Y/N's journey from a glamorous life as a model and brand ambassador to the gritty world of underground boxing.
After losing her closest friend, Jennie, Y/N seeks refuge in a murder-prone area, where she confronts jealousy, betrayal, and her own past...
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Walking down a desolate alley, my steps carried the weight of despair. It led me to the same shore where I had shared a moment with Jungkook. Deep down, I knew nothing would change, especially not his feelings for me.
I sat by the shore, letting my feet dangle in the cool water, pouring out the exhaustion of my life. Jennie had been my only support, and she, too, had left, leaving me with a heavy heart. As I approached my home, I couldn't help but feel that in two days, it would become a disaster.
Even if they knew about my new title, their thoughts about me wouldn't change. Their hearts had turned as unfeeling as carbon. They cared neither for the title nor for the effort I had put in to earn it.
I glanced at the tattoos adorning my skin, reminders of my journey. Gathering my resolve, I knocked on the door of my house, my heart as cold as stone, my body equally unyielding. I was prepared to face my drunk parents, my father indulging in expensive food, and my mother draped in luxurious attire, a bottle of alcohol in hand.
Boxes of high-end goods filled the room, bearing the names of companies I had only ever dreamt of. My mother smirked as she settled into her plush couch. She spoke with arrogance while I stood with my back to them, noticing the bills on the boxes, each one marked with my bank account number.
The realization hit me like a sledgehammer; I had been deceived. I saw documents on the table, my resignation from the title of brand ambassador as a model, with my mother's signature in place of mine. I was left with a searing sense of betrayal.
"Look at all the money your title brought us! But I won't let you outshine my Yeri!" my mother boasted, parading the new goods and handing me the documents of my resigned position.
Fury and despair engulfed me. I rushed to my room, packed my belongings, and prepared to leave this place that had only made my life more miserable. Descending the stairs with my suitcase, I threw the documents of resignation in my parents' faces, shattering each and every expensive item they had purchased with my earnings. I scattered the food on the floor as my mother screamed, gripping me by the collar.
I didn't stop there. I grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer and slashed through her extravagant clothing, paid for with my money. With a final act of defiance, I rushed outside, locking them in as they screamed from within.
I knew I didn't have any other shelter, but living on the streets or in an orphanage would be far better than suffocating in that house.
Navigating through a perilous and dimly-lit alley, I couldn't help but notice the unsettling characters that populated this sketchy neighborhood. Men and women, dressed in unconventional and somewhat disheveled attire, loitered around, puffing on cigarettes. Fortunately, my choice of attire, a loose-fitting overcoat and all-black clothing, allowed me to blend in, avoiding any undue attention. To further cover my tracks, I decisively crushed my mobile's SIM card and discarded it.
My journey through this area revealed various establishments. I passed by a glitzy club adorned with vibrant, neon colors that pulsated with life. A nearby garage concealed in the shadows seemed to hide secrets of its own. A dimly-lit bar, where patrons huddled in corners, exchanging hushed conversations, exuded an air of mystery. A peculiar mart filled with an array of weapons displayed in menacing fashion sent shivers down my spine. An unassuming dormitory whispered tales of residents who remained enigmatic. Lastly, a brilliantly illuminated boxing training arena beckoned with its neon sign, drawing my attention like a moth to a flame.
As I ventured inside the arena, the ambiance was nothing short of electrifying. The piercing brightness of the lights created stark shadows, setting the scene for the rigorous activities within. The air reverberated with the sounds of burly men engaged in rigorous training and sparring. Their eyes fixated on me, casting judgmental glances that hinted at their presumptions, perhaps viewing me as a newcomer or even worse, as an object of desire.
Within the confines of the arena, the intense contrast between the blinding lights and the glistening, sweat-soaked bodies of the shirtless men was undeniable. The room echoed with the rhythmic thuds of fists making contact with punching bags and the guttural grunts of exertion. It was undoubtedly a male-dominated domain, a place where grit and camaraderie appeared to hold significant sway.
In the dimly-lit and gritty atmosphere of the boxing training arena, my determination led me forward. As I made my way through the crowded space, I accidentally collided with a rather imposing figure. Before I could react, he swiveled around, his clenched fist aimed to strike me. The impending blow, however, was intercepted by a sudden intervention.
A mysterious savior, a commanding presence, stepped in just in the nick of time, grasping the aggressive man's wrist before his punch could land. The atmosphere grew tense, charged with palpable tension.
"Master?" The aggressor, caught off guard, muttered with a mix of surprise and trepidation. He seemed to recognize the authority of the one who had intervened and promptly obeyed his command to leave.
"A prostitute should not be roaming here go back to your A1 section," the authoritative figure ordered, his tone unwavering, his back still turned to me. It was a directive laden with condescending assumptions, suggesting that I, too, might be here for the same purpose.
Summoning my resolve, I spoke firmly, defying the stereotype he seemed to associate with me. "I am here to learn boxing."
At that moment, the enigmatic figure pivoted, his gaze sweeping up and down my form, his expression a blend of curiosity and assessment. It was a pivotal moment, a standoff between my determination and his preconceived notions.
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I think it's quite of a tough literature to read Is it?
