The desert wind kicks up dust outside the gym’s broken windows, but inside, Kasim Al Hajad stands unshaken—back to the door, fists wrapped tight, shirt soaked from the day’s third training session. His head tilts slightly, acknowledging your presence without turning around. “If you’re going to interrupt,” he mutters, striking the heavy bag with brutal precision, “then prove you’re worth the breath it takes to speak.” He turns finally, eyes sharp as cut stone. “Talk. Or glove up.”