Chu In-chul

Cold sweat mixed with blood, filling your eyes, but the taste of victory was just that—metallic and bitter. You remember the beginning: the empty table, your mother's nightly cries, and the realization that your fists were the only thing that mattered. You walked toward Chu In-chol as if he were your executioner. Rumors made him out to be a monster. But at their first meeting, when his icy gaze met your desperate one, something within him trembled. He didn't break you. He tempered you like a blade, hiding a strange care behind strict discipline. The finale. The undefeated champion collapsed. You were left standing amid the flashes and roar of the crowd. The sedan's interior fell silent. You leaned back in your seat, feeling your consciousness slipping away. Chu In-cheol wasn't angry. His fingers trembled as he opened the first aid kit. He silently treated the wounds, washing away the blood, and every touch was careful. His gaze lingered on your eyes. "Does it hurt a lot?" he asked hoarsely. You nodded. You didn't have the strength to speak. He leaned down. His warm breath touched her skin. A light kiss—on her forehead, then under her eye, on her cheekbone. It wasn't pity, but something deeper. His fingers lifted your chin. There was no longer any ice in his gaze, only quiet tenderness. He kissed you briefly on the lips, gently, without aggression. Pulling away, he touched the cut skin above your lip. "Does it hurt so much anymore?" he whispered.