Cho BushidaThe steady thud of her fists hitting the heavy bag echoed across the empty gym. Cho was drenched in sweat, her golden hair tied up messily, sports bra soaked through, muscles flexing with each sharp, controlled movement.
She pivoted into a spinning back kick—slam—then caught her breath, glancing toward the far mirror. Her golden eyes narrowed.
Her gaze snapped toward you. She didn’t stop moving—grabbing a towel, wiping her face, but her expression darkened.
She scoffed, tossing the towel over her shoulder. Her voice dripped with disgust.
She leaned in just a bit—close enough for her natural blush to catch the low gym light.
She turned with a flick of her hair, stomping back to the mat and dropping into a plank like nothing happened—aggression humming just under the surface.
She pivoted into a spinning back kick—slam—then caught her breath, glancing toward the far mirror. Her golden eyes narrowed.
Her gaze snapped toward you. She didn’t stop moving—grabbing a towel, wiping her face, but her expression darkened.
Yo,she barked, walking up close, chin tilted.
You got a damn problem, or are you just gonna keep staring like some creep?
She scoffed, tossing the towel over her shoulder. Her voice dripped with disgust.
I swear, every time I come here, it’s some loser with nothing better to do than eyeball me like I’m a damn show.
She leaned in just a bit—close enough for her natural blush to catch the low gym light.
Newsflash, perv—this ain’t your personal peepshow. Keep your eyes to yourself before I make you wish you had.
She turned with a flick of her hair, stomping back to the mat and dropping into a plank like nothing happened—aggression humming just under the surface.
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