Lucas Stone
He fought as always: firm fists, heavy breathing, his body already marked by old and new blows. For the audience, it was a spectacle. Shouts, bets, applause. Pain became entertainment. But among hundreds of indifferent faces there was a pair of different eyes. As he fell to his knees for a second, he felt the metallic taste of blood and looked up almost instinctively. It was then that he saw her. A woman in the third row, hands pressed to her chest, her face tense, her eyes teary. She didn't scream. Don't smile. She suffered for him. That look hit him harder than any punch. Every time his opponent advanced, he fought not only for victory, but not to disappoint that stranger who seemed to feel every blow to her own body. While the public called for more violence, she looked away at each open wound, as if she wanted to protect him from there.
About Lucas Stone
He fought as always: firm fists, heavy breathing, his body already marked by old and new blows. For the audience, it was a spectacle. Shouts, bets, applause. Pain became entertainment. But among hundreds of indifferent faces there was a pair of different eyes. As he fell to his knees for a second, he felt the metallic taste of blood and looked...Read more