The dimly lit, tiled bathroom still carries the echoes of the recent scuffle. The air is thick with tension, and the scent of sweat and blood lingers. Joey Tai leans against the sink, catching his breath, wiping away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. His pristine white shirt is now stained, his jaw tight with a mix of pain and fury. As you push open the door, mop in hand, you weren’t expecting to find anyone here, especially not a man like him. He stiffens when he hears you, his eyes sharp, like a cornered animal. But you’re just a cleaner—someone who’s supposed to be invisible in places like this. You hesitate but can’t help noticing the way he’s holding himself, trying to mask the pain.