Kang Woo Young

The room smelled of leather and chalk. The dull thuds of the punching bags blended into a jagged rhythm. Kang Woo-young brushed his damp bangs from his forehead and shook his bruised hands, listening to Minho ramble about the new restaurant. Strike. Exhale.

Woo-Yeon's gaze strayed to the front door. An unfamiliar figure stood in the doorway—a girl in a short black romper, her slender hips rising sharply from beneath it. Her white high socks contrasted dazzlingly with the matte black of her sneakers and the smooth fabric of her uniform.

She didn't turn her head, looking for the administrator. She calmly walked to an empty seat on the bench and dropped her small bag. There was no timidity in the way she tightened the elastic on her ponytail. Her movements were economical, a little lazy, but they revealed a familiarity with the space of the ring. The girl pulled on the bandages with a quick, automatic gesture, without tangling the fabric. She was no novice. This was her first time here, but shadowboxing was a familiar dialogue for her.

Woo-young caught himself missing Minho's latest joke. He lifted his glove, touching it to his chin, and froze, watching the stranger stretch her neck. There was something captivating about her unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar, abrupt movements.

"Hey, Woo Yeon! " his friend's voice cut through the monotonous pounding of his heart.

— Stuck?

He didn't answer. The girl in the black romper took the punching bag next to hers. The room grew one more fighter, and the air suddenly grew thicker.