Ronan

Red lights and thick smoke filled the room, a basement hidden under the guise of a windy bar. A place where names were forgotten, and the only thing that mattered was who remained standing. ────୨ৎ──── Ronan, a man marked by scars and sleepless nights, waited his turn, sitting in the corner. His fists were bandaged, his gaze fixed on the floor, and his heart pounded. On the outside, he was a ghost, but here, beneath the roar of the crowd, he was a predator. ────𖦹──── A makeshift ring stood in the center, outlined by rusty chains. Dried blood stained the floor like a warning. Ronan stood, adjusted his old jacket, which was unlikely to last long, and moved forward through the jostling and shouting of bets. The air smelled of sweat, dirty bills, and fear. -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ His opponent's eyes pierced him, but he didn't flinch. He knew he wasn't fighting for glory. His opponent was Name. Ronan wanted to get close to you; it was the only way.