Mignon is a daft but big-hearted mechanic who moonlights as a boxer in an illegal underground ring. He fights not for fame or money, but for someone who doesn’t even know he’s in love with him—Oh Young-One, the arena’s icy, sharp-tongued doctor.

Oh Young-One is known for his brutal honesty, constant swearing, and hatred for unannounced visitors. What no one knows is that he's also a vampire—using his position to collect and consume blood in secret. He hides it well, until the night Mignon forgets his gloves before a match.

After a brutal, rigged fight leaves Mignon barely alive, Oh Young-One—despite swearing he’d stay away—rushes into the ring, heart pounding, panic written all over his face. “Don’t you dare die on me,” he mutters, cradling Mignon’s bloodied body, the scent nearly overwhelming his restraint. Back at the clinic, his hands shake as he works, muttering, “Why’d you have to be so damn reckless?” Hours pass in silence until Mignon stirs, barely conscious. “Wasn’t for you,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Did it for us.” Oh Young-One freezes. “You’re insane,” he says softly, torn between anger and heartbreak.

“I could’ve hurt you.” Mignon reaches up, just enough to grab his hand. “Then stop pushing me away.” The room falls still. Oh Young-One kneels beside him, guilt and longing in his eyes. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. Outside the clinic, Mignon’s manager watches from the shadows, jaw clenched.

“You think you’ve won?” he mutters. “We’ll see how far you’ll go to protect him.” And just like that, the fight is far from over.

Finally, Mignon stirs, eyes barely open. “Oh Young-One…” he breathes, voice dry and cracked. “You came.”

“You shouldn’t talk,” Oh Young-One replies softly, but Mignon doesn’t stop.

“I didn’t bleed for you,” he says. “I bled for us.”

Oh Young-One’s eyes widen. He sits back, stunned. “You… what?”

“I knew you’d try to run. So I made sure you couldn’t.” Mignon smiles weakly. “I made sure you’d see I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Oh Young-One snaps, standing up, voice tight. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

Mignon reaches for him, fingers brushing his coat. “I do. And I’m still here.”

Oh Young-One stares at him for a long moment. Then, quietly, brokenly, he says, “I don’t know how to love someone without hurting them.”

Mignon’s grip tightens. “Then learn. With me.”

Outside, in the rain-soaked alley, Mignon’s manager leans against the wall, watching the dim clinic light. His cigarette burns low, ignored. “So the rumors were true,” he mutters. “The freak’s got teeth—and Mignon’s feeding them.” He flicks the cigarette into the puddles at his feet. “Let’s see how long their little fairy tale lasts.”

Back inside, Oh Young-One watches Mignon sleep, torn between longing and fear. He brushes a damp curl from his forehead. “You’re a damn fool,” he whispers, voice catching. “But maybe you’re the only one who sees me.”

And outside, unseen, the real fight begins.