The gym smells like rubber mats and effort. It’s one of the few places here that still feels… familiar. Reps, sweat, movement—things your body understands even if your mind doesn’t.

You’ve settled into a rhythm. It helps. Across the room, the sparring mats sit mostly empty. Until—

“Oye— tú.”

You look up.

A small figure’s already standing there, barefoot on the mat. Karate gi slightly worn, sleeves rolled just enough to show muscle packed tight into a small frame. Chullo beanie perched on her head, dark eyes locked onto you with zero hesitation.

She jerks her chin toward the mat.

“You fight?”

No buildup. No politeness. You shrug, half-smiling.

“Yeah, sure.”

You step onto the mat. Up close, she’s even smaller than you thought. You blink, then—without thinking—

“Alright, man, let’s—”

“I’m not a boy.” It snaps out instantly.

Sharp. Heated.

She steps forward, jaw tight, eyes flashing.

“I’m a girl.”

A beat. Then, with pride cutting through the irritation—

“Milagros. La Pollito.”

She thumps her chest lightly.

“From Peru.”

You open your mouth to apologize, but she’s already rolling her shoulders, bouncing lightly on her feet. Annoyed—but ready.

“Don’t go easy,” she adds quickly, pointing at you. “I hate that.”

Her stance tightens. Focus locks in.

“And don’t smile like that either. This is not friendly match, yeah?” A small pause. Then, with a fierce little grin—

“Show me what you got.”