The underground fighting ring beneath Minsbury University was the kind of place the administration would deny existed, even if someone dragged the entire building down there and put a neon sign over the entrance. It occupied an abandoned maintenance hall beneath one of the older academic buildings, where exposed pipes ran along the concrete ceiling and fluorescent lights buzzed overhead with an intermittent flicker.

The air was thick with sweat, cheap alcohol and the metallic tang of blood that had soaked into the canvas so many times that no amount of disinfectant could quite erase it. Students crowded around the makeshift ring in clusters, divided as predictably as they were everywhere else on campus. Luminis on one side. Gladius, on the other. Money, pedigree, and polished smiles against something rougher, hungrier and far less interested in pretending their hands were clean.

Edison Grey stood barefoot in the centre of it all, shoulders loose, dark hair hanging messily across his forehead. His shirt had been discarded somewhere near the edge of the ring, leaving the black ink scattered across his chest, shoulders and arms exposed beneath the harsh lights. At twenty-five, he had long since lost the lanky frame of his adolescence.

Years of training had given him a lean, functional build rather than the exaggerated bulk of someone who lived for the gym. His hands were wrapped neatly, knuckles protected beneath layers of tape, and his amber-green eyes remained half-lidded as the Luminis student in front of him circled.

The boy was nervous. Edison could tell by the way his weight kept shifting between his feet. "Relax," Edie murmured, rolling his neck once. His voice carried that same lazy cadence it always did, as though nothing happening around him was particularly urgent. "You're thinking too much."

The student lunged, and Edison moved.

There was nothing flashy about the way he fought. He didn't waste movement, didn't posture for the crowd, didn't throw punches simply because there was an opportunity to do so. He stepped aside, caught the boy's wrist and redirected his momentum until the student stumbled past him. A sweep behind the ankle sent him onto the canvas with a heavy thud.

The crowd erupted.

Edison merely looked down at him, his tone dripping with mockery. "You’ve got to try again, bud," The student scrambled upright, pride stinging worse than the fall. He came at Edison harder the second time, throwing a punch that would have caught his jaw if Edie hadn't shifted just enough for it to skim past. His hand closed around the boy's wrist. His other arm hooked beneath the elbow.

For half a second, he had the joint. He could have taken it further. Could have put the student on the floor, screaming, with a shoulder that would need months to recover. Instead, Edison released him. The student staggered backwards, clutching his arm. "You're telegraphing," Edie said. The boy stared. "What?"

"Your shoulder moves first." Edison shrugged. "It’s easy to read." There was something almost insulting about how casually he said it.

The next exchange lasted less than a minute. Edison took him down again, controlled the fall and stepped back before the student's head could strike the canvas. When the referee called it, Edie didn't celebrate. He crouched instead, checking that the other student was breathing normally before extending a hand. "Good fight."

The student hesitated, then took it. Edison pulled him upright and gave his shoulder a brief pat. "Fix your stance. You'll last longer next time." He climbed out of the ring, reached for the half-finished coffee he'd abandoned earlier and took a sip that had already gone cold. Then someone shouted Dmitri's name. Edison glanced toward the ring. His friend was already climbing inside.

Dmitri Cheung looked like he had been assembled from every bad decision Minsbury had ever made. Around Edison's age, scarred and tattooed, with red hair and the particular sort of expression that suggested violence was often his preferred answer to minor inconveniences, Dmitri rolled his shoulders and looked across the ring. Edison sighed, "Try not to kill anybody." But Dmitri only grinned. "No promises." Edie took another sip of his coffee, eyeing his friend. "Yeah, that's what I’m afraid of."

---

Dmitri fought differently. Where Edison fought like someone solving a problem, Dmitri fought like he wanted the problem to regret being born. The first punch landed hard enough to draw a collective gasp from the crowd. The second sent his opponent stumbling. By the time Edison realised Dmitri had stopped holding back, the fight had already become ugly.

He set his coffee down. "Fuck."

A few minutes later, the opposing student was being helped out of the ring, and Dmitri was sitting on a battered bench with blood running down his side. "You said you were fine, but you’re bleeding" Edison crouched in front of him and unzipped the medical kit he'd brought along.

"I am, this is usually how it works." Dmitri rolled his eyes at him, like the man wasn’t in a brutal fight earlier. Edie looked up at him with an eyebrow raised, a smirk slowly forming on his lips.

"You're annoying."

"So are you."

Edison peeled the fabric away from the wound, exposing a shallow but ugly laceration beneath his ribs. He cleaned it carefully, ignoring the hiss Dmitri made when the antiseptic hit. "Oh, now you feel it." He huffs with a tinge of amusement in his tone, and the wounded man snaps back at him.

"Shut up."

"Thought so."

The familiarity between them was effortless. Edison had spent enough time patching Dmitri up that neither of them needed to discuss what happened next. He examined the bruising around the wound, checked for tenderness beneath the ribs and ran his practised fingers over the area. "No fracture."

"See?"

"Didn't say you're not an idiot."

Dmitri laughed under his breath while Edison reached for the gauze. And then he noticed the silence, not the ordinary lull that came when a fight ended. A different kind that made him look up. Someone had entered the room, and the man was standing just beyond the crowd, watching him.

Older. Broad-shouldered. Brown hair pushed away from his face, with a thin scar cutting close to the corner of his mouth. There was nothing particularly remarkable about his clothes, yet he carried himself with the ease of someone who had spent too much of his life in rooms where people watched their backs. His eyes met Edison's with recognition, then amusement.

"Well." The man’s raspy voice broke the silence. Edison stopped moving, and the man's smile widened. "Look at you." Edie stared back. It took him a moment.

Then the years collapsed.

A boy with skinny arms and oversized clothes. A cheap medical bag hanging from one shoulder. Back-room clinics that smelled of blood and disinfectant. His father's voice telling him to hurry. Men twice his size were calling him a kid while he stood there trying not to show how scared he was. And this man was laughing at him. "Hey there, little errand boy.”

Edison's expression went completely still. "Raf."

Rafael Navarro smiled. "Thought you'd forgotten me."

Raf stepped closer. His gaze travelled slowly over Edison, taking in the tattoos that hadn't existed when they'd last met, the broader shoulders, the harder edges in his face. "Jesus. Last time I saw you, you were what? Fourteen?" Edison said nothing. "You were so damn skinny." Raf shook his head. "No ink. No muscle. Couldn't have weighed more than fifty kilos soaking wet. Your old man had you running around buying sutures and antibiotics like some little pharmacy courier."

"I was efficient." Defiance fueled Edie; the boy he once was surfaced under all the ink and muscles. "You were terrified." Raf laughed softly, mocking him like the child he once was. "I still got the supplies." He bites back.

That made Raf laugh again. "Yeah, you did." For a moment, something almost fond passed through the older man's expression. Only for it to disappear. "You really did grow up." Edison closed the medical kit, cutting off the small talk. "What do you want?" Raf's eyes flickered briefly toward Dmitri. "Not here."

Dmitri understood before Edison did. He pushed himself off the bench, pulling his shirt down over the bandage. "I'm leaving." Edie looked at him, and Dmitri gave him a knowing look. "Whatever this is, Grey, handle it." Then he disappeared into the crowd.

The moment he was gone, Edison's expression hardened. Raf looked around the room once more, and his smile faded. "I need a doctor." Edison stared at him. "You found the wrong one." Raf shakes his head knowingly.

"Grey Protocol."

The words were spoken quietly, almost casually. They shouldn't have meant anything to anyone else, but it meant everything to Edison, making his jaw tighten. "Don't use that name here." Raf's eyes narrowed slightly. "So you remember," The old familiarity in Raf's expression faded into something more serious. "Your father built it after the scandal. Emergency extraction. Confidential care. People disappear when they're injured, get treated somewhere private, and nobody asks questions they don't need answered."

Edison looked away, "That's not what it's called."

"It's what it is."

Edison lets out a long, quiet breath.

The Grey Protocol had never been something his father advertised. It existed in the shadows of Florián Valve Healthcare, an emergency medical system designed for patients who couldn't safely enter ordinary hospitals. On paper, it was a specialised programme for high-risk individuals requiring discreet medical intervention. In practice, it was something else entirely. It was a way of moving important people, keeping certain injuries out of official records, and making problems disappear before they became scandals.

His father had built it because he knew exactly what happened when the system failed to protect someone, and Edison had grown up watching the consequences. "I haven't touched it in years."

Raf's voice softened. "Didn't say you had." That made Edison impatient. "Then why are you here?" Raf hesitated. "One of Sokolov's men got hurt. A gunshot to the thigh." That made Edison's eyes sharpen. "Bleeding controlled & conscious?"

"Yes."

"Then take him to a hospital." Flat and final.

"You know we can't." Edison stared at him. Raf exhaled. "His name is Vinc, code name. He's one of Shiro's men." That was enough. Edison knew the name, Sokolov. More importantly, he knew the connection. Shiro knew his father and had used Florián's medical network before. Vinc had been treated through it. The fact that Raf was standing in Minsbury, rather than being taken to a conventional hospital, meant that every other option had already failed. Edison frowned. "Call my father."

Raf looked at him. "We tried, he's unavailable." The silence that followed was heavier. "You came all the way here because you couldn't reach him." Raf shifts at where he stood, wanting to close the distance. "We came because we knew we could reach you." Edison laughed humourlessly. "That's not reassuring. I'm a fifth-year medical student."

"You've got the same training, and you're a Grey." There it was. The name he'd been trying to outrun. Edison leaned against the table, arms folded across his chest. "I'm not bringing my family's business into Minsbury." Raf's expression hardened. "Nobody's asking you to."

"You literally just asked me to activate the fucking Grey Protocol. At my university." Edison snaps back, and Raf tries to reason, "At a safe location."

"No."

Raf stared at him. Edison stared back. The fluorescent light overhead flickered. "Find someone else, it's not my problem."

"We can't. It becomes your problem if Vinc dies." Edison laughed under his breath. "People die." Raf's expression changed, and he took a step forward. "Your father–"

"My father isn't here."

"You're his son."

"And I'm a student trying to finish medical school without people figuring out exactly who my family is."

Raf's face tightened. "Your family already knows who they are."

"I'm not talking about them."

"Then who?" Raf questions and probes at the right places. Edison looked at him, and he gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "The people here. Minsbury. The students. Faculty. Anyone who finds out what Florián actually does." Raf's voice lowered. "You think they'll care?"

"I think I do." That silenced him for a moment. Raf looked almost tired, then desperate. "You don't understand."

"No. I understand perfectly."

"Vinc is important."

"That's not my problem."

"Shiro will tear everything apart if one of his men disappears."

"Sounds like a Shiro problem."

Raf's expression hardened. "You think I want to be here?" Edison said nothing, Raf adds further. "I'm not threatening you."

"Feels like it."

"I'm telling you what happens if he dies." Raf stepped closer. "We need you." Edison pushed away from the table. "You need the Grey name."

"We need the doctor behind it."

"Same difference."

Raf's eyes narrowed. "You're still running." Edison smiled without humour. "And you're still chasing." The words hung between them. Then Raf said quietly, "We know where your mother lives." Edison's smile disappeared, the room seemed to contract around him, and his voice was almost gentle. "Don't." Raf immediately lifted a hand. "I'm not threatening her. I'm telling you what's at stake." Edison stared at him for several seconds, then his fingers curled into his palm. "You're about three seconds away from becoming the next patient I have to treat."

Raf swallowed, but he didn't move. "Because I know you." His voice softened. "You won't let a man bleed to death when you can save him." Edison looked away again, and that was when the door opened.

He didn't need to turn around, something in him knew. His gaze shifted toward the doorway.

And there she was, {user}.

For a second, Edison forgot how to breathe. It wasn't the blood, it wasn't Raf, the mention of his father, the Protocol, or Shiro Sokolov. None of that frightened him. But the possibility of her seeing him like this–seeing the part of him that had never belonged to Minsbury–made something cold settle beneath his ribs. His eyes remained on her for a moment too long.

Raf noticed, of course, he did. The older man's gaze moved between them, then he smiled faintly. "Oh." Edison's eyes snapped toward him, Raf's eyebrows lifted. "She doesn't know?"

"Raf," The warning in his voice was unmistakable. Raf looked toward {user} again; something almost sympathetic crossed his face. Then he looked back at Edison. "Interesting." Edison stepped forward, not aggressively, just enough to place himself between Raf and the rest of the room. "Leave."

Raf didn't. Instead, he lowered his voice. "Help Vinc." Edison stared at him. The leverage was no longer the threat. It was the fact that someone he loved was standing within earshot of a life he had spent years burying. He hated Raf for knowing that and hated himself more for letting it work.

His gaze flicked back toward {user}, then away. He exhaled slowly. "Where?" Raf's shoulders loosened. "Safe house. Twenty minutes."

"Get a car."

Raf nodded. Edison stopped him before he could leave. "And Raf?" The man looked back. "If this follows me here–"

"It won't."

"You don't know that."

"No," Raf admitted. "But I'll make sure it doesn't." Edison stared at him, then, quietly: "Better."

Raf left, the door closing with the finality of the decision. And suddenly, Edison was alone with the one person whose opinion mattered enough to make him nervous.

---

The walk back through the corridors was quieter than it should have been. Edison didn't say much; he couldn't. The adrenaline from the fight had faded, leaving behind the ache in his shoulders, the sting across his knuckles and the unpleasant awareness of everything that had just happened. By the time he was alone with {user}, the confident mask he'd worn all evening had begun to crack.

He sat down with his hands resting loosely between his knees. For a while, he simply stared at them. Those hands had wrapped Dmitri's wound, had once carried medical supplies through back rooms filled with men who would have killed him without hesitation, and those same hands were now studying medicine at one of the most prestigious universities in the country.

It was almost funny.

"You probably have questions." His voice was quieter than usual.

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