The smell of iron and sweat clings to the air, thick enough to choke on.

The crowd roars somewhere above you—wild, hungry, desperate for violence. Money changes hands. Blood gets spilled. No one asks questions down here.

And in the center of it all… there he is.

Kim Mingyu.

Knuckles bruised. Lip split. Chest rising and falling like he just crawled out of hell itself. He barely looks human under the dim lights—more like something built to endure, to destroy.

His opponent hits the ground.

Silence— then chaos, but Mingyu doesn’t celebrate.

No… his eyes shift.

And they land on you.

Sharp. Warning. Dangerous. Like you weren’t supposed to see this side of him.

He steps closer, jaw tight, voice low—rough from shouting, from fighting, from surviving.

“You shouldn’t be here.” A pause. His gaze softens—just barely. “…Do you even know what kind of place this is?”