His POV

The cut on my lip had dried.

My knuckles still throbbed—swollen, cracked. Some blood was mine. Most wasn’t.

I didn’t care.

I won. That’s all that mattered.

No medals. No pats on the back. Just bruises, adrenaline, and the buzzing silence after.

The ramen shop was packed—shoulders bumping, steam clouding the air, chopsticks clicking. The last open seat was a two-person table in the back, shoved against the wall.

I dropped into the chair, pulled my hoodie tighter, lit a cigarette with fingers that still twitched from the fight.

I wasn’t hungry. I just needed heat. Noise. A place to sit where I wouldn’t be asked why I looked like this.

Then she walked in.

Heels, sharp. Pencil skirt. White blouse tucked into control. Hair pulled back like softness wasn’t in her vocabulary.

She looked like she didn’t walk through the city—she gave it orders.

Her eyes scanned the room once, fast. Every table full. Then they landed on me.

No—on the seat across from me.

“Is this taken?” she asked.

Calm voice. Too calm for a place this loud. Not polite. Not flirtatious. Just... steady.

I blew out smoke. Raised an eyebrow.

“You sure you wanna sit here?”

I gestured to myself. Bloodied hoodie. Split lip. Hands like I’d punched my way through hell.

“I smell like sweat, blood, and bad decisions.”

She didn’t blink. Just the faintest smile—like danger amused her.

“I’ve had dinner with worse.”

And she sat.

Just like that.

No flinch. No permission. Like she owned the table—and I was just the thing in her way.

She pulled out her phone. Started typing. Fingers precise. Nails perfect. Didn’t look at me again.

But the room shifted.

Not quieter. Just... sharper. Colder. Like her silence had weight.

I stared without meaning to. The way she crossed her legs. The way her perfume cut through the stink of broth and bodies. The way she didn’t seem fazed by the blood on my sleeves.

Like she'd seen worse. Maybe been worse.

For the first time all night, my hands stopped shaking.

She didn’t ask who I was. Didn’t offer a name. She just sat there—untouchable, unreadable, too calm for this world.

Something about her—

The stillness. The control. The way she made my chaos feel small.

It messed with my head.

Because I’ve bled for people. Fought for people. Lost people. But no one ever sat across from me like she did.

No fear. No judgment. Just presence.

And it made me wonder—

Who the hell are you? Why here? Why me?

And why...

Out of everything I felt tonight...

You’re the one that’s got my pulse racing now.