The football ground roared before Ling even stepped onto it.
"CAPTAIN KWONG!"
The chant rolled like thunder across the stands, sharp and unified, shaking the air itself. Ling Kwong walked out onto the field in her captain's jacket, football strapped under her arm, posture lazy but lethal — like she owned not just the ground, but the noise, the people, the day.
She didn't look at the crowd.
She never did.
Her eyes scanned the sidelines once — instinctive, automatic — and stopped.
Rhea.
Standing near the academic block, half-hidden behind a pillar, arms folded tightly around herself.
Ling's jaw flexed.
The relief hit first, unwanted and sharp: She's standing. She's okay.
Then the wall slammed back into place.
Ling turned away as if she hadn't seen her at all.
"Positions," Ling said coldly.
Players scrambled instantly.
No one questioned her. No one ever did.
The referee blew the whistle.
The game started — fast, brutal, flawless.
Ling dominated the field like a force of nature. She intercepted passes effortlessly, her movements sharp, precise, violent in their elegance. Every sprint felt like she was running through something, not toward it — rage, memory, restraint.
The crowd screamed her name again.
Rhea flinched at the sound.
She hated how it still did things to her chest.
"She's incredible," someone whispered nearby.
Rhea's nails dug into her palms.
She always was, she thought bitterly.
On the field, Ling scored.
The stadium erupted.
Ling didn't smile. She ripped her captain's band tighter around her arm, chest rising hard, eyes dark.
She pointed once — not at the crowd, not at her team.
Toward the stands.
A warning.
Everyone understood it.
The opposing team hesitated after that. Their moves grew sloppy. Fear crept in — not of losing, but of crossing a line they couldn't see.
Ling played harder.
At halftime, she walked to the edge of the field to grab water.
Rina leaned against the railing, smirking. "You're playing like you're punishing the ground."
Ling took a long drink, eyes still locked ahead. "I am."
Rina followed her gaze, spotting Rhea instantly. "She knows."
Ling's grip tightened on the bottle. "She doesn't care."
"Then why is she shaking every time they chant your name?" Rina asked quietly.
Ling didn't answer.
The whistle blew again.
Second half.
Ling played ruthless now — sliding tackles, sharp turns, raw dominance. She scored again. And again.
By the final whistle, the scoreboard was merciless.
Captain Kwong had crushed them.
As the crowd exploded, Ling finally looked up — straight at where Rhea stood.
Their eyes met.
Just once.
No softness.
No apology.
No reconciliation.
Only history. Possession. Damage.
Ling lifted two fingers briefly — a small, almost careless gesture.
Mine.
Rhea's breath hitched.
She turned away immediately, heart pounding, tears threatening despite her resolve.
On the field, Ling watched her go.
Her chest ached — not weak, not broken — but tight with something unresolved and dangerous.
"Captain," a teammate said nervously, "you okay?"
Ling snapped her attention back, face unreadable. "End of practice. Leave."
As the field emptied, Ling stood alone at the center, football resting against her foot.
She stared at the ground for a long moment.
Then she whispered, low enough that no one could hear:
"I said no one would touch you."
Her eyes hardened.
"That includes the world."
Captain Kwong walked off the field as the stadium still echoed her name — ruling everything around her, except the one person she had already lost and refused to let go of.
Rhea found Ling near the edge of the football ground, helmet tucked under her arm, sweat still on her skin, expression unreadable as ever.
Rhea walked straight up to her.
Ling didn't turn.
"Where is my navel piercing," Rhea asked, voice flat but tight.
Ling's jaw shifted. "I don't have it."
Rhea let out a short, humorless laugh. "Seriously?"
Ling finally looked at her, eyes cold. "I said I don't have it."
Rhea stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I know you have it."
"I don't," Ling repeated, sharper now. "You lost it."
Rhea shook her head slowly, eyes burning. "You pulled it. It fell. You were the one who picked."
Ling's fingers curled slightly around the helmet. "And?"
"And don't lie to me," Rhea said, her voice cracking despite her effort. "You hate me, fine. But don't insult me by pretending."
Ling's gaze flickered — just for a second — before hardening again.
"You think I'd keep something of yours?" Ling scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself."
Rhea swallowed, pain flashing across her face. "You kept it."
Ling stepped closer now, invading her space, voice low and controlled. "You don't know what I keep."
Rhea met her eyes, tears threatening but unfallen. "Then swear you don't have it."
Silence.
Ling didn't answer.
Rhea's chest tightened. "That's what I thought."
She stepped back, shaking her head. "You always take things and pretend you don't. Like feelings. Like promises."
Ling's expression didn't change, but something dark stirred behind her eyes.
"Leave," Ling said quietly. "Before you start imagining things again."
Rhea stared at her for a long moment, then turned away.
She walked off.
Ling stayed where she was, unmoving.
Only when Rhea was gone did Ling open her fist slightly.
Hidden in her palm, pressed deep into her skin, was the small metal ring — warm, bent, unmistakable.
Ling closed her hand again, jaw tight.
"I told you," she murmured to herself smiling shamelessly, voice rough. "I don't have it."
Ling changed quickly in the locker room, movements sharp, mechanical — like if she slowed down even a second, something inside her would crack.
She walked into class a few minutes late.
No one spoke. No one dared.
Ling dropped into the front seat, kicked her bag aside, and pulled out her wallet to put it on the desk — habit, careless, unthinking.
That was the mistake.
A hand shot out.
Fast. Desperate.
Rhea snatched the wallet straight from Ling's fingers.
The room gasped.
Ling's head snapped up instantly, eyes blazing. "What the hell—"
Rhea didn't answer.
Her hands were already shaking as she opened the wallet, fingers moving too fast, too frantic. Cards fell onto the desk. A folded receipt slid out. Coins clinked softly.
Ling stood up so suddenly her chair screeched across the floor.
"Are you insane?" Ling hissed, grabbing Rhea's wrist.
Rhea yanked her hand free and kept searching, eyes wild now. "You lied. I know you lied."
"Put it down," Ling warned, voice low, dangerous. "Right now."
Rhea laughed — broken, bitter. "You don't get to threaten me anymore."
She turned the wallet upside down, shaking it.
Something small fell.
Metal.
A soft clink against the desk.
Silence slammed into the room.
The ring rolled once… twice… and stopped.
Rhea froze.
Ling froze.
Everyone saw it.