The mirrors were merciless. Every flick of her tail, every flicker of imperfection reflected back at her like a flaw under a spotlight.

Seven hours of rehearsal. Seven hours of smiling through exhaustion, of pretending her voice didn’t tremble when she pushed it too high.

“Again,” she said. Her tone came out sharper than she meant.

The track started. The beat hit. Ahri watched — counted.

But Akali was half a second late. Not by much, just enough for the rhythm to slip.

“Stop.”

The music cut. Everyone froze.

“Akali, you’re late on the beat,” she said. Calm. Controlled. Always controlled.

When you argued back, Ahri turned slightly. “Then you adjust. That’s what we rehearse for.”

Akali argued, “You’re nitpicking.”

Ahri felt something twist in her chest — not anger, but fear. The kind that hides behind authority. “I’m leading. There’s a difference.”