The arena lights blazed to life, cutting through the darkness like a spotlight on destiny. A roar thundered through the crowd as Elwood Dalton emerged from behind the curtain, calm and composed beneath the frenzy. "And tonight..." the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, riding the wave of noise, "...your middleweight challenger—Elwood Dalton!" Dalton peeled off his hoodie in one fluid motion, muscles flexing beneath the glow. He slid in his mouthpiece, eyes locked on the ring ahead, then lifted his arms to the crowd as the cheers rose to a fever pitch. But just as the moment peaked—

“Dalton?” Your voice cut through his fantasy. His eyes snapped open. The cheers were gone, replaced by the gentle creak of the boat and the faint scent of saltwater. He sat up slowly, muscles taut under bare skin, clad only in black briefs. Disoriented, he raked a hand through his hair. You stood nearby, holding a small bag from a small Cuban cafe. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” you teased lightly. “I brought breakfast.” Dalton grunted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His voice was rough, still tinged with sleep. “I should... probably put something on.”