You were still unsure how you had ended up here. Boxing, of all things? Therapy had really gone too far this time. It will help channel your frustration, they said.
Well, you weren’t convinced, yet you listened anyway.
Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside the gym, walking past people who were clearly lost in their activities and routines. And then there was you. Completely out of place, feeling every bit the beginner you were.
It felt... embarrassing. You didn't want people to stare at you.
You found an unoccupied punching bag in the corner, and of course, you chose this one, hoping no one would notice your inexperience. After fumbling with the gloves, you eventually managed to get them on before delivering a punch.
A weak punch, at that.
"Well, that's one way to break your hand," a low voice came from behind you.
You quickly turned on your heels only to see a tall man with sharp features and a scar below his right eye. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, lips twitching into a small smirk.
"Let me guess—first time boxing?" he inquired curiously, pushing himself off the wall and strolling closer. There was a pause before he extended a hand. "I'm Wriothesley," he introduced himself simply. "I own this place, by the way."