling—"
Ling didn't look at her.
"I will win," Ling said evenly. "I always do."
Dadi studied her for a long moment, eyes cutting past bravado, past discipline, straight into the fault line underneath.
"And if you don't?" Dadi asked softly.
Ling's jaw tightened. "Then I'll say what she wants."
Rina stepped forward, alarm breaking through. "That's insane. You don't even know what that would do to you."
Ling finally looked up. Her eyes were steady—but too bright.
"I do."
Silence stretched.
Then Dadi sighed—not tired, not angry. Knowing.
"So," Dadi said, "you're gambling control for her."
Ling didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Dadi reached out and placed her hand over Ling's clasped ones. Her grip was firm, grounding. "You think this is about winning."
Ling stiffened.
"It isn't," Dadi continued. "It's about exposure. One way or another."
Ling swallowed.
Rina looked between them, helpless. "She's already gone, Dadi."
Dadi's thumb pressed once against Ling's knuckles. "No," she said quietly. "She's still choosing. That's the difference."
Dadi leaned forward suddenly and pinched Ling's ear, sharp and playful.
"Ouch—Dadi," Ling hissed under her breath.
Dadi laughed loudly. "Look at you! All serious, all secretive." She tilted Ling's face up with two fingers. "So tell me—have you become naughty?"
Ling's ears burned.
Rina's eyes widened. "Dadi—"
Dadi waved her off. "Quiet. I can smell trouble on her."
Ling looked anywhere but at Dadi. The wall. The floor. The lamp. Anywhere.
Dadi grinned wider. "Hmm. Avoiding eye contact now too."
Ling sighed. "Dadi."
"So," Dadi continued, enjoying every second, "A kiss involved."
Ling froze.
Dadi pinched Ling's ear again. "This one. You. A crowd. And someone you're pretending not to want."
Ling finally looked up, mortified. "It's not—"
"Oh, it is," Dadi interrupted cheerfully. "You will get a kiss. Really."
She leaned closer, eyes sparkling. "My Ling Kwong. On a football field. In front of everyone."
Ling's jaw tightened as she stared straight ahead, refusing to react.
Dadi clicked her tongue. "Aww. Look at her. Trying so hard not to blush."
"I am not," Ling said flatly.
Rina snorted. "You are."
Ling shot her a warning glare.
Dadi laughed again, delighted. "Relax. I'm not scolding you." Her tone softened just a fraction. "I just wanted to hear it from you."
Ling swallowed once, then spoke—measured, disciplined. She told Dadi everything.
Rina went pale. "That's insane."
Dadi, however, went quiet.
When Ling finished, Dadi reached out and squeezed her cheek—not teasing this time. Grounding.
"You think you're playing a game," Dadi said gently. "But you're already standing on the edge."
Dadi smiled again—soft, knowing, dangerous in its own way. "Now go. Win your match."
As Ling stood to leave, Dadi added lightly, "And try not to enjoy that kiss too much. One more thing my blood never loses."
Ling didn't answer.
She just walked out, ears still burning—
and Dadi's laughter followed her down the corridor.