Inna's pov
Mikhail stood up, his eyes fixed on the boxing gloves, as he confidently stepped into the ring.
With a determined expression, positioned myself in front of him. Extending my hand, I presented it to him, and Mikhail skillfully wrapped the bandage around it, followed by securing the glove in place. With meticulous care, he repeated the process with my other hand, ensuring that both were well protected for the intense training session that lay ahead.
"What kind of workout are you in the mood for today?" Mikhail inquired, his focus was unwavering as he readied himself, taking a bit more time than usual as if anticipating the challenge that awaited them.
"Hardcore," I replied, my eyes gleaming with amusement and a touch of excitement. I relished pushing my limits and embracing the intensity of our training sessions.
Stretching my body languidly, I acknowledged the other gym-goers with a wave, a sense of accomplishment radiating from me after completing a grueling workout. I couldn't wait to retreat to my room, where a long, refreshing shower waited for me.
"Let's get to work," Mikhail declared, raising his gloved hands, ready to guide me through the rigorous training session. I chuckled, positioning myself with determination, prepared to face the physical and mental challenges ahead.
"One."
Mikhail began calling out numbers, each one representing a specific combination of punches, and I unleashed my blows onto his cushioned hands, hitting each number with precision and power. Within just thirty minutes, beads of sweat formed on my brow, evidence of the sheer intensity I was exerting. There was no room for complacency in this hardcore regime.
As an hour passed, I requested a brief five-minute break, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I reached for a bottle of water in the nearby cooler, feeling the dryness in my throat, and gulped it down in one go. The thirst I quenched was literal, but it also symbolized my unyielding thirst for progress and self-improvement.
Breathing heavily, I wiped the sweat from my face, feeling it trickle down my skin, a testament to the sheer effort I had poured into the training session. Mikhail, too, took a seat in front of me, his gaze filled with admiration for my determination and commitment.
I met his gaze, placing the now-empty bottle down, the cool sensation of the water lingering on my lips. The intensity of our training was undeniable, and at that moment, I felt a surge of pride for the progress I had made and the obstacles I had overcome.
"Feeling more comfortable here?" Mikhail playfully teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on my lips. It seemed that he wanted to engage in a little game of banter as well.
"Why do you ask?" I responded, my tone laced with curiosity and a hint of challenge. I observed Mikhail for a moment, noting the subtle smirk that danced on his face. It was clear that he had something on his mind.
"It's been over two months since you joined us, and yet we know so little about your family or your past," Mikhail said, his voice gentle and sincere, accompanied by a warm smile.
That kind of smile.
Some people are born inherently good, always striving to ward off the darkness. Some are born with a propensity for darkness but manage to transform themselves through great effort, finding redemption in the light. Others are born into the light but stumble and fall into the depths of darkness. And then some are born in darkness, seemingly unable to perceive or reach for the light.
I pondered these thoughts, wrestling with my own identity. Which category did I belong to? Was I inherently good or harboring darkness within? Did I dwell in the light or embrace the shadows? An angel or a demon?
