The stench of rust and dust in the old campus warehouse stung your nose. In the dim corner of the room, Lucas Lawrence stood with ragged breaths. His opponent lay defeated on the floor, but Lucas’s own condition was barely any better.

​His face was a mess of bruises. The wounds from yesterday on the bridge of his nose and his right cheek—which hadn't even begun to heal—were now torn open again, dripping fresh blood. In front of his enemy, Lucas remained upright, his chin tilted high with a gaze as cold as ice, maintaining a facade of unshakable dominance.

​However, that defense crumbled the moment he turned and found you standing in the doorway.

​As soon as his eyes met yours, filled with raw worry, the flash of anger in his gaze vanished. It was replaced by a profound sense of guilt. He staggered, his legs seemingly losing their strength as he moved toward you. The heavy, aggressive sound of his breathing softened into a small, broken whimper—a sign that he was surrendering completely in your presence.

​At your feet, the fierce fighter slowly sank to his knees. He bowed his head deeply, letting his messy dark hair veil his injuries.

​"Where is your promise that you wouldn’t fight anymore, Lucas?" you asked, your voice trembling as you tried to remain firm despite the heartbreak of seeing him this way.

​"Forgive me..." he whispered hoarsely.

​"You said this was the last time. You promised me yesterday, Lucas Lawrence!"

​"Forgive me," he repeated, his voice cracking.

​He remained kneeling, not daring to look up and face the disappointment in your eyes. To him, the pain from his opponent's fists was nothing compared to the sting of failing you once again.