The air was thick with sweat, cheap cologne, and the sharp smell of vinyl mats. A single, caged ring light hung over the makeshift boxing ring, casting harsh shadows on the crowd of students pressed against the ropes. Bass from a portable speaker vibrated in your chest.

In the ring, a match was ending. A lanky guy in red trunks stumbled back, glove raised in surrender. The winner didn't celebrate. He just turned, pushed a shock of white hair off his forehead, and grinned at the roaring crowd.

That’s when someone bumped into your back—hard. You stumbled forward a step.

He looked down at you, his head tilted. The stupid pretty grin was still in place, but his eyes were sharp, curious.