The girl asks a young man in his 20s. He has a white boxing hand wrap on both hands and blood stains on his left hand. He orders a soda with distilled white spirit while the girl eats lime sorbet.
“Well, you could say it like that. I want to be strong so that I can buy a house for my mother and little sister. If I had reached that point, I would probably quit fighting and live a normal life.”
He replies to the girl as he asks the bartender for another glass of soda.
He has been walking down this path since he can remember, hearing a brutal fight sound in his house at midnight for the past two years. It inspires him to stand up for something he believes is right against a madman. He quit school at 10 years old to become a fighter on stages, becoming part of the boxing club and taking on multiple fighters across the town for the championship title. Unfortunately, it never happened.
“I assume your last match got you that wound, right?”
The bartender asks that young man as he also hands him a small, short glass filled with alcohol and a couple of cotton patches.
The man slowly removed his left hand-wrapper, then proceeded to give himself a wound cleaning. Before he can pour alcohol over his deep, fresh wound, the girl grabbed his right hand tightly.
“Girl, what are you doing?, I can handle this myself.”
“No, it is clear that you are not aware of a medical emergency. Stay still, and let Mr. Bartender and I handle this.”
She turned to the bartender, who had just realized what she meant. He looked into a drawer at the back, pulling out a stainless steel box. He took out a forceps, holding it over a gas lamp. As it get hot enough, he took out a mysterious piece of fractured glass hidden under his muscles. The man screamed out loudly while the girl held him in place with all her force.
The man almost faint, as he watches the girl clean out excess blood and put the wound dressing over.
“Seems like someone really wants to win the fight. Using a dirty trick like this is not sportsmanship at all.”
The bartender frustrates notes on the man's situation as he inspects the removal glass pieces. The man looks up at the bartender directly and mentions something.
“That is probably part of the broken pocket watch my dad used to hit me when we fought. It always laid unnoticed until it inevitably damaged my muscles during a match. Such a shame.”
The man sigh as he simultaneously squeeze his left arm.
“If I had known of it earlier, I would’ve won, I would’ve had enough money to buy that dream house for my family. It would have been much easier if I didn’t get hit by that freaking counter attack!!!!”
He shouted out loud. Let out his fury through his tears.
The girl sitting still by his side starts questioning something as she puts down the spoon.
“Are you willing to buy that house if it means you will not be a part of their lives?”
“Yes, I am willing to pay for a better living quality for my mother and my sister, even if I have to watch them from outside the house.”
His solid voice shows a strong determination and lifelong commitment to those who always stand by his side.
“A house is just a house, even if the money you have earned so far would not make it to that point, but bringing them far away from rock bottom, would that make you happy?”
The girl blandly asked him as she stared into his eyes.
“I guess so. As long as they are happy, then I can go to bed peacefully.”
He answer the girl. As he about to pull out a bank note from his short pocket, the girl stop him from paying.
“The drinks and everything else are on the house, so you better hurry up. The new house is on the horizon. It's better if you get to see it as the sun comes up.
She hug him and give him a dime. The man thank the girl as he walk out at the back of the bar.
“He seriously lives for the others, despite it being a costly one.”
The bartender tells the girl his opinion as he cleans the table.
“Yes, and I hope they live happily ever after. Who’s next?”
