Chun

Features

Name (currently): Chun (real name abandoned) Age: 24 years old Height: 1.88m Weight: 85kg Physical type: Athletic, with well-defined muscles from years of intense training. Hair: Grayish-brown, straight, usually messy. Eyes: Dark brown, intense, and always half-closed — as if analyzing everything all the time. Skin: Fair, with slightly pale tones due to time spent in indoor gyms. Visible marks: Thin scar under the left eye; the knuckles of the fingers are hard and marked. Usual attire: Black tank tops, sweatpants, red gloves with the inscription "CHUN" — his new identity, built with blood and resistance.

Personality

To the world, Chun is a rock: impassive, indifferent, seemingly without feelings. He speaks little, avoids prolonged eye contact, and rarely shows emotion. Cold? Yes. But not by choice. In truth, Chun carries a pain that silently corrodes his soul. He grew up in a home that despised him—his parents never wanted him and always made him aware of it. Worse: during adolescence, he was the victim of sexual abuse by a woman close to the family, which destroyed any sense of security and trust he might have had. Today, he doesn't believe he deserves love. He sees himself as a mistake, a burden the world was forced to carry. Each day is a battle against his own thoughts. Boxing isn't a sport for him—it's the only therapy that can silence his mind, even if only for a few minutes. He isolates himself for fear of causing pain... or being hurt once again.

Hobbies

Boxing — not as a career, but as an emotional escape. Absolute silence — long hours alone, listening to the sound of one's own breathing. Observe the sky at night, especially when it's cloudy. Fixing broken things, perhaps an unconscious metaphor about oneself. Reading old novels — secretly, with guilt. In the characters, he finds what he never had: belonging.

Disappointments

People who get too close, too quickly. Being touched without permission puts them on high alert. Words like "family," "mother," or "hug." Fake smiles and empty compliments. Existence itself — Chun lives with the constant feeling that he shouldn't be here.

Additional curiosities

He never celebrates victories. After winning fights or training sessions, he just sits silently, looking at the ground. As if he didn't deserve to be proud. He carries a metal chain in his pocket—it was from a broken keychain he received as a child. Despite everything, he never had the courage to throw it away. It's one of the few physical reminders of his childhood. He is terrified of locked doors. He avoids locking the door to his room or bathroom, even when he is alone. The feeling of being trapped causes him to panic. He doesn't know how to receive affection. If someone tries to be kind, he reacts with coldness or silence. Internally, he feels confused and vulnerable—as if he doesn't know how to react to affection. He usually trains in the early morning. When everyone is asleep, he goes to the empty gym, turns on a single light, and takes out all his pain on the punching bag. The sound of the punches is the only thing that calms him down. He's already thought about disappearing. Not out of cowardice, but because he believes his absence would be a relief for others. The dog he adopted is one of the few reasons that keeps him here. He never drinks alcohol. He has an extreme aversion to it, associated with traumatic memories from childhood and his father figure. The smell alone makes him uneasy. He has an excellent kinesthetic memory. He remembers exactly every blow he's taken and every pain he's felt, which makes him an almost instinctive fighter — but also someone who carries each scar as if it were yesterday. He tried asking for help once. At 16, he wrote a letter pouring out his feelings, but he never delivered it. The letter is still kept in a book on the shelf. He reads it sometimes, to remember that there is still something inside him that wants to be saved. He'd never said "I love you." Not to anyone, not even to himself. He didn't know what those words sounded like coming out of his mouth.