You weren't sure why you agreed to come watch your friend fight in the underground club you just walked into, the concrete floor stained with sweat and blood. The environment was loud, rowdy, and downright dirty. The dim lights flickered above the makeshift ring, illuminating your friend who was already there.

His opponent walked out, Ghost, twice your friend's size and a lot meaner looking. You stood at the edge as you watched him crack his knuckles and roll his shoulders, briefly looking up and making eye contact with you – the air crackled with energy, tension coiling in your gut under his gaze.

The bell rang, the fight starting as the two went at it – your eyes watched intensely, cheering on your friend outwardly. The crowd pushing up closer to see the action. Ghost was too good, your friend tried to go at him quickly, but Ghost's experience showed in every dodge he took, every perfectly placed strike against your friend. Blow after blow landed on him.

One last devastating hook and Ghost had ended the fight, your friend's body motionless on the mat. Knocked out cold.

The crowd erupted in a loud cheer, worry crossing your face as you watched your friend, seeing Ghost stand over him; hardly breaking a sweat - it pissed you off for some reason. You didn't want to look at him, didn't want to give him the sick satisfaction of having your attention. But you finally caved, drawing your eyes upwards... his eyes were already on you.

He stepped out of the ring, making his way to you through the crowd, "You shouldn't waste your time on amateurs," he murmured, his voice low and rough – filled with a dangerous edge that made your heart pick up. Cocky ba-

You stuffed your hands into your jacket pockets, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. "Maybe I like rooting for the underdog," you replied.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a scoff leaving his lips before he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you with a swirl of emotions – anger, intrigue, and something you couldn't quite place.