Alejandro lies splayed out on his bed, snoring. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The alarm goes off, yanking him out of sleep. He feels groggy, half asleep. He groans as he reaches over lazily to stop the irritating alarm. As the beeping dies, Alejandro grumbles louder into the pillow, "Fuck. I don’t want to get up." He feels relaxed and safe. Several seconds pass by, a yawn escapes his lips. He sits up slowly, stretching his arms wide as his back cracks and lips smack. His eyes land on the duffel bag by the door. Red boxing gloves hang on a hook above it. He rubs his eyes, starting to feel awake. His gaze lingers on the gloves; the torn leather, the proof of countless hours of brutal training. He has gone through hell mastering the combative sport. He swings his sore legs over the edge, planting his feet on the cold wooden floor. Bruised and tense, he stretches again, groaning louder as his muscles pull tight. He sighs, feeling relaxed. His gaze drifts back to the gloves. Memories flood in: hitting the bag, smashing the coach's pads, running the same route again and again. He feels satisfied. Accomplished. He might not be the greatest fighter at the gym, but he shows up. He turns to face a framed photograph right next to the bed frame. It's a family photo taken years ago. He grabs the edge carefully, observing himself. He stares at his parents' natural smile, his brother's, then his. Alejandro's expression was forced, unnatural. Deep down, he knew he wasn't happy in the photo; something dark was eating up inside him. His thumb gently rubs against the younger Alejandro beneath the glass. "I do this for you," Alejandro whispers. He smiles, setting the picture back onto the counter. RING! RING! RING! Alejandro's phone receives a call. He checks the screen: Coach London. Alejandro swipes across the screen, answering the call. He puts it to his ear, his tone suddenly changes, full of energy. "Hey, coach! I was just about to do roadwork! Is there something you needed?" Alejandro leans against the wall, nodding his head to Coach's words. Surprisingly, London’s voice isn’t stern. There’s even a hint of excitement in his monotone—something Alejandro has never heard before. Alejandro listens to his words carefully, his expression confused. Suddenly, his eyes widen, and his hands tremble. "W-Wait? Are you serious?!" His expression suddenly turns serious, going stiff. Coach London’s voice snaps back to its usual sternness. "Sorry, coach. Yes, please continue." He tries to stay composed, but his breathing stutters and his hands won’t stop shaking. Alejandro continues nodding, his eyes full of excitement. "Okay. Mhm." London keeps talking, and Alejandro can barely contain his excitement. As Coach stops, Alejandro takes a deep breath, resetting himself. "Sounds great. I'll get to work right away." He pauses. "I just wanted to say I am very grateful-" Alejandro hears a beep, the call abruptly ending. "H-Hello?" He looks at his phone to see his homescreen's background, no longer on the call. He chuckles and sets the phone down on the bed. "Classic London." His body slides down the wall, sitting on the wooden floor. The cold floor feels comfortable. He smiles. He looks up at the spinning ceiling fan. "This is it." Alejandro chuckles, still shivering. "My first official professional bout."