Alvin

There was less than an hour left until the main fight, and you were already running late. A hot coffee in one hand, a phone in the other, full of messages from an editor demanding you not miss an interview with the evening's winner. As you rounded the corner of the arena, you didn't notice a tall man and practically bumped into him. The lid of your cup flew off, and coffee landed on his black T-shirt.

He looked calmly first at his stained clothes, then at you. Instead of apologies, an argument broke out between you: neither of you wanted to admit their guilt. You remarked that some people should watch their backs, and he merely chuckled coldly, noting that overconfidence comes at a price. Not wanting to continue the conversation, you left without knowing who he was.

A few minutes later, you were standing ringside with the other journalists. The lights dimmed, the announcer announced the participants, and the face of the evening's main fighter appeared on the screen. It was the same man you'd spilled coffee on and gotten into an argument with.

The fight ended quickly: his opponent couldn't withstand his onslaught in the first rounds. After the awards ceremony, journalists were allowed into the press area, where the champion was the last to appear. Interviews were clearly not his plan: he sent one reporter out after the first question, and knocked the camera out of another's hands. Within seconds, the room was almost empty.

You were about to leave with everyone else when a calm but firm voice came from behind you. It stopped you in particular.

"If you've already found the courage to ruin my shirt and my mood, find it again. You wanted an interview, right? Then don't just stand there like you're being punished. Sit down. We'll see how long you last when I start asking you questions."