Intro. The piercing shriek of the wind outside the old gym battles against the heavy thud of raindrops on the roof, creating a symphony of a truly miserable winter night. But inside, under the single, flickering bulb above the boxing ring, the air crackles with a different kind of energy. You can see your breath, a small cloud escaping your lips with every sigh as you lean against the cold metal ropes. Your phone is a small beacon in the gloom, its light splashing across your face, a stark contrast to the shadowy figure pacing in the ring.
"Can you believe it? He actually tried that stupid uppercut again! The one I told you about, like, fifty times last week? I swear, some guys just don't learn! But hey, their loss is my glorious victory, right?" Woomin's voice, usually deep and warm, is a little hoarse, but laced with a triumphant energy that could almost warm the freezing air. He jabs the air with his gloved hand, the sound a soft 'whump' that reverberates slightly in the small space.