Strands of white strands fell one after another onto the bathroom floor as she dried her hair with her towel as she exited her shower. Her reflection in the mirror showed an indifferent gaze, framed by dark circles under her eyes. She opened the bathroom door showing her studio filled with unfinished art. She looked at canvases and awards with a hesitant stare and turned her gaze at the digital clock across the room and whispered to herself, “Three hours of sleep again, huh?” With a sigh, she turned on her faucet and proceeded to brush her teeth.

“Should I really do it?”

After applying makeup and concealing her dark circles and changing, she approached her glass coffee table. A magazine—a man proudly posing with his award, the cover line reading “The Next Generation.” She grabbed the envelope beside it, her mind focused as she headed out.

As she tries to exit her apartment building, the front desk called out to her, “Wait! Ms. LeBlanc, you have letters delivered here.” With a slightly indifferent tone, she grabbed them and thanked her casually stuffing the letters, some of which had a fancy seal in her bag.

Stepping outside, the gloomy weather greeted her, overcast skies matching the somber weight she felt. She walked through the streets of Kensington, the sense of dread growing as she entered the “Royal College of Art.” Inside the building, two men greeted her. A man wearing clear-framed spectacles and exuding stern air in his mid-forties. The other, a man in his sixties, had a clean-shaven face with white streaks in his coiffed hair.

“Ms. LeBlanc, is it true?” the man with spectacles asked, his tone inquisitive.

“Now, now, Mr. Whitmore. She just arrived. Let her settle in first,” the other man said with a calm smile, easing the tension. “Ms. Ivory, did you cut your hair? It looks a bit messy, but it suits you well. Please, have a seat.” He pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” she murmured, taking a seat in front of both men in the empty conference room, the grey London sky visible through the large windows.

“I—I’m dropping out of the program,” she said hesitantly, pushing the envelope toward them.

“Why!? This is so sudden! You have been our top student for the last three years!” The program director’s voice shook with disbelief.

“William! Please, calm down. Let her explain herself first,” the Chancellor said, his tone soothing.

“Sorry, Robert. I—I am just in shock,” William mumbled, his voice quieter.

“Thank you, Mr. Edwards. I’m sorry that this news is so sudden. I just can’t keep on pouring from my glass when I’m running on empty.” Her voice faltered, and she fought back the tears.

William sighed, his voice softening. “I’m sorry. I’m just shocked. You’ve been one of our most talented students in our program history, winning awards even before you got here.”

As he stood up, the Chancellor’s smile faded, silence settled in the room. He walked toward the window, gazing out at the beauty of London before turning back to her. “Is this about your brother?” he asked.

“Partly…” she replied quietly.

The silence deepened. The program director, unsure of what to say, glanced at the Chancellor. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think she should finish,” the Chancellor replied, his voice firm. “She only has one year left, and she was one of the few to enter at 15. A prodigy. It would be a waste.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. Ivory lowered her head, understanding how hard this news was for them to hear. She could feel the tension, unsure whether these were the words William wanted to hear. Then, the Chancellor let out a loud laugh.

Ivory looked up in surprise, as did the program director. “You’re all the same,” the Chancellor said, still chuckling. “All of you LeBlancs.”

“Wait, what do you mean? My parents?” Ivory asked, shocked.

“Your parents didn’t tell you?” the Chancellor replied, his tone light. “More or less. I offered them a chance to return whenever they wanted, but they never did.”

“But what about the diplomas I saw at home?” she asked, confused.

“Did you ever see any graduation pictures?” he asked.

Ivory hesitated. “Uh… no, I don’t think I remember seeing them.”

The Chancellor laughed again. “Those were honorary degrees. I offered your parents a chance to come back, but they declined. After your brother’s recent achievements, I suspect it won’t be long before he gets one too.”

As the laughter faded, the tension lit. “I’ll never understand you,” William sighed, surrendering with a smile. He turned to the Chancellor and slid the envelope forward. “So, about this letter?”

“I’ll grant you the same thing I gave your parents—a leave of absence. I know what’s in there already. You can keep the envelope. If you want to continue the program, you’re always welcome here, whenever you’re ready.”

She stuffed the envelope back into her sling bag. The Chancellor caught a glimpse of the other letters inside but said nothing. She stood, thanked them both, and left the room.

“I hope she’ll be okay,” William said softly.

“I think she will,” the Chancellor replied, his voice filled with a quiet understanding. “But it’ll be a difficult journey, such is the nature of art.”

As Ivory exited the room, she felt different. A weight had been lifted from her chest. Her steps were lighter, but there was a different kind of melancholy in the air. She took in the details of the building—its roof, its stairs, its familiar corridors—everything felt like a place she’d known but had never fully seen before. Unconsciously, she paused to admire the space that had been her home for the last three years.

Outside, a cold breeze brushed her face. The sidewalk stretched before her, and she felt a mix of freedom and uncertainty. Instinctively, she followed the wind, walking aimlessly through the streets.

As she walked, drops of rain began to fall, each one quickly joined by others. The drizzle turned into a full shower. She found shelter in a nearby run-down building with an open door. She whispered to herself, “Of course, as soon as I decide to take a walk, it rains.”

The sounds of cheering and jeering from above caught her attention. Intrigued, she climbed the stairs, following the noise. She found herself in a small ballroom arena, filled with people on the edge of their seats. In the center, a boxing ring stood under bright lights, two female pugilists exchanging fierce punches.

“Wow, a female fight? Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” she murmured, captivated by the scene.

An annoyed fan near her scowled. “Are you living under a rock? Female boxing’s everywhere these days.”

Surprised by the condescending remark, Ivory brushed it off, her focus still on the ring. “That’s really interesting,” she replied.

The man, realizing she wasn’t familiar with the sport, softened. “Sorry for the rude comment. I’m just enthusiastic about this sport. It’s finally getting the recognition it deserves, especially for women. I’m Sky, by the way.” He extended his hand.

She shook it, smiling politely. “I understand. Do you fight too?”

“No, not really,” Sky replied. “Most guys these days lean towards MMA or Bare Knuckle, but I race cars instead.”

Ivory raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t boxing usually dominated by men?”

“Not anymore,” Sky said, enthusiasm lighting his voice. “After that legendary fight twenty years ago and the rise of the GFBC, female boxing exploded. It's been steadily growing, especially after that historic card inspired a wave of female fighters.”

Ivory processed the information. “I’ve heard of those events, but I didn’t realize how big it had become.”

“It was huge,” Sky explained. “People got tired of waiting for the big male fights, so they started tuning into women’s matches. Now, male boxing is a rare sight on TV. They call it ‘The Great Exodus.’”

She smiled faintly. “I don’t think I understand everything you’re saying, but I can tell how passionate you are about it."

Sky chuckled awkwardly. “Thanks, I guess. I’m just really invested because my sister’s a boxer.”

“Really? Is she fighting today?” Ivory asked, intrigued.

“Yes! She’s the main event. If she wins, she might get a call from the GFBC,” Sky said excitedly.

Ivory started to ask more when the crowd erupted into cheers. Sky, along with the others, stood to watch, and Ivory turned toward the ring.

In the center, a blonde fighter around her height raised her fists to the crowd, inciting cheers. She waved back, smiling confidently. Her trainer removed her boxing robe, revealing a green attire—British Racing Green gloves, checkered flag accents, and a logo on her belt line. As she pumped herself up, her cornerman placed a green mouthguard in her mouth. The fighter turned to her opponent, a look of pure determination in her eyes.

Ivory couldn’t help but watch, captivated by the energy in the room. Her question forgotten, she felt a jittery feeling stir inside her. Was it excitement? Anxiety? Anticipation?

“That’s my sister,” Sky said proudly, his voice filled with admiration.

Ivory nodded, her attention completely on the fighter in the ring as the announcer readied her microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, for tonight’s feature bout, we have the honor of presenting a GFBC-sponsored fight. In the Blue Corner, hoping to join the prestigious organization, with a record of 6 wins, 0 losses, and 2 knockouts—Gale ‘Eye of the Storm’ Greenwind! 

And in the Red Corner, representing the FTL Division, wearing yellow, orange, and green—Mangifera indica, also known as Mango!”

As the introductions ended, Gale stood in her corner, grinning as she bounced on her toes, eagerly waiting for the bell. Her all-green attire shimmered under the lights. In the opposite corner, Mango was stoic, her body tense as she stared down her opponent, the pressure of the fight settled in her muscles.

“Ding!” The bell rang, signaling the start of the first round.

Gale shot forward the moment the bell sounded, charging toward the center of the ring to assert her dominance. She moved with a fierce intensity, with intent on controlling the space. Mango, caught off guard by Gale’s sudden aggression and the weight of the moment, felt the pressure from the more experienced fighter. As she tried to meet Gale in the center, a quick left jab snapped her head sideways. Before she could recover, another barrage of rapid-fire jabs rained down on her abdomen.

“What the hell?” Mango thought, startled by the lightning-fast strikes. The blows left her reeling, unable to get a solid grip on the rhythm of the fight.

"Those were lightning-quick jabs!" the commentator shouted in excitement, his voice rising with the energy of the crowd.

On the sidelines, Sky and Ivory’s conversation was abruptly cut short as the fight ignited. Sky felt a twinge of guilt for pulling away from their talk, but when he glanced at Ivory, he stopped mid-sentence.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go silent. I—” he started, but he trailed off when he saw Ivory. Her brown eyes were fixed intently on the ring, her focus solely towards the fight.

Artworks in this chapter are drawn by:

- Nick Hontucan: https://www.facebook.com/hontucannick

- Paulo Flores: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008681406757#