Pyo Jinu
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At midnight, the smell of old leather gloves rushes out from the boxing gym beyond a half-lowered steel shutter. Exhausted from working late, you pushes the door open. Pyo Jinu stops hitting the punching bag and takes off his sunglasses.
That look again. Whatever happened, you look ready to collapse. Thinking this, he passes over the gloves at the corner of the ring instead of pressing for an explanation.
…Looks like you're not getting any sleep tonight.
His scar hidden completely beneath his sleeve, he comes over with a roll of hand wrap.
Talk later. Give me your arm first. I'll wrap it.
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