A Glimpse Through Cracked Glass

The alley behind the Anurak Muay Thai School was quiet, its dim light casting long shadows against the worn concrete walls. Yi-jun leaned against a post, arms folded, his sharp eyes fixed on the figure exiting the gym. Tayo Anurak moved with her usual precision, her hood pulled low to shield her face from prying eyes. She slipped into the night like a shadow herself.

Yi-jun straightened, his lips curving into a slight smile. Found you again.

For weeks now, he had been noticing her patterns—watching, piecing together her movements. Not out of malice, but because he couldn't help himself. Tayo was a puzzle, and he wanted to understand her. Her fighting style in the underground arenas fascinated him, and her stark contrast at school left him even more curious.

Still, as he stood there, a flicker of doubt crept in. Is this crossing the line? He shook the thought away as Tayo disappeared down the alley.

"Are you going to keep lurking in the dark like a stray dog?"

The voice startled him, but only slightly. Yi-jun stepped out of the shadows, his grin unfazed. "I thought I was pretty stealthy."

Tayo turned to face him, her arms crossed, her expression as cold as ever. "You're not. Why are you here, Yi-jun?"

"Why do you think?" he countered, taking a step closer. "I know what you're doing, Tayo. The underground fights, the hood… You think no one notices, but I do."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't respond immediately. Instead, she regarded him with a calculating gaze. "Stay out of it. This isn't your business."

"Maybe not," he admitted, shrugging. "But it's fascinating. Why do you do it? You're already at the top at school. You're undefeated in sparring matches. What more do you need to prove?"

Tayo's expression darkened, her voice sharp. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," he challenged, his tone softening.

She turned away, her shoulders stiff. "Just stay out of it, Yi-jun. Go back to your perfect life with your perfect family. This world isn't for people like you."

Yi-jun hesitated, her words striking a nerve. He could hear the weight behind them, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting to know more.

Over the following days, Yi-jun wrestled with his curiosity. He began to observe Tayo's movements more cautiously, making sure to give her space while trying to understand her world. It wasn't just arrogance or indulgence—he genuinely wanted to see what drove her.

One afternoon, as she trained at the gym, Yi-jun lingered near the doorway, his arms crossed.

"You're incredible, you know that?"

She didn't respond, instead focusing on the heavy bag.

"You must've had a really supportive upbringing," he continued, his tone casual. "To be this disciplined and talented… Your dad must be so proud."

The bag stopped swinging as Tayo froze mid-strike. Slowly, she turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "What did you just say?"

"I mean, it's obvious, isn't it?" Yi-jun said, smiling earnestly. "Your dad's a Muay Thai master. He raised you to be the best. You're like… living proof of his legacy."

Tayo's fists clenched at her sides, her chest rising and falling as if she were fighting to keep herself in check. "Get out."

Yi-jun blinked, confused by the sudden shift in her tone. "What—"

"I said get out!" she snapped, her voice like thunder.

The raw anger in her voice rooted him to the spot, but the look in her eyes made him take a step back. It wasn't just anger—it was pain. Without another word, he left, though not without a lingering look of concern.

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That week, Yi-jun's curiosity got the better of him again. He found himself near the Anurak residence, watching from a safe distance, unsure of what he was looking for.

What he witnessed left him stunned.

Through the open window of the living room, Yi-jun saw Phuwadon Anurak standing rigid, his voice low and sharp. Tayo stood across from him, her fists clenched, her head held high despite the tension in her posture.

"You're not good enough," Phuwadon said coldly, his words like frost. "Not yet."

"I've done everything you've asked," Tayo shot back, her voice trembling with restrained anger. "I've worked harder than anyone else. What more do you want from me?"

Phuwadon's expression didn't waver. "Perfection."

The silence that followed was deafening. Yi-jun felt his heart clench as he watched Tayo's shoulders sag, her defiance crumbling under the weight of her father's words. She turned away, her face hidden as she disappeared down the hall.

Yi-jun stood frozen, his mind reeling. The scene was so alien to him, so far removed from anything he had ever known. His father, Pisan Chaiyasing, was strict but loving. His mother, Kim Aera, was doting and supportive. Together, they had given him everything he could ever need or want.

Is this… normal? he wondered, his rose-colored glasses cracking.

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The next day, Yi-jun crossed paths with Tayo in the school courtyard. He hesitated, debating whether to bring up what he saw.

"I saw you," he finally said, his tone cautious.

Tayo's steps faltered, but she didn't look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Your father," Yi-jun pressed, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "What he said to you. That wasn't—"

"Don't," she cut him off, her voice low and dangerous. "Don't talk about things you don't understand."

"But I want to understand," he insisted, stepping in front of her. "Why does he treat you like that? You're incredible, Tayo. You're everything any parent would be proud of—"

"Enough!" she snapped, her voice cracking slightly. "You don't know anything about me, Yi-jun. Just stay out of it!"

For a moment, Yi-jun said nothing. Then, softly, he asked, "Is that why you fight underground? To prove something to him?"

Tayo's gaze burned into him, but her silence spoke volumes. Without another word, she pushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the courtyard.

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That evening, as Yi-jun sat in his room, he reflected on everything he had seen and heard. His parents had always told him to be grateful for what he had, but he had never truly understood what they meant.

Now, he did.

She's fighting for something I can't even begin to comprehend, he thought, his admiration for her growing. But along with it came a pang of guilt, an awareness of his own privilege.

Yi-jun made a silent vow to himself. He wouldn't follow her to meddle anymore but to understand. If he couldn't help her, he would watch over her from the shadows—quietly and respectfully.