Chapter 3: Sabotage
The pre-dawn chill of the empty Tokyo gym seeped into Willow’s bones as she pushed through the heavy doors, the silence broken only by the rhythmic drip of a leaky faucet near the showers and the low hum of refrigerators housing electrolyte drinks. She headed straight for her designated cubby, the battered metal door scraping open with a familiar squeal, her hand already reaching for the familiar blue mesh bag holding her training gear. Her fingers brushed against something flimsy, unfamiliar.
Inside the bag, her dependable sports bra and compression shorts were gone. In their place lay a wisp of neon pink fabric – impossibly tiny triangles of lace connected by strings, barely enough to cover anything. Willow froze, the garish pink glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights like a warning sign. She could almost smell Sakura’s cheap floral perfume lingering in the air.
"Find something suitable, gaijin?" Sakura’s voice, smooth as poisoned honey, slithered from the shadows near the weight racks. She emerged, already in her training gear, a smug curve twisting her lips as her eyes raked over the tiny garment in Willow’s trembling hand. "That old blue rag you wear? Not impressive. Cheap." She stepped closer, the chunky soles of her boots silent on the rubber flooring. "This... this will look much better," she whispered, her breath hot against Willow’s ear as she reached out, one cold fingertip tracing a slow, deliberate line along Willow’s tense jaw, "when I strip you down to it on Saturday." She let the promise hang, thick and suffocating, before turning with a flick of her black hair, leaving Willow alone, clutching the humiliating scrap of pink lace, her knuckles white under the tartan tape on her wrists. The distant clang of a weight stack being dropped echoed like a condemnation.