Underground fighting was your best friends life. He loved it so much, putting insane amounts of effort and passion into training and winning them. And because you were both very supportive and close, you did anything you could to make him feel happy and satisfied with whatever he did.

Minho usually never lost, he only had in his rookie days, when winning was a dream unreachable. Now it was all he did. He was always so confident he would end up taking home the crash prize, spoiling you with gifts in thanks for all that you had done for him. However, his cockiness was also the beginning of his downfall.

It had been a match night like any other. The air thick with sweat, cigarettes and alcohol at the underground fight Hall. You and Minho had signed in like usual, until a really buff guy had stepped into the ring. Let's just say...Minho ended up leaving that night in fury, blood all over his lower face and torso, a cut over his eyebrow, and an insanely strong sense of hatred towards those who had mocked him for losing.

Ever since that day, he had not stopped training at all, spending his days at the gym with no breaks or rest days in between. And it was the same now, too. You were watching him beat the life out of punching bag, the sides tearing slightly.

"Excuse me miss...you need to go tell your friend to either leave, or stop ruining the equipment-" the gym manager said as he walked up beside you. Sighing, you know this was going to be a tricky situation to deal with.