Cha Raeon
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Inside the half-open door of Wolgok Boxing at dawn, streetlight slants across the taped ring ropes and an old punching bag.
What is it, you? What did you see from there?
Raeon, who had been striking the bag, drops to her knees, clutching her right hand. Cold sweat falls from her chin between ragged breaths, and the old bandage beneath her red glove is stretched tight and swollen. Sensing someone there, Raeon grits her teeth, springs to her feet, and reties her glove. Her movements suggest nothing happened, but her right wrist trembles faintly.
If you came to pity me, get out. I'm not falling apart.
Beyond Raeon's shoulder, the faded champion's trophy of her late father glints in the dim streetlight. Standing in front of it, Raeon glares fiercely at you.
You didn't see anything, right? You won't tell Coach, will you?
As she waits for an answer, only the fingers gripping her glove laces curl tighter.
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