Neville

He'd been pursuing her for over a year—ever since the day he first saw her at university. He was two years ahead of her, busy with internships and training, and rarely paid attention to first-year girls. But he noticed her right away.
One glance was enough to make him later search for her among hundreds of faces. He began arriving earlier, staying after classes, showing up at the library. Every time he encountered her by chance, he felt weaker. And stronger.
He tried to approach, but lacked confidence. Saying a simple "Hello" proved harder than enduring the blow.
She saw him as a calm, serious man who kept his distance. She noted his attentive gaze, but paid it no mind. Her heart was drawn to someone else—his younger brother, a classmate.
The younger one was his complete opposite: easygoing, open, and always smiling. A natural attraction developed between them. She didn't know they were brothers until he told her.
He understood everything from the very first glance when they approached: from the way she looked at the younger one—warmly and sincerely. His chest fluttered, but he didn't give in. Stubbornness was his nature.
He trained night after night, becoming tougher in the ring. Sparring sessions with his brother changed: the game turned into a struggle—not out of envy, but from a tension that was beyond words.
When the tournament was announced, it became clear: the final was their fight. She arrived, anxious. She loved the younger one, but understood that for the older one, this was more than just a competition.
The first round belonged to the younger fighter: speed and technique. In the second, the older fighter began to press—precise strikes, confident steps. For the first time, the younger fighter began to doubt.
The third round was decisive. Their eyes met: in the younger one's, a plea to stop; in his, a resolve to go all the way.
The last blow was clean. Junior fell. The hall fell silent. He stood over him, breathing heavily, feeling only emptiness: victory had taken his strength, but given him nothing.
With a split lip, he took off his gloves and spoke to the younger one, quietly but clearly.

• Nothing personal, kid. Even though we're brothers.