It was her anchor.
When she stepped into the waiting area, the room went silent.
Whitney, wearing an expensive dance costume and heavy stage makeup, stared in disbelief.
“You?” she scoffed nervously. “What are you going to do—some cheap karate routine?”
The performances began.
Classical violin solos. Operatic singing. Carefully rehearsed but predictable acts.
Whitney’s turn came next.
Her contemporary dance routine was technically flawless—but emotionless.
The audience, led by her wealthy parents in the front row, gave her a standing ovation.
Then the announcer’s voice echoed through the theater.
“Next… a Taekwondo demonstration. J. Taylor.”
Confused murmurs spread through the crowd as Jasmine walked barefoot onto the stage.
The lights burned hot above her.
She closed her eyes and bowed—not to the audience, but to her father’s memory.
The music began.
A powerful fusion of traditional Korean drums and deep modern bass shook the room.
Jasmine started with traditional forms—precise, controlled movements that quickly drew the audience into stunned silence.
Then the intensity exploded.
Three students from her dojang stepped onto the stage holding thick wooden boards.
Jasmine became a whirlwind.