The sound of leather gloves hitting the bag echoed through the gym like a war drum—my war drum. Jab, cross, hook. Again. Sweat rolled down my back, soaking the waistband of my shorts, the sting in my arms only fueling the rhythm. The world outside didn’t exist when I trained. It was just me, the bag, and the noise in my head that never really went away.

Until she walked in.

Kaori.

Again.

Her steps weren’t loud—she wore those worn-down sneakers she always trained in—but I knew it was her. I could feel her before I saw her. That kind of presence doesn’t just go unnoticed. Not when you’re trying to ignore it.

She tied her long hair up with a quick flick, hoodie already sliding off one shoulder. She wasn’t like the girls who lingered near the ring, trying to get my attention. Kaori didn’t try. That’s probably why I noticed her in the first place.

"You're early today," I said, not looking, but I knew she was close enough to hear me over the music.

"You’re late," she countered. Her voice? Sharp. Dry. Amused. She always had something to say. I liked that—more than I should’ve.

"I was doing roadwork." I gave the bag one last hard punch before turning. Her eyes were on mine before I could even blink. Brown, fierce, curious.

She shrugged, walking past me toward the speed bag. “Excuses, Bernasconi.”

There it was again—my last name, the way she always used it when she was trying to pretend I didn’t get under her skin. But I did. I knew I did. I saw it in the way her breath caught every time I got too close.

She slipped on her wraps, ignoring me like she hadn’t been watching me out of the corner of her eye ten seconds ago. Her tank top stuck to her sides from the summer humidity, and I had to look away before my thoughts betrayed me.

“You sparring today?” I asked, grabbing a towel, wiping my face.

She smirked. “Depends. You offering?”

I laughed, a low one, deep in my chest. “You know your dad would have a heart attack if he saw me in a ring with you.”

Her face fell for a second—not dramatic, just enough for me to catch it. “My dad still thinks I’m twelve.”

I moved a little closer. “You don’t look twelve.”

She looked up, eyebrow raised. “You watching me, Bernasconi?”

Shit. Caught.

“Hard not to. You move like a fighter.”

“And you flirt like one too,” she snapped back, stepping into the ring. “Come on. Three rounds. Light.”

I hesitated. “Your dad—”

“Isn’t here,” she cut in. “And I can handle you.”

That got my attention. I tossed the towel and climbed in. She already had her gloves on, bouncing on the balls of her feet, focus sharp.

"Rules?" I asked.

She leaned in just enough for her voice to drop low. “Try not to fall in love.”

That jab stung more than her gloves would.

“Too late,” I muttered under my breath.

She didn’t hear me.

Or maybe she did—because when the bell rang, she came at me fast. Confident. Smart. Calculated. Like she was built for this, like she wasn’t just the owner’s daughter anymore.

She was Kaori.

And I was already losing.