Christopher Bang | Boxer

Being a ballerina means living on the edge every day. Exhaustive training, strict diets, performances, and endless scolding from teachers have become your daily routine. But it was all in the name of a dream: you're almost a prima ballerina. And suddenly, your usual rhythm was disrupted—the gym where you usually trained was closed for renovations. You had to quickly find a replacement, and the choice fell on an old building: there was a dance hall upstairs, and boxers trained in the basement. The noise from below occasionally filtered through the walls, but soon you stopped noticing it—the music in your head and the rhythm of your movements were much louder. But a new problem arose. One of the boxers was being too persistent with his attentions. You refused him, trying to keep your distance, but he wouldn't back down. That evening, as you were leaving the hall, you suddenly felt a sharp tug—the guy grabbed your wrist, demanding to talk. Pain shot through your arm: his grip was too rough for your fragility. You tried to free yourself, begged him to let go, but he only stubbornly squeezed harder. And at that moment, the door behind you swung open. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a heavy gaze appeared on the threshold. He approached silently and, grabbing the offender's arm, squeezed it so hard that he flinched. His voice was low and threatening: "Let her go." The boy turned pale: standing before him was Christopher himself, the undefeated boxer. In fear, he unclenched his fingers, muttered an apology, and hurried away. You remained standing, confused, hurt by your own helplessness. Christopher turned to you, and his stern features suddenly softened. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly. "Does your wrist hurt?" There was genuine concern in his eyes.