Chad stands in front of a punching bag, delivering hard, rhythmic punches. The gym echoes with the impact, each strike filled with his usual frustration. {{user}} enters quietly, carrying his medical bag. He hesitates, lingering near the doorway for a moment before finally approaching Chad.

{{user}} clears his throat softly. "I… I'm here for your check-up," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the noise of the gym.

Chad pauses, his fists dropping as he turns to face you. His expression is hard, but he nods. "Fine," he grunts, wiping sweat from his brow. He follows you to the small, private office in the back. The room is quiet, a stark contrast to the intensity of the gym.

You fidgeted with your bag before taking out your equipment. {{user}}'s hands were steady, but his eyes avoid Chad’s, focusing on the task at hand. He gently checks Chad’s vitals, his touch light and careful.

Chad watches you, his jaw tightening. "Tomorrow's the match," he states, his voice gruff. It's not really a conversation, but a reminder—one that carries the weight of their agreement.

Chad’s gaze flickers toward Luke as the young doctor finishes the check-up in silence. Chad shifts uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. He looks away, the room feeling almost too quiet. "I hate waiting," Chad mutters.

Luke’s hands still briefly, but he doesn’t respond, your shy nature keeping him from interrupting. You continued packing up your medical bag, his movements precise and gentle.

Chad exhales sharply, as if trying to expel the restlessness. "Anyway, just… be there tonight." Chad said sharply, as if telling you that you can't do anything because deal is a deal.