The master stood near the mirrors, arms crossed, watching her with an expression that wasn't angry it was assessing.
"Stay," he said.
"Everyone else can go."
The room emptied slowly.
Footsteps faded. Doors closed.
Only the two of them remained reflections multiplying them endlessly along the mirrored wall.
Ling stood straight.
"Yes, sir."
The master walked closer.
"You've always been the best," he said bluntly.
"No excuses. No rivals."
Ling didn't respond.
He stopped a few feet away.
"So tell me," he continued, voice quieter now,
"what's happening this time?"
Ling's eyes stayed fixed ahead.
"I'm practicing," she said.
The master scoffed lightly.
"No," he replied.
"You're executing. Not dancing."
He circled her once.
"Are you not ready for this year's trophy?" he asked.
"Because everyone here knows something."
Ling's fingers curled slightly.
The master stopped in front of her again.
"No one can beat you," he said firmly.
"Unless you let them."
Silence stretched.
Ling finally spoke, her voice controlled but thin.
"I'm not letting anyone win."
The master studied her face.
"Then why are you dancing like you've already lost?" he asked.
Ling's jaw tightened.
She said nothing.
The master exhaled slowly.
"You don't lose because someone else is better," he said.
"You lose when you stop believing you deserve to stand there."
Ling's eyes flickered just once.
"I'll fix it," she said.
The master nodded, accepting the answer without believing it.
"Good," he replied.
"Because if you walk on that stage like this—"
He gestured vaguely toward the mirrors.
"—you'll hand the crown over yourself."
He stepped back.
"Go."
Ling turned and walked out.
Her back stayed straight.
But in the mirror, just before she reached the door, her reflection showed it clearly.
She wasn't afraid of losing.
She was afraid of wanting to win for the wrong reason.
———
The dining hall was warm, lights low, the long table set with quiet precision.
Family dinner.
Victor sat at the head of the table, glasses resting near his plate. Eliza sat beside him, composed as always. Dadi sat across, calm, observant. Rina had been invited and seated near Ling, casual but respectful.
Ling sat straight, hands folded, expression neutral.
For a while, conversation stayed light.
Then Victor looked up.
"I heard the university announced the Student of the Year competition again," he said, cutting his food carefully.
"Second year?"
Ling nodded once.
"Yes."
Victor's eyes shifted briefly toward Rina.
"What are the rounds this time?" he asked.
Before Ling could answer, Rina spoke.
"Five rounds," she said.
"I'm Ling's partner for the dance round."
There was a brief pause.
Eliza smiled immediately proud, unhesitating.
"Of course you are," Eliza said, lifting her chin slightly.
"There's no need for competition anyway."
She looked directly at Ling.
"Everyone already knows who will win," Eliza continued.
"Ling Kwong."
Her voice softened, but the pride sharpened.
"My daughter. My pride."
Ling's throat tightened subtly.
She nodded.
Dadi watched her closely.
Dadi reached across the table and placed her hand over Ling's.
No words.
Just warmth.
Just certainty.
Ling turned her hand slightly, squeezing back once.
She didn't smile.
But she sat a little straighter.
Dinner continued.
Plans were discussed. Business mentioned. Small things.
But beneath the calm surface, Ling carried the weight of expectation and the quiet ache of a trophy that suddenly felt heavier than ever.
NEXT DAY
The practice hall filled again by afternoon.
Music tested softly in the background. Mirrors caught every movement, every glance.
Ling arrived with Rina.
She stopped briefly at the entrance.
Rhea was already there.
She wore a ruffled top that ended above her waist, shorts, and her navel piercing was visible when she moved. It caught the light each time she turned. Her posture was confident, deliberate.
Ling looked away almost immediately.
"Positions," the Dance Master called.
Couples assembled.
Rhea stood with Roin.
As the music began, they moved closer into frame. Steps were slow, controlled. The routine required proximity.
Roin leaned in slightly as they turned.
On a pause, his hand shifted — not dramatic, not exaggerated but it brushed near Rhea's bare waist, close enough that his fingers briefly touched the area where the piercing rested.
It wasn't accidental.
It wasn't necessary for the step.
Rhea stiffened for a fraction of a second.
Then she continued.
Ling saw it in the mirror.
Her shoulders locked.
Her breath stalled.
Rina felt it instantly and adjusted her grip, grounding Ling back into the count.
"Step," the master called.
"Turn. Hold."
Ling followed perfectly.
Her expression didn't change.
Across the room, Roin leaned closer again during a turn, his head angled toward Rhea's shoulder. He smiled faintly, pleased with himself.
The Dance Master clapped sharply.
"Control your space," he warned generally.
"Connection is not carelessness."
Roin corrected his posture without apology.
Practice continued.
Ling finished every sequence cleanly, flawlessly.
But when the music stopped, her hands were cold.
She didn't look toward Rhea again.
She simply stepped back, nodded to Rina, and waited for dismissal holding herself together with discipline, not calm.
The hall emptied slowly.
Music was shut off. Bags were lifted. Couples drifted out in clusters, voices fading down the corridor.
Rhea turned to grab her bag.
Ling moved before she could think better of it.
She crossed the distance in three strides and caught Rhea's wrist.
Not rough.
Not gentle.
Certain.
"I want to talk to you," Ling said.
Rhea stopped walking but didn't turn fully. Her fingers tensed under Ling's grip.
Before she could answer, Roin stepped in.
"What's the problem?" he asked, placing himself slightly between them, his tone calm but territorial.
"You're done with practice. Leave her alone."
Ling's eyes lifted slowly to him.
Her voice stayed even, controlled to the point of sharpness.
"I wasn't talking to you."
Roin didn't move.
Rhea finally turned, irritation flickering across her face.
"Ling—"
"One minute," Ling cut in, eyes still on Rhea now.
"That's all I'm asking. One minute."
Roin looked at Rhea, clearly waiting for her cue.
Rhea hesitated.
Just a second.
Then she exhaled, annoyed.
"Go," she told Roin.
"I'll be right there."
Roin's jaw tightened.
"Rhea—"
"I said go," she repeated, firmer now.
Roin looked at Ling once openly hostile then stepped back.
"I'll be outside," he said to Rhea.
"Don't take long."
He walked away.
The door closed behind him.
Silence fell heavy between them.
Ling released Rhea's wrist immediately, as if realizing she was still holding it.
"I didn't mean to—" Ling began, then stopped herself.
Rhea folded her arms.
"What?" she asked flatly.
"What is it now?"
Ling swallowed.
Her voice dropped.
"I crossed a line yesterday," she said.
"In class."
Rhea's eyes hardened.
"You think?" she replied coldly.
"You grabbed him like you owned me."
Ling flinched slightly but didn't deny it.
"I know," Ling said.
"And I'm not here to justify it."
Rhea scoffed.
"Then why are you here?"
Ling held her gaze.
"Because I don't have a right anymore," she said quietly.
"And I needed you to hear that from me."
Rhea laughed once — short, humorless.
"Congratulations," she said.
"You've learned something."
Ling nodded.
"I reacted because I forgot my place," she admitted.
"And you reminded me."
Rhea's expression flickered not softening, but unsettled.
"Good," Rhea said.
"Then don't forget it again."
Ling hesitated, then spoke again, slower.
"What happened today—"
She stopped, choosing her words carefully.
"—during the dance."
Rhea's eyes sharpened.
"What about it?"
Ling didn't accuse.
She didn't raise her voice.
"You looked uncomfortable," she said.
"For half a second."
Rhea's jaw clenched.
"That's none of your business."
Ling nodded again.
"I know," she said.
"I'm not asking you to explain."
She paused.
"I just needed to know if I imagined it."
Rhea stared at her.
"You don't get to observe me like that anymore," Rhea said sharply.
"You gave that up."
Ling absorbed it without protest.
"I know," she repeated.
Ling looked at the floor for a brief moment.
"Losing you doesn't erase caring," she said.
"And that's my problem to manage. Not yours."
Rhea didn't respond.
Ling lifted her head again and turned to go.
She didn't make it to the door.
She stopped.
Her breath came shallow, uneven restraint collapsing under the weight she had been forcing into place.
She turned back.
Before Rhea could react, Ling stepped forward and pinned her gently but firmly against the mirrored wall palms braced on either side of Rhea's shoulders. Not violent. Desperate.
Rhea gasped in surprise.
"Ling—"
Ling's control shattered.
Tears spilled before she could stop them silent at first, then uncontrollable.
"Don't leave," Ling pleaded, her voice breaking openly now.
"Please don't do this."
Rhea froze.
Ling leaned closer, forehead nearly touching hers, breath trembling.
"I can't—" Ling swallowed hard.
"I can't see anyone that close to you."
Her voice dropped, raw and exposed.
"He was touching you," Ling whispered.
"Your piercing… your navel."
Her tears fell onto Rhea's shoulder.
"And you—"
She shook her head desperately.
"You didn't stop him."
Rhea's chest tightened.
For a split second, something real flashed in her eyes.
Then she hardened herself.
She pushed Ling back hard.
"Don't touch me," Rhea snapped, anger sharp and loud manufactured, deliberate.
Ling stumbled a step back, stunned.
"You don't get to say any of that," Rhea continued coldly.
"You don't get to look at me like that."
Ling stared at her, tears still falling.
"I wasn't—" Ling tried.
"I just—"
Rhea cut her off.
"I don't care anymore," Rhea lied, her voice cruel by design.
"Who touches me, who dances with me none of it is your concern."
Ling's face crumpled.
The last thread snapped.
She straightened slowly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand embarrassed, exposed, defeated.
"I'm sorry," Ling said quietly.
Rhea blinked.
"I'm sorry," Ling repeated, voice steadier now, resignation settling in.
"I forgot myself again."
She took another step back creating distance on purpose this time.
"You don't care," Ling said, more to herself than to Rhea.
"And I understand now."
Rhea said nothing.
Ling nodded once, accepting the lie as truth.
"I won't cross you again," Ling said.
"I promise."
She turned away shoulders heavy, pride gone.
At the door, she paused only long enough to add:
"I hope he makes you happy."
Then she left.
The door closed softly behind her.
Rhea slid down the wall the moment Ling disappeared breath shaking, fists clenched, eyes burning.
She had pushed her away.
And this time, Ling had believed her.
——
By the third day, Ling had learned how to wear stillness like armor.
She entered the university the same way she always had steady stride, straight back, unreadable face. To anyone watching, nothing had changed. Ling Kwong still looked untouchable.
But everything inside her was tightly bound, compressed, controlled.
At dance practice, she arrived early.
Rina noticed immediately.
Ling warmed up in silence. No excess movement. No wasted energy. Every stretch was precise, mechanical. She did not look toward the entrance again after the first glance.
Rhea arrived later with Roin.
Ling did not turn.
Rhea laughed at something Roin said soft, unguarded. Ling heard it anyway. Her jaw tightened once, then released.
Music started.
"From the top," the Dance Master ordered.
Ling danced perfectly.
No hesitation. No missed beats. Her expressions were neutral not empty, not expressive disciplined. She executed every lift, every pause, every turn as if she were practicing alone.
Rina struggled to read her.
"You're okay?" Rina murmured during a pause.
Ling nodded once.
"I'm fine."
Across the room, Rhea and Roin danced closer than necessary again. Roin's hand stayed confident at Rhea's waist. Rhea did not pull away. She did not look toward Ling.
Ling did not react.
The Dance Master noticed.
He stopped the music abruptly.
"Ling," he called.
She turned calmly.
"Yes, sir?"
"You've stabilized," he said slowly.
"But you're emotionally absent."