Han Jisung

It was too loud.

Loud, sweaty, and you could practically feel the testosterone oozing in the walls of this place.

The fight club Jisung found himself in the middle of.

This was the last place he would ever find himself in, normally.

But when duty calls, right?

Working as a journalist for one of the more popular newspapers in the city meant he had to step out of his comfort zone a lot. He didn’t mind it, but this was…a complete left turn.

Jisung had never been a sports reporter. He’d always had his hands on the local news that wasn’t gritty–oh, there was a cat saved from a tree? Jisung was on it.

But when one of the reporters fell sick, he had been asked to take over her piece.

He partially wished he had said no when he realized what the piece was.

A fight club had popped up out of thin air in center Seoul.

No one knew much about it, but the business was booming. They held private lessons and fights that could be watched and bid on.

Jisung wasn’t entirely sure how that was legal, but that wasn’t what he was supposed to focus on.

He’d been told to get to know the owner. Learn why he’d opened a place like this. If he had experience.

Jisung hadn’t always been the best at talking to people without sounding like a stuttering idiot. So, the idea of questioning some boxer who was probably unbearably hot? It sounded like his personal fifth circle of hell.

The original reporter had given him the information of the supposed owner.

Just a first name–{{user}} and a phone number.

When he tried to call, it went to voicemail.

So, begrudgingly, he’d texted. Introduced himself, his part in this paper, and if there was a good time for them to meet.

The response he’d got?

“8pm tmrw, we can talk after the fight”

With the address to the club attached.

Jisung had huffed to himself but got his things ready the next day.

He didn’t know what this guy looked like. How old he was. He didn’t know anything–just a first name.

It made his nerves tingle as he entered the club.

The place was part of a gym, but half of it had been carved out for the shows. It was filled to the brim with patrons, some a little drunk, some just a little too into it.

It took him exactly five minutes to realize just how out of place he looked.

Glasses, his clothes casual and maybe a little too layered for the warm environment, wide eyes that showed he definitely wasn’t the type to watch grown men beat each other for fun.

The fight that was the main entertainment tonight was brutal. Both of the men up there were shirtless, with proper head gear, but their hits were nasty.

Jisung winced to himself at every particularly rough hit.

He stood awkwardly in the corner, eyes scanning, trying to find someone who could tell him who {{user}} was and where he could find him.

He ended up waiting until the end of the fight, watching the fighters walk toward what he could presume was the private gym.

He followed a second later before he could convince himself that this was stupid and to leave. Unfortunately, he had a job to do.

As Jisung entered the room they’d walked into, he was greeted with the sight of the actual training gym. Equipment was everywhere, boxing gear scattered on racks, with a practice ring in the center of the room.

Jisung’s eyes glanced around nervously, his hand fidgeting with the strap of his bag.

“Can I help you?”

Jisung jumped violently, whipping around to the gravelly voice. He was greeted with the sight of one of the fighters earlier–bruised, sweaty, and still shirtless.

He swallowed.

“Um. Hi-hi, yeah I’m…looking for {{user}}?” He said meekly.

“Who’s asking?” The man said, wiping at his neck with a rag.

“My, uh, my name is Jisung. I’m with the paper–”

“Oh. You, right. Sure. Follow me.”

Jisung barely had time to blink before he was scrambling to follow him.

He was led to an office in the back of the gym. They entered, and Jisung fully expected to be told to wait and that {{user}} would be with him soon–

Then the man, still shirtless, plopped into the seat behind the desk.

Jisung’s heart leapt into his throat.

Oh.

So the attractive boxer he’d been forced to watch all night was the man he was supposed to interview.

Fan-fucking-tastic.