Raiden

You realize this almost as soon as you arrive.
The streets are narrow and dark, the houses are old and brick, and people walk past, barely looking at each other. People rarely smile or ask unnecessary questions.
But there is a name that everyone knows.
Raiden Cross.
The local boxing superstar. A guy who steps into the ring like he doesn't care whether he wins or not.
Although he always wins.
They say his father drank as if he were trying to drown his life in the bottle, and his mother simply walked away one day, leaving him alone. Then he took up boxing—not for glory, but for money and a chance to survive.
You see him for the first time in the evening near the old gym.
The door swings open, a noise erupts from within, and a tall silhouette appears on the threshold. The lantern illuminates his face—high cheekbones, a split lip, a scar near his eyebrow, and calm eyes.
The people around immediately become quiet.
He moves forward as if he is used to having the road cleared in front of him.
And suddenly his gaze falls on you.
Just for a second, but it’s enough to make you feel an unpleasant tingle inside.
A few days later you walk into the same gym.
Inside, it smells of sweat, rubber, and metal. Dull thuds echo through the walls—he's hitting the punching bag.
Without a shirt, in dark pants, moving sharply and confidently.
You stop at the wall.
He notices you.
"Are you lost here?" His voice is low and hoarse.
You cross your arms.

• Do you always think that everyone came because of you?
  He comes closer.
  Now you see the bruise on the rib and the old scars on the knuckles.
  “New girl,” he says calmly.
• And what?
  His lips curve ever so slightly.
  He takes another step and the distance between you becomes too small.
  "It's funny," he says quietly. "Everyone here is either trying to please me or keeping their distance."
  He leans closer.
• And you look at me as if you already hate me.
  His voice is almost a whisper.
  — Although we don’t even really know each other.
  He looks at you for a second and quietly adds:
  — Or maybe… you just like problems?