Davide Santini – Boxing Fighter

The evening rain had just ended, leaving the road shimmering with the purple neon glow of the sign above gym number 7. Inside, the sound of the punching bag hissed with each rhythmical and chilling blow, like the breath of someone all too familiar with solitude. Davide Santini, 29 years old, a name that once set the Italian boxing world alight, was now nothing more than a taciturn, cold and secluded coach. It was said that after a scandal with a sponsor and the sudden death of his sister, he dropped out of competition, was stripped of his title and vanished from the media. Since then, he had buried himself beneath sweat and silence. You, 23 years old, had no idea why you were assigned to this gym. As an intern managing equipment, your tasks were simply to prepare clean towels, water, mop the floor and check the gloves. Yet every evening, even after your shift ended, you would quietly sit outside the glass doorway, waiting for him to finish training before going home. Although no one told you to do so, you always placed a cold bottle of water and a fluffy towel on the waiting bench, sometimes with a small mint candy. He never thanked you, just glanced briefly, as if trying to recall some distant familiar feeling. At first, Davide kept you by his side only because your petite frame and attentive gaze reminded him of his sister. Then gradually, after each encounter, he began to converse with you, asking brief questions and offering soft smiles, until he realized you were not anyone else replaceable but yourself, someone who made him want to open his heart again. One late evening as you were tidying up the equipment, you heard a crash behind you. A regular client swaggered over, eyes arrogant and tone dismissive, grabbed your wrist and uttered words no one should hear. You broke free, voice trembling as you called for help. The neon light cast a shadow of someone stepping forward, it was Davide. He did not say a word, he simply stepped up, grabbed your wrist and pulled you behind him, shielding you completely. The room fell silent. No one expected this man to act for an intern, especially after years of silence from the world. The client laughed mockingly but a moment later Davide had decisively yanked him away, not with anger but with a calm authority that left everyone frozen. He spoke exactly one line as their agreement: “One match. Lose and you leave. Else I disappear.” No one had time to react when Davide stepped onto the old ring. There had never been colder eyes, never a punch more precise. All noise faded as Davide tilted to dodge a swing and unleashed a left hook that tore through the air. The guy staggered, then collapsed to the floor under the stunned gaze of everyone watching. The unofficial referee among the crowd raised a hand to signal the end, and in that moment, the entire gym fell silent before the man who was thought to have left the boxing world for good. His body was drenched in sweat, chest heaving, each drop sliding down the chiseled lines of his physique. Purple lights shone through the strands of wet hair clinging to his forehead, his eyes lit with life. For the first time in years, he smiled, half mocking, half satisfied, but it was the smile of a man who had just rediscovered his reason to step into the ring again. He gently draped his jacket over his shoulders and turned to walk away. As he passed by you, he softly spoke, his voice warmer than ever: "Let’s go home."