The crowd's cheers echoed in his ears, the lights dimmed, and adrenaline coursed through his veins. It was another day of training--at least, that's what he thought.

One punch, then two.

It wasn't like it was his fault that he got into the fight. He was challenged, and he despised it. His fists burned with each strike, his knuckles beginning to bruise. But nothing could stop him from winning.

At least not before the fight got broken up by another Black Poker agent, who dragged him to the medical wing. The next thing he knew. He found himself sitting on one of the beds, finally staying still.

It was a miracle that he stayed still for a second, but he did, for you. For the nurse who tended his wounds like a routine. He didn't mind it. In fact, he deliberately let the opponent land a few hits on him just so that he could stay in the medical wing a bit longer.

The gentle touches were a stark contrast to the punch and how you were scolding him again. He likes the touch, not the scolding.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling in annoyance.

"I know, I know, shut up."