Roin leaned closer to Rhea, lowering his voice.
"A kiss?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
"I didn't expect that."
Rhea swallowed.
"It's part of the round," she said evenly.
"That's all."
Her tone was controlled, but her pulse wasn't.
Roin studied her face, then nodded.
"Alright," he said.
"We'll handle it professionally."
Across the room, Rina turned sharply toward Ling.
"Did you hear that?" she asked under her breath.
Ling's jaw tightened.
"Yes," she replied.
Her voice was steady. Too steady.
Rina searched her face.
"You okay with this?" she asked carefully.
Ling didn't look at her.
"I agreed to the competition," she said.
"That's enough."
Rina hesitated.
"If you want," she started,
"we can—"
"No," Ling cut in quietly.
She finally looked at Rina then, eyes dark, controlled, dangerous in their calm.
"We finish the round."
Rhea lifted her gaze without meaning to.
Ling was already looking at her.
For the first time that day, their eyes met.
Nothing soft passed between them.
No warmth.
Only recognition.
Only damage.
Rhea's chest tightened.
Ling's fingers flexed once then stilled.
The announcement replayed in both their minds, louder than the crowd.
A kiss.
You chose your partners willingly.
Five minutes suddenly felt too short.
The music still hadn't started.
But the competition had already begun long before anyone stepped onto the stage.
The lights dimmed further.
A slow instrumental beat rolled through the auditorium deep bass, controlled rhythm, deliberate tempo. The kind of music that demanded precision, not freedom.
"Positions," the announcer said.
Couples stepped onto the stage.
Ling walked first with Rina.
Her stride was calm, measured, shoulders squared. She took her place center-left, feet planted exactly where they were supposed to be. Rina matched her stance, chin lifted, ready.
Rhea followed with Roin.
She stepped into the light smoothly, spine straight, expression composed. The fabric of her top shifted as she moved, catching the spotlight briefly at her waist before settling again. Roin positioned himself beside her, one hand hovering not touching yet.
The music slowed.
Count one.
All couples began together.
Ling stepped forward on her right foot, sharp and grounded, pulling Rina into a clean half-turn. Their movements were synchronized no hesitation, no excess. Ling's hand landed at Rina's mid-back, firm, guiding, impersonal.
Rhea mirrored the step with Roin softer in execution, fluid rather than sharp. She pivoted, letting Roin's hand guide her shoulder into a slow spin. Her movements were controlled, but deliberately sensual long lines, extended pauses.
Count four.
Ling dipped Rina low precise angle, controlled descent then pulled her back up smoothly, eyes never leaving the mirror ahead. The crowd murmured appreciatively.
Rhea arched slightly as Roin drew her in, their torsos aligned for a brief second before separating again. Her hand rested on his shoulder only long enough to complete the count.
Turn. Hold.
Ling released Rina abruptly into a spin, catching her wrist at the last second. The motion was clean, commanding. Rina smiled she trusted Ling completely.
Rhea's spin was slower, drawn out. Her hair moved with the turn, brushing her collarbone. Roin caught her waist lightly, then released, stepping back as instructed.
Step-slide. Cross. Pause.
Ling crossed in front of Rina, switching positions with a sharp pivot. Their footwork was aggressive, deliberate. Every movement declared discipline.
Rhea stepped closer to Roin during the pause not touching, but close enough that the space between them felt intentional. Her breathing matched the music.
Drop. Rise. Frame.
Ling lowered her stance, knees bent, pulling Rina down with her before rising together in one fluid motion. Their frame locked perfectly shoulders aligned, arms steady.
Rhea leaned back into Roin's support briefly, then straightened, reclaiming her space immediately after. The choreography demanded closeness she gave only what was required.
Diagonal travel.
Couples moved across the stage.
Ling led Rina diagonally, sharp turns, clipped footwork, controlled momentum. She never once looked toward the other couples. Her focus was absolute.
Rhea moved diagonally in the opposite direction, steps longer, hips following the beat naturally. The slit in her pants revealed the motion of her leg with every step.
Final count of the sequence.
Ling pulled Rina into a final spin of the section, stopping her inches away, hands placed firmly at her sides not intimate, not distant.
Rhea completed the same count with Roin, stopping in front of him, breath controlled, posture flawless.
The music slowed.
One last beat stretched through the hall long, suspended, unforgiving.
The final count landed.
The dance ended.
For half a second, there was silence.
Then the crowd erupted.
Applause crashed from every corner. Whistles. Cheers. Phones lifted instantly.
Couples froze in their ending poses.
And then as instructed some moved.
A pair near the front leaned in first.
A quick kiss.
Another couple followed longer, dramatic.
The auditorium roared louder.
Ling stood still.
Her chest felt tight.
Her eyes snapped instinctively to the other side of the stage.
Rhea.
Rhea stood inches away from Roin.
Her breath rose and fell visibly now.
Ling's mind didn't race it collapsed.
She's going to do it.
The thought hit without mercy.
Ling's vision blurred.
Her eyes burned.
She took one step back from Rina.
"I'm sorry," Ling whispered, voice breaking despite herself.
"I can't do this."
Rina turned sharply.
"Ling—" she hissed.
"You can lose. It's fine. Just—"
Ling shook her head.
"I can't," she repeated, barely audible.
"I really can't."
Before Rina could grab her wrist, Ling turned.
She walked off the stage.
Not running.
Not dramatic.
Just leaving.
The crowd didn't notice immediately too busy cheering, too busy watching kisses unfold.
Ling reached the steps, her hands shaking, tears slipping down without permission.
Behind her, the music faded completely.
Roin leaned in.
Slow. Certain.
The crowd's anticipation sharpened.
Rhea saw it coming.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
Ling's back disappearing burned into her vision.
At the last second, Rhea turned her head away.
Roin's lips landed against her cheek instead of her mouth.
His movement faltered.
The cheer fractured confused, uneven.
Roin pulled back slightly, stunned.
"What—?" he whispered.
Rhea stepped back from him, breath unsteady, eyes shining but cold.
"Don't," she said quietly.
"Not this."
The judges exchanged looks.
The crowd buzzed sensing something was wrong.
Rhea didn't look at anyone.
Her gaze went only to the side exit.
The one Ling had taken.
Her jaw tightened.
Her hands clenched.
She stood there unkissed, unmoving while the noise swallowed the moment.
———
Ling didn't stop walking until the noise was gone.
The cheers.
The music.
The crowd.
All of it dissolved behind thick concrete walls.
She pushed open the door to an empty practice room and lost control the moment it shut behind her.
She laughed.
A sharp, broken sound.
"Of course," she said to no one, voice echoing off the mirrors.
"Of course you did."
Her chest heaved violently.
She dragged a hand through her hair, pacing like a trapped animal.
"You knew this would happen," Ling muttered, laughing again louder this time, almost hysterical.
"You knew it, Ling Kwong. And you still went there. Still watched. Still hoped."
She slapped her own forehead lightly, shaking her head.
"Hope," she scoffed.
"What a joke."
Her eyes burned. Tears spilled freely now, blurring her reflection until she barely recognized herself.
"She kissed him," Ling whispered.
"She kissed him right there. In front of everyone."
Her voice cracked on the word everyone.
She pressed her palms flat against the mirror, forehead resting between them.
"You left her," she said bitterly to her reflection.
"You don't get to look hurt now."
Her laugh broke apart into a sob.
"No rights," she gasped.
"I reacted like I owned her. Like I had any right."
She straightened suddenly and shouted, the sound tearing out of her chest.
"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"
Her own voice startled her.
She laughed again — wild, mocking.
"Protective?" she mocked herself.
"Jealous?"
"Love?"
She shook her head violently.
"You lost her," she said, slow and deliberate, as if carving it into stone.
"You lost her the day you walked away."
She slid down the mirror until she hit the floor, knees pulled to her chest.
Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms.
"She chose him," Ling whispered, rocking slightly.
"She chose him."
Her breath came in broken pulls.
"And you," she said to herself, voice suddenly cruel, merciless,
"you don't even deserve to hate him."
She laughed through tears again, pressing her fist to her mouth to stop the sound.
"Student of the year," she scoffed.
"Champion."
Her shoulders shook violently.
"Congratulations," Ling whispered.
"You finally learned your place."
She buried her face in her knees, sobs ripping out of her now raw, unfiltered, ugly.
Outside the room, footsteps passed.
Ling didn't hear them.
All she could see was one image, replaying again and again in her mind:
Rhea's face.
Rhea leaning in.
Rhea kissing someone else.
And the certainty crushing her from the inside out:
It's over.
The door opened quietly.
Ling didn't look up.
She was still curled on the floor, shoulders shaking, breath broken into harsh, uneven pulls. Her face was buried in her arms now, but the sounds couldn't be hidden.