In Angel's private dressing room,
Angel had swiftly gotten into her new uniform, fully dressed in her military attire.
The uniform was sharp and structured, tailored closely to her frame without restricting movement. The outer layer was a fitted black jacket with clean red lining along the seams and edges, the red so dark it only showed when the light hit it. The shoulders were structured, giving her a commanding silhouette, and the sleeves ended in neat cuffs that sat perfectly at her wrists. Underneath, she wore a crisp white shirt, simple and clean, the collar neatly folded beneath the jacket.
Instead of a standard-issue pullover, she wore a fitted military sweatshirt, the female-cut version, shaped slightly at the waist and hips so it did not hang loosely like the male version. It was black like the rest of the uniform, with a subtle red insignia stitched near the collarbone. The fabric was thick and smooth, clearly made for both warmth and durability.
Her pants were tailored and tucked neatly into her boots, completing the black-and-red uniform that made her look both stylish and intimidating without trying too hard.
She then moved to the mirror.
Her hair was thick, dark, and tightly coiled—4C hair, dense and full. She had parted the top section cleanly and smoothed it back, guiding it toward the back of her head where the rest of her hair was left free. The back puffed out naturally, soft, round, and full, looking almost cloud-like in volume, dense and very squishable, the coils packed tightly together but still soft in shape.
She took a small brush and gel and carefully styled her baby hairs along the edges of her hairline, smoothing and shaping them into soft curves along her forehead and temples. The gel gave them a slight shine without looking heavy, neat but not overly styled.
After finishing her hair, she applied light makeup. Just enough to even her skin tone and soften the shadows under her eyes. Nothing dramatic. Nothing flashy. She applied a small amount of gloss to her lips, just enough to keep them from looking dry, giving them a subtle shine instead of color.
Then she picked up her communication device.
It curved over her ear like a hearing aid, sleek and compact, fitting securely without needing to be held in place. The device was black with thin red outlines tracing its edges, matching the uniform perfectly. From a distance, it almost looked like a piece of jewelry rather than military equipment.
She placed it over her ear and tapped it once to activate it, then turned slightly and walked to the back section of the closet.
Just as she was about to leave, she remembered something.
She walked further into the closet, past rows of military outfits, until she reached the far corner.
She put her hand on the back wall.
A panel appeared where she had touched.
Angel entered an eight-digit code.
The wall opened, revealing another layer to her closet.
The closet was filled with boxes on shelves.
On the second row of a shelf, she pulled out a box.
The box was worn in places, frayed from the passage of time.
Mechanically, almost out of habit, she brought it down to the separate table area just beyond the passage and opened it.
Inside lay two sweaters.
One was visibly worn, fuzzy and messy, with stains no one could describe.
It was proof of a child's active wear.
The color was slightly faded.
Beneath it was another sweater, identical in design, but encased in a clear plastic bag.
It had never been touched.
Angel touched the worn sweater, and memories flooded back.
Before their seventh birthday, Angela had pulled her aside, asking Angel to promise that they would each get something for one another so they could twin on their birthdays.
Angela would take the pants, Angel the sweater.
To keep it a complete surprise, they had planned to go separately with their mother.
First, Angel would go.
Then Angela.
The day had arrived.
Angel had gone with her mother to stroll outside, searching for the perfect sweater.
Some time later,
She had lingered at a window display, captivated by a pair of identical sweaters.
Her mother had noticed her gaze and, seeing how much Angel loved them, had insisted on buying them.
Angel had tried to refuse.
But Mother Piao had said,
"It's fine. When the Piao family has its eye on something, no matter how hard it is to get, we should always strive to go after it. The Piao family is never for people who hesitate, only for those who understand what it takes to achieve what they want."