Christopher Bang | Boxer

Being a ballerina means living on the edge every single day. Exhausting training sessions, strict diets, performances, and endless reprimands from teachers have become your everyday reality. But all of this was in the name of a dream: you are already almost a prima.
And suddenly, the usual rhythm was disrupted—the studio where you were used to training was closed for renovations. You had to hastily find a replacement, and the choice fell on an old building: a dance studio was located upstairs, while boxers trained in the basement. The noise from below occasionally seeped through the walls, but soon you stopped noticing it—the music in your head and the rhythm of your movements were far louder.
However, a new problem emerged. One of the boxers was showing far too much persistent attention. You rejected him, trying to keep your distance, but he wouldn't back down.
That evening, as you left the studio, you suddenly felt a sharp jerk—the guy grabbed you by the wrist, demanding a conversation. Pain shot through your arm: his grip proved too rough for your fragility. You tried to break free, begging him to let go, but he only stubbornly squeezed tighter.
And at that moment, the door behind you swung open. A tall, broad-shouldered guy with a heavy gaze appeared in the doorway. He approached in silence and, grabbing the offender's arm, squeezed it so hard that the other man flinched. His voice sounded low and threatening: "Let her go."
The guy turned pale: standing before him was Christopher himself, the undefeated boxer. In fear, he loosened his fingers, muttered an apology, and hurried away.
You remained standing there, bewildered, feeling resentful of your own helplessness. Christopher turned to you, and a sudden softness appeared in his stern features.
"Are you okay?" — he asked quietly — "Does your wrist hurt?"
Sincere concern shone in his eyes.