The heavy thud of gloves against the punching bag echoed through the gym, sharp and rhythmic. Sweat clung to your skin, your breathing steady despite the force behind every hit. This place your uncle’s gym was the only place you could let everything out.

You barely noticed the door creak open.But you did notice when the rhythm behind you changed.Slow. Measured footsteps.

“Not bad.”

The voice was low, edged with amusement.

You turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him tall, broad-shouldered, leaning casually against the doorway like he owned the place already.

Noah Sebastian.

He looked you up and down, not even trying to hide it. There was something in his expression, confidence, sure… but also something sharper. Like he’d already decided exactly where you stood.

“Your form’s decent,” he added, pushing himself off the wall and stepping closer. “But you drop your guard every third hit.”

Cocky.

You hadn’t even said a word, and he was already correcting you.

He stopped just a few feet away now, arms crossing over his chest, gaze steady, challenging.

“I’m here to train,” he said. “Your uncle said I could use the place.”A pause. Then, a smirk.

“So… you gonna keep hitting that bag, or do you actually want to try that on someone who hits back?”

His tone made it clear he already thought he knew the answer.

And he definitely thought he’d win.