Sloane exclaimed passionately, “I want our team to dominate the national league in Apex Arena and come out on top!”

Bonita smiled and encouraged, “Keep up the hard work, and you’ll achieve your goal.”

Having savored their desserts, the three made their way back to the dorms, sharing stories and laughter.

Throughout the walk, Sloane eagerly shared the latest news from the studio, focusing especially on Neal.

She expected Bonita to be thrilled by the updates about Neal, yet her face remained impassive, showing no sign of interest.

“Bonita, you…” Sloane began, only to grimace in pain as Bonita suddenly gripped her hand tightly.

Stopping dead in her tracks, Bonita looked ahead with a mix of shock and anger on her face. Then, without a word, she broke into a sprint towards a man standing nearby.

As the man detected footsteps closing in, he turned around. Upon spotting Bonita, he took off running.

At that moment, from her vantage point, Fernanda barely recognized the fleeing figure; a middle-aged stranger was all she could discern.

“You there! Stop running! Kidnapper!” Bonita’s voice rang out as she pursued him.

A kidnapper?

The realization dawned on Fernanda in an instant.

Without hesitation, she began to run, quickly surpassing Bonita, her strides fast and determined.

As she ran, her long hair streamed behind her like a flag, highlighting her stoic yet determined expression.

Despite the man’s quickened pace, Fernanda steadily gained on him.

In a desperate move, he leapt into an awaiting van at the corner, the door slamming shut just as he entered. Then the van sped off into the distance.

Standing there, Fernanda could only watch the van disappear, its exhaust fading into the air.

She knew she was fast, but not fast enough to catch a speeding vehicle. Yet, she had managed to memorize the van’s license plate number, thinking it might provide a lead later on.

After a short walk back, Fernanda reconvened with a breathless Bonita and Sloane.

Recently, Sloane had improved her fitness, yet her bulky clothes impeded her today.

Contrastingly, Bonita was gasping, her chest tight with exertion.

“Fernanda, did he manage to escape?” Sloane inquired.

“He jumped into a van and drove off,” Fernanda explained.

“Fuck! We were right on him!” Sloane exclaimed, her frustration evident. “We almost had him, if only we could have caught him…”

“I’ve got the license plate number. Let’s see if it leads us anywhere,” Fernanda suggested.

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