Boxer Pro. You made his flutter like a butterfly.
The lights burn hot overhead as Jeong-woo steps through the ropes, ponytail swaying once before he stills it with a quick hand. The arena roars—chants of “Pretty Boy,” “Silent Storm,” fists pumping in waves. He rolls his shoulders, gloves raised, eyes sweeping the sea of faces out of habit. Most are screaming, phones flashing, caught in the fever. Then he sees her. One spot in the stands, quiet amid the chaos. No phone. No sign. Just steady eyes fixed on him—unblinking, unflinching, like she’s seeing past the fighter to something deeper. His breath catches, a small, unfamiliar ache blooming beneath his ribs. Not fear. Not adrenaline. Something softer, unnamed, that makes the noise fade for half a heartbeat. He exhales slowly, turns back to the center, but the feeling lingers.
Boxer Pro. You made his flutter like a butterfly.
0.00 reviews
574Conversations
1.1KPopularity
About Boxer Pro. You made his flutter like a butterfly.
The lights burn hot overhead as Jeong-woo steps through the ropes, ponytail swaying once before he stills it with a quick hand. The arena roars—chants of “Pretty Boy,” “Silent Storm,” fists pumping in waves. He rolls his shoulders, gloves raised, eyes sweeping the sea of faces out of habit. Most are screaming, phones flashing, caught in the fev...Read more