“I don’t have time for this,” Yao thought.
Miho circled him—silent, unblinking. Though Yao could create water and ice, her kind of cold was different. It wasn’t elemental; it was alive. It crept up his spine like frostbite on bone. She brushed her bang from her eye, and her breath came out in a faint mist, even though the night was warm.
Her uncovered eye glowed electric blue, marked with the power symbol of a cellphone.
“I take it you’re here to pay me,” Yao said, “instead of dragging me back to your boss, Nike?”
“She. Is. Not. My. Boss.”
Her voice was low and sultry—not seductive in a pleasant way, but predatory. There was a hunger in it that wanted to devour. Her stillness was eerie, her posture precise—an ice sculpture alive and ready to shatter.
Yao smirked inwardly. I struck a nerve. That disappointed him; he expected silence. From what he’d seen in fights—and on Princess’s blog—Miho was usually quiet, violent, and condescending. He’d even seen footage of her blinding opponents after she’d already won. She didn’t like Nike owning the club she fought for.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Yao said. “You looked pretty cozy standing next to her while my friend got set up.”
He pointed at her, and she stepped closer.
“You brought him here to fight for you,” she hissed. “That’s not on me. That’s on you.”
“That may be true,” Yao shot back, “but if Nike hadn’t sent her goons to attack me, I would’ve fought like I always do.”
“So you brought that egomaniacal matchstick to our turf?” she asked—“matchstick,” a jab clearly aimed at Apollo. She took another step.
“Are you here to pay me,” Yao said, “or did you fetch me for your boss?”
He needed to know if she was angry about losing the Ice Palace—or something deeper.
“I know. You’re here to finish the job, huh? Make me disappear like Dr. Ray?”
That stopped her. Inches away, close enough for Yao to smell her breath—cool, sharp, evergreen. She glanced toward the mouth of the alley as if remembering something. Then, slowly, she looked back at him. Both eyes now visible, both glowing faintly. A small, crooked smile curved across her lips.
“No answer, hu—”
Yao caught her spinning kick and shoved it aside with his good arm, sending her stumbling a few feet back. Her bang fell over one eye again.
“You. Don’t. Know. Anything,” she growled.
Her fists snapped forward in a flurry—punches to his face, knees to his ribs. He grabbed her waist and threw her into the wall, the sound of impact echoing through the alley. She slid down, then kicked off, skating backward as twin ice skates formed from nothing.
Before Yao could chase, she sliced past him, the blade of her skate grazing his side. He caught her by the arm, twisted, and slammed her against the bricks. She fought like an animal—wild, relentless. Her movements were messy but effective, each strike fueled by rage rather than form.
Yao punched her across the face, but she took the blow and laughed. When he charged again, she dropped low, swept his legs, and pounced. Her knee smashed into his stomach; his breath left him in a gasp.
As Yao doubled over, she looked up toward the moon, almost performing for an unseen crowd.
“She’s insane,” he thought.
She skated in a circle, gathering speed, building a pillar of ice beneath her. She leapt—but Yao caught her midair with a punch to the gut and slammed her into the pillar. He followed up with four more blows, bouncing her head off the wall until cracks spidered through the ice.
Miho staggered back, smiling through blood. Her eyes burned with a killer’s joy. Yao charged to finish it—but she flipped over his shoulder, landed behind him, and brought her skate down hard on his injured arm. The impact tore open the wrapping; blood sprayed.
She stomped again. Yao screamed as a bone cracked.
He tried to block with his good arm, but she twisted his wrist, laughing like a maniac. “She won’t hurt my family,” Miho shrieked, voice splintering with fury. “NO ONE WILL HURT MY FAMILY!”
Yao froze—understanding dawning. She’s like me. She’s not loyal to Nike. She’s trapped by her.
He summoned a hockey stick of solid ice and swung, catching her in the chest. She flew backward, crashing into the wall. For a moment, she looked dazed—then she lunged again, faster than before. The rumors were true; she wasn’t human in her focus.
Yao’s stick shattered under her blows. She knocked him to the ground and planted her skate on his throat. The blade dug in, thin lines of blood beading at his skin.
“She threatened my family, too!” Yao gasped, his voice cracking. He hoped it would reach her—but she pressed harder.
“Who cares about your family?” she spat. “Mine is all that matters. That bitch took the Ice Palace from us! Now she wants to kill humans—I won’t allow it! It’s bad enough she tried to kill Dr. Ray, the only father I had left!”
“He wouldn’t want you to kill me,” Yao croaked. “He created both of us!”
“Dr. Ray would want me to kill all the others he made,” she hissed. “Like my mother. But that hasn’t stopped me.”
Her voice deepened, guttural. “You all prey on the weak. That’s why you thought you could win even with a broken arm. Provoking me. Me! The Polar Bear of the Streets! You’ll pay for your arrogance—with your life!”
Frost crawled across Yao’s neck, creeping toward his lungs. Desperate, he swung his legs, catching her off balance. She fell backward with a grunt.
He scrambled against the wall, gasping, his bad arm limp and useless. She’s right, he thought. I thought I could crush her—but she’s something else.
Miho stood, her movements slow and animal-like, the blades on her skates growing oversized and serrated. Yao clenched his jaw and focused. Ice swirled around him, forming a hockey uniform of armor, encasing his body. Through it, he could move his arm, the ice replacing what his bones couldn’t.
“I see,” his voice echoed through the helmet. “You want Nike to go down—like I do.”
“Stop. Talking. FIGHT!” she roared.
She charged, skating low. Yao spun, delivering a backfist that released a burst of energy—hundreds of hockey gloves made of ice shot forward, battering her midair. She froze in place just as Yao’s real fist crashed into her forehead.
Miho dropped to her knees, breathing hard. The bloodlust drained from her eyes. She wiped the blood from her nose, tasted it, and smirked.
“You said she wants to attack humans?” Yao asked. “You need to explain that.”
“You heard me.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a roll of cash, and tossed it at his feet. “I was only supposed to pay you—but you piss me off.”
“By asking about Dr. Ray? Or Nike? Pick one.”
“Take your money and get out of here.” Her voice flattened. The oversized skates retracted into her boots. She turned, heading toward the neon-lit end of the alley.
“Wait,” Yao called, his ice armor melting into puddles. “I think I need medical attention.”
“Well, then go to a hospital,” she said without looking back. “You know the rules of the game.”
“And so do you.”
Miho stopped. Iceberg stepped from the shadows, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Get him to our first-aid room,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”
