In Max's mind, Ryan could be described in just a few words: MMA fighter, high school student, and millionaire.
These aspects were what led them to become friends after Max fought Ryan in one of his many illegal tournaments and won.
"Ryan, your friend is here."
Ryan, who was busy training his muscles, turned to see a guy his height, with his hair tied back in a ponytail, walking toward him.
Behind Max, who carried an unmistakable air of intimidation, Devon curiously observed the place. It seemed to be a private gym where wealthy individuals could train undisturbed.
"Do you want to fight?" Ryan grinned as he put down what he was doing and walked toward Max with a challenging demeanor.
"If you want to be the best, you have to take down the best. And you're not quite there yet," Max said, locking eyes with Ryan, who stood just a few inches away from him.
Devon stood off to the side, frozen in thought: Aren't they supposed to be friends?
Ryan's friends approached, their serious expressions making Devon feel intimidated. But when she glanced at Max's calm face, completely devoid of fear, she inexplicably felt reassured.
"Those were my exact words," Ryan said, and after a few seconds of silence, he burst into laughter and shook Max's hand. Max also smiled afterward.
The others dispersed, grinning, leaving the duo to talk.
"You're back, brother. When will you start coming to the club again?" Ryan asked, only now noticing Devon.
Max smirked and replied, "Maybe next time. But I have a question—are you still a bastard?"
"I have to be. If I stopped, I wouldn't know how to have fun," Ryan said as he walked to a cooler, pulled out some drinks—some energy drinks, others alcoholic—and only then noticed Devon, who was eyeing a punching bag.
Standing nearby, Max finally reacted and introduced her: "Oh, she's Devon, my friend."
"Your friend?" Ryan seemed curious.
"Yeah. Don't think of her as just any girl—she's got a personality no one else has."
Devon waved from a distance and then started wandering around the gym.
"Hey, man, if she's your girlfriend, you can just tell me," Ryan teased, moving closer to Max to coax out his secrets.
But Max simply grabbed a water bottle from him, sat on a bench, and asked, "Are there any new fighters?"
"There are guys from every damn country. Immigration gives us the chance to break faces from all over the world," Ryan said, sitting across from Max. Then he added, "We're organizing a party."
"Invited guests?" Max knew this party was actually an MMA tournament, usually featuring fighters from various places.
Ryan glanced around and said, "Canadians. A lot of good sponsors will be scouting for talent."
"I'm not fighting."
"Why not?" Devon, who had been listening to their conversation, asked.
Ryan, surprised to hear her speak, joined in, "Yeah, why not?"
"I have nothing to prove," Max replied. He wouldn't fight without a reason.
"Listen to me; think about it. And if you still don't want to fight, just come to the party with your girlfriend and enjoy the matches," Ryan said. Without waiting for a response, he left to prepare for a sparring session.
Devon looked at Max and said, "I can see you like to fight. Want some advice? Don't stay away from the things that make you feel alive."
"I'll think about it. For now, let's get out of here," Max replied, feeling it had been a bad idea to visit his friend Ryan.