Mind of Mine || ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

chapter 5

The sound of hits being exchanged was the only thing heard in the training room. There was a wall covered with mirrors, where stands with weights were placed. In front of the mirror were several members lifting, too caught up in their own training.

On one side there were treadmills, while on the other there were machines to lift. However, the main attraction in the room was the ring that was placed towards the center back.

The rubber floor of the ring felt comfortable, your soles were accustomed to the feeling of the canvas. In a boxing ring, the contestants usually had gloves on, but not here. Bandages were wrapped around your wrists and knuckles, adding extra padding.

Your opponent didn't even bother with any type of support, he stood on the other end of the ring, his fists up as he stared at you. More like he stared at your mask.

Chisaki made sure to rotate all of your opponents, never allowing you to fight the same person twice. It was meant to keep you on your toes, to let you adapt to any type of fighting style and opponent.

The man in front of you was at least double your size, which meant he could easily overpower you with strength.

As soon as the bell rung, indicating the start of the match, he rushed forward, eager to land the first punch on you.

Too slow

The man had no type of speed or strategy. Too focused on power and strength. One step, two step, duck, and repeat. The hits would've landed if you were any slower. It was almost comical, like a cat chasing a mouse around, driven by desire to kill.

Your scoff angered him, as he lunged forward, his hit aimed straight for your face. His right arm was locked straight, using this to your advantage, you leaned back on your left foot as you raised your right foot to kick him in the chest. The kick to the chest knocked the little bit of air he had in his lungs, causing him to stumble back as he tried to catch some air.

On instinct, you switched from defense to offense. As he stumbled away, it was your turn to lunge forward, landing continuous light blows to any open area. A jab to his shoulder, a hit to his right cheek, another punch to his left temple. All he could do is raise his fists up and try to cover his face, leaving his stomach wide open.

Your own muscles didn't compare to his, which meant you had to use the bony areas on your body to land the most damage. Getting closer, you ducked an oncoming left punch before springing up and turning your back towards him. In less than a second, you pulled your elbow back, making sure it hit his left eye.

Let's just say your elbows were rather bony.

He let out a pained groan, his hands instinctively reaching towards his swelling eye. Using your knee, you slammed it into his stomach, causing him to curl down. His new position allowed you switch knees and use the other to slam it up towards his face, a satisfying crack reaching your ears.

The man put his hands up in surrender, signifying the end of the match. He wobbled out the ring, holding his now broken nose.

You knuckles were doing pretty good, they weren't swollen yet which you considered a win. After years of training, the skin around your knuckles were littered with scabs and scars from the many times the skin had split open from hitting too hard often.

Which is why the bandages were ideal, they protected the healing marks from reopening, and kept nosey gazes away from your skin. It was no secret that your body was covered in scars.

Years of imprisonments led to nonstop abuse, the proof coating your body. The skin was tainted with marks, each scar ranging in size.