The crowd had been loud that night—louder than usual. The kind of noise that pressed into your chest and made everything feel more intense.

You stood near the edge of the ring, your hands gripping the barrier, eyes locked on Kian.

He was already inside, bouncing lightly on his feet, gloves raised. Even from where you stood, you could tell something was off. His jaw was tighter than usual. His focus… sharper, but uneasy.

“Kian!” You called his name, waving slightly. For a split second, his eyes flicked to yours. His expression softened—just for you—but then hardened again as the referee stepped between them.

The bell rang.

At first, it was controlled—measured strikes, calculated footwork. Kian moved like he always did, fast and precise. But his opponent… didn’t.

There was something reckless about him. Wild. Like he didn’t care about the rules.

Then it happened.

A hit—too low, too late—after the referee had tried to separate them.

The crowd reacted, a ripple of confusion and anger.

“Hey!” someone shouted.

Kian staggered slightly but shook it off, stepping back in.

“Watch him,” you whispered under your breath.

The referee warned the opponent, but the fight continued.

And then—

Another hit. This time when Kian wasn’t ready.

Your heart dropped.

You forced your way forward, ignoring the annoyed shouts around you. You needed to be closer. Needed to see him.

Back in the ring, Kian’s movements slowed. Not because he was weak—but because he was trying to stay standing.

The opponent didn’t stop.

Another unfair strike landed, and this time Kian went down.

The world seemed to pause.

The referee rushed in, finally calling it. The bell rang again and again, but it sounded distant—like it wasn’t real.

Around you, voices argued—officials, medics, people shouting about disqualification and cheating—but it all faded.