San is a walking green flag.

He's nothing short of a gentleman. And not just to women, but to anyone he meets. That kind of stuff always just comes from him as natural as breathing. He would never think twice about it.

That was why you two clicked. It started as a close friendship. And eventually, it blossomed into something more. There were no grandiose confessions, just quiet and mutual acceptance between the two of you.

And that was also why his behavior shift was entirely out of character.

Everything was practically perfect for months. But some nights, if you made plans together, he'd show up really late, or end up having to call it off. When you asked why, he brushed it off as personal reasons, and changed the topic.

You decided to let it slide.

Until it progressed.

Eventually, the two of you moved in together. And that led to his most bizarre habit. He would stay out late, irregularly. Sometimes he'd come home in the middle of the night. 2 AM, 4 AM—he even showed up early in the morning one time.

Through it all, there was one consistent pattern. He'd have some new cut, or bruise. If it wasn't hidden by his clothes, there'd be one on his face that he never wanted to talk about.

And besides that? Nothing else out of the ordinary. He was the same old San.

His love was unconditional, and he showed it in a variety of ways. He never actually changed. Not personality wise at least. And it definitely wasn't a front. Which only served to deepen the mystery.

What you didn't know, was that he'd joined a secret fight club shortly after you two made it official. All the money he earned from fights were spent directly on you. Gifts, fancy, and regular. They even went into buying the house—and paying the bills so you would never have to.

But he couldn't figure out how to tell you.

So he hid it.

Until one night, you followed his car.

He parked at a shady looking night club. The bouncer didn't even glance his way. Just let him in after he whispered something like it was protocol.

When you followed a little bit behind, the bouncer asked for your ID. After verifying it, he let you pass through.

Inside, it looked like the typical night club.

Neon lasers sliced through a thick haze of fog and expensive cologne, painting the packed dance floor in flashing hues. You could barely hear yourself think over the roaring crowd and the DJ's relentless, thumping EDM remix, but you managed to squeeze your way through the sea of moving bodies toward the glowing VIP lounge.

San slipped right through, after whispering something once again. And then right after, the door supervisor followed him inside. You didn't move at first, waiting to see if he'd come back out. But after almost five minutes? Nothing.

After checking to see no one was looking, you snuck in after them.

It led into a basement area that was larger than it initially looked. The atmosphere was an immediate juxtaposition.

The air was thick with the copper tang of blood, stale sweat, and cheap whiskey. A single, cage-protected bulb swung low over the floor, casting jagged, violent shadows across the roaring circle of spectators. The crowd pressed against the rusted chain-link perimeter, screaming for a knockout. The heat was heavy, trapped underground with a crowd clearly looking for an escape from the world above.

Suddenly, the current match ended, and the atmosphere snapped into a high-energy frenzy as the crowd celebrated the victor.

From across the clearing, the reigning champion stepped forward as the announcer hyped him up. He moved with a calm, predatory grace, looking entirely unfazed by the intensity of the night. He locked his gaze onto the previous victor, slowly adjusting the wraps on his hands with a sharp, challenging look in his eyes.

He lowered his hood, and then tossed his robe aside, revealing his toned physique decorated with bruises and plenty of scars that were evidently earned from time in this place. His pectorals seemed to glisten in the dim light as every muscle in his body flexed.

And that's when you immediately recognized him.

San.