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THE LOCKER ROOM WAS A TOMB OF SILENCE... No words were spoken, no glances exchanged. The sting of defeat hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating and inescapable. Each fighter sat in their corner, staring at the floor, their reflections barely visible in the polished surface of their bruised and battered minds. No one dared to look at the others, let alone meet the piercing gazes of their senseis.
Tory sat with her head in her hands, her knuckles bloodied from punching her locker earlier, her chest heaving from suppressed sobs she refused to let anyone see. Her mind replayed the fight over and over, the moment she'd steadied Robby—her moment of weakness. She didn't even know why she had done it, but now it was all she could think about. The betrayal in her teammates' eyes, the unspoken judgment.
She could feel it even in the silence.
Yoon leaned against the far wall, a towel draped over his head to hide his face. His body ached from the fight, but the pain in his chest was worse—an emotional weight pressing down on him. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he replayed the match in his mind, dissecting every mistake, every missed opportunity, every moment where he could have done better.
He felt hollow, a shell of the fighter he had thought himself to be.
Park sat with his back to the wall, his hands resting on his knees. His usually playful demeanor was nowhere to be found. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. He didn't blame Kwon outright, but the frustration was evident in the way his foot tapped restlessly against the floor. He'd wanted to tag in so badly, to prove himself, to make a difference.
But that chance had been stolen, and now it was too late.
Even Kim Da-eun and John Kreese, who usually radiated authority and unshakeable confidence, were silent. Kim stood near the door, her arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the room as if searching for a sign of life in her fighters. Kreese leaned against the lockers, his face impassive but his eyes betraying his disappointment.
They said nothing, but their presence alone was a reminder of what had been lost.
In the corner of the room, Kwon sat on the bench, his back to the others as he changed out of his gi. He moved slowly, deliberately, pulling on a black hoodie over his bare torso, leaving his karate pants on. He didn't need to say anything; his silence was louder than any words could have been. The others had lost, yes, but he had lost the match. The final round.
