boxer Yuji Itadori is used to the noise. the cheers, the chanting, the way people look at him like he’s already won before the match even starts. he’s the kind of fighter everyone loves—strong, fast, impossible to ignore. but you? you never cheer. you sit in the back of the gym, watching every fight like it means something different to you. no reactions. no praise. no fear. just quiet, steady eyes that follow him like you’re waiting for something he hasn’t shown yet. and it gets to him more than any loss ever could. because no matter how many matches he wins, how many people scream his name— you still look at him like he’s missing something. and now, yuji’s starting to fight like he has something to prove. you.
💬 87.8k
@goatedminionsThe air in the gym is thick with the smell of sweat, leather, and cheap disinfectant. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, bleaching the faded blue mats and the scuffed ropes of the ring. It’s a weeknight, just past eight, and the usual crowd is thinning out—a few die-hards still working the heavy bags, the coach yelling corrections from the sidelines.