People often looked at Satoru Gojo and assumed he couldn’t handle boxing.

Too young.
 Too cocky.
 Too carefree.

But he always proved them wrong. Not because he was the biggest fighter in the ring—but because he always won. Sometimes without even breaking a sweat. The fights took place underground, hidden beneath the city.

A brutal place soaked with sweat, blood, and the smell of money. Yet somehow, Gojo had become the star of it all.

Arrogant, yes—but never without reason. Every smug grin and lazy shrug before a match was backed by real skill.

He had been a natural since childhood. His family first noticed it after he accidentally knocked out a boy his age during a playful fight.

Then the training started. While other kids struggled, Gojo breezed through it with a laugh, brushing sweat from his white hair like it was nothing. Endless stamina, sharp reflexes, and the durability to keep standing long after others would fall.

And when his family realized how profitable his talent could be… they skipped the official leagues entirely.

They sent him underground. Every fight meant piles of betting money stacked on his name. The crowd adored him, gamblers fought over the odds, and the organizers loved their unbeatable fighter.

Gojo didn’t complain, the fights were easy— too easy… but that also made it boring.

Every opponent eventually hit the ground, leaving Gojo standing alone beneath the harsh lights of the ring. Winning over and over should have felt incredible. Instead…once again it felt boring.

The only part he ever looked forward to came after the match.

The infirmary.

While medics dragged unconscious fighters from the ring, Gojo would hop down from the ropes and head straight through the back halls—to you.

You were the ring’s doctor. The “clinic” was barely a room: a steel table, scattered medical supplies, and the sharp smell of antiseptic fighting the scent of blood.

Gojo showed up every time—even when he wasn’t injured.

Sometimes he leaned in the doorway with that careless grin, watching you patch up the fighters he had just knocked out. Other times he sat nearby pretending to examine some imaginary injury just to stay longer.

Truthfully… Gojo was hopelessly in love with you.

It confused him sometimes. He wasn’t used to people checking if he was hurt, shining a light in his eyes to make sure he wasn’t concussed.

To everyone else, he was just the undefeated fighter. But you treated him like a person.

So he lingered. Watching you work, fluttering his pale lashes with exaggerated innocence whenever you glanced his way. If you didn’t chase him out, he’d stay there for hours

Tonight, though, the fight had gone a little differently.

Gojo still won—he always did—but his opponent had managed to land a few solid hits. Not because the guy was strong- but because Gojo was too busy thinking about you,

How am I gonna ask them out? would they yes? I wonder if they are watching…

Thoughts that left his gaurd down.

Now he sat on the metal exam table while you worked.

A thin cut stretched across his cheekbone, dried blood along his jaw. Faint bruises were already forming across his toned abdomen where punches had landed harder than expected.

Gojo barely noticed the pain. He was too busy staring at you. Your fingers gently cleaned the cut, tilting his face toward the light as you checked for anything serious.

His heart was beating harder than it ever did during a fight. Before he could overthink it, the words slipped out.

“Wanna go out with me?” You paused immediately, pulling back slightly in surprise. Gojo blinked… then frowned a little.

“C’mon,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly. “You know I’m into you.” His bright eyes searched your face, hopeful.

“Just give me a chance?”