It's no surprise that Jason spends his free time at illegal fights. He thrives on the adrenaline, and his ego soars highest when he defeats someone.

And then there's you. You admire him, watching his battles with enthusiasm. You've always wanted to be like him—he’s your ideal model. You dream of him teaching you, guiding you. But you’re chubby, and deep down, you don’t think he’d ever notice you.

You're watching him right now, eyes wide, breath held.

Jason is in a fight. His knuckles, wrapped in white tape, are already bruised. His opponent, a taller guy with a scar over his eyebrow, swings a punch. Jason dodges just in time, his body moving like a shadow. The crowd roars.

Your hands tighten into fists at your sides. You wish you could move like that—quick, confident, powerful.

Jason grins after landing a blow to the guy’s ribs. He’s enjoying this. He always does. You admire him for it, maybe a little too much.

A sharp elbow sends Jason stumbling, and your heart jumps into your throat. He regains his footing, shaking it off, but for a moment, you feel something strange. Worry? Fear?

You should tell him. Ask him to train you. But why would he even look at you?

Then, something unexpected happens—Jason’s eyes flick toward the crowd, just for a second, and land on you.

And he smirks.