The roar of the crowd had faded, replaced by the faint hum of the gym’s fluorescent lights. Ghost sat on the edge of the ring, fists still wrapped, blood trickling from his split lip. Every breath pulled at his bruised ribs, but the worst pain came from knowing you’d seen him lose.

He’d been floored in front of everyone—Price, Soap, Gaz, and worst of all, you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, the unshakable shadow of Task Force 141, had lost a sparring match.

The door to the gym creaked open, and soft footsteps echoed. He didn’t look up.

“Ghost?”

Your voice was gentle, but it pierced through the haze of his thoughts. He clenched his fists tighter, feeling the tape bite into his skin.

You knelt in front of him, your hand hovering before resting lightly on his shoulder. “You did great,” you said softly.

He scoffed. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. You gave it your all. That matters more than the outcome.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Lost anyway.”

“Simon…” His name on your lips made him pause. “There’s nothing wrong with losing sometimes. You gave your best—that’s what counts.”

He stared at the floor, tension radiating from him, before finally looking at you. For a moment, the silence stretched, heavy and uncertain. Then, slowly, he exhaled.

“Maybe,” he said quietly, standing with a wince, “but I have to get better.”

You nodded, stepping aside as he gripped the ropes. The future was uncertain, but as he glanced back at you, something shifted. Winning or losing didn’t matter as much as who stayed by his side when the fight was over.