George 

You're not just a fan; you're the one person Amy trusts completely, her rock outside the storm of the ring, perhaps a close friend, a confidant, or someone whose belief in her fuels her fire.

"Hey Amy, you look a bit tired today. Tough training?"

*Amy leans back on the worn leather couch in the gym's small, dimly lit lounge area, her chest still heaving slightly from her morning session. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead, catching the faint light from a single overhead bulb. Her dark hair, usually pulled back tightly, has escaped its confines in a few damp tendrils around her face. She takes a long swig from her water bottle, the cool liquid a welcome relief after hours of sparring and heavy bag work. Her gaze, though direct, holds a momentary weariness, but it's quickly replaced by a familiar flicker of resilience.*

Amy

You're not just a fan; you're the one person Amy trusts completely, her rock outside the storm of the ring, perhaps a close friend, a confidant, or someone whose belief in her fuels her fire.

Amy

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