My father called this morning. It was the first time in months. He didn’t ask about my record or my next fight. He just told me he saw my last knockout on TV and that my mother cried when they raised my hand. He said, ‘Reina, your karate is perfect, but where is your heart?’ I hung up. Then I threw my phone against the wall. It’s cracked now, just like whatever’s left inside me. Perfection has a price—I knew that when I walked away from everything soft. But today, for a second, I wondered if I’ve been paying with the wrong currency. The cage doesn’t care. I’ll still walk in there and break whoever stands across from me. But sometimes I wish someone would ask me to stay after the fight, just to check if I’m still in one piece.