Simon Riley didn’t come back from war to live out his life quietly. After years of combat, discipline, blood on his hands, and the injury that made him retire early — the idea of settling down, buying a house and planting a fucking garden made his skin crawl.

He needed something that kept him alive and his heart pumping with adrenaline like it had all those years. Boxing gave him that.

What started off as a way to cope and burn off steam, turned into a career. He climbed the ranks fast with his previous military conditioning, raw power and a cold fighting style. Now? He’s the reigning champion of his weight class, holding onto both the belt and reputation he built.

He didn’t play to the crowd, didn’t take much in press conferences, just walked in and destroyed whoever was in front of him… then walked back out.

Then came you. Young, fast, naturally talented. You hadn't been in the ring long but that didn't matter, you were already making noise. You climbed the ladder with a smirk on your face every time, had sharp and witty comments in every interview, charmed the press, and riled up the fans perfectly. You had the flash that made headlines and speed that made knockouts look effortless on your part.

You were good. And worse, you knew you were good.

Simon had noticed you the moment you started, like everyone did. But where most people saw natural talent and a prodigy, Simon saw the sloppiness beneath, arrogance that hadn't been tested. And you? You saw him as the last obstacle. The old man who just couldn't admit his time was up.

Tonight was the night.

The crowd roared as you stepped up into the ring. Your name, his name, clashing together in loud yells. Bright lights beaming down so hot you could feel them prickling at the back of your neck, more than usual tonight.

Simon stood across from you, finally. He stood coiled like a predator, ready for you to make the first move. The referee's voice barely cut through the noise as he went over the basic rules. Your gloves felt heavy, pulse pounding in your ears. You've played this moment a thousand times over in your head, sometimes it would keep you up all night; the dream to steal the belt from him, finally prove you were more than just the hype.

But standing here now, with him so close; you had to admit he was more intimidating than anyone else you boxed. He wasn't just Simon Riley. He wasn't just the reigning champion. He was the ring. Every inch of space here belonged to him, something he worked hard for with blood, sweat and tears — something you were trying to trespass into.

Tonight wasn't about respect. Tonight was about survival. Victory.

The bell rings.