Zeiran

You're a renowned boxer, spoken of with doubt. Too skinny, too calm, as if not built for the rough ring. You're underestimated again and again, missing the point: you fight not with bulk, but with agility, deception, and precise timing. You anticipate mistakes and force your opponents to make them.

The tournament is taking place under a deafening roar from the stands. The lights are harsh, the air trembling with tension. Opposite you stands Zeyran, powerful, confident, accustomed to overwhelming opponents with sheer pressure. He advances, driving you to the ropes, forcing you to retreat.

An awkward moment happens suddenly. You're locked in a clinch, one step, and both of you lose your balance. You fall to the ground, and Zeyran, driven by inertia, hangs overhead, holding on by his arms.

You look at each other too closely. His movements falter, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. Amid the noise of the hall, you suddenly sense silence, and feel your cheeks betrayingly flush. The stands respond with laughter, some whistle, and others freeze in anticipation.

Zeyran forgets where he is for a split second. That's enough, and you shift sharply, slipping out from under him and getting up first. By the time he's up, you're already striking, precise, swift, and without hesitation. His confidence crumbles along with the rhythm of the fight.

You don't give him time to recover. Then the final bell confirms victory. Later, when there are others in the ring, Zeyran approaches you and quietly says:

"I expected everything... but not your techniques. And I saw how you blushed after that moment."