Chapter 40: Reunion at the Boxing Gym: "Isn't it enough that it feels good in bed?"

Inside the law firm, Sebastian sat behind a wide desk, his slender fingers rapidly flipping through case files. The crisp rustle of paper was exceptionally sharp in the quiet office.

Lucian might be the son of his father's old friend, but since the boy dared to act this way, Sebastian saw no reason to show any more mercy.

Thud—

A cup of steaming Americano was carefully placed on the desk.

"Counselor, your coffee."

Assistant Joe set the cup down with trepidation. Having been an assistant for nearly ten years, he knew well that his boss's mood index had plummeted to sub-zero recently. The atmospheric pressure in the office was low enough to suffocate a person.

Sebastian didn't even look up; he reached directly for the cup, hoping the bitterness of the coffee would suppress the inexplicable irritation in his heart.

Just as his fingertips touched the side of the cup—

"Hiss—!"

The scalding temperature made him jerk his hand back. The suppressed fire in his heart instantly found an outlet.

His brow furrowed tightly as he glared at Joe, his tone dripping with impatience:

"Are you trying to scald me to death? Bringing it over right after it’s brewed—do you have no common sense at all?"

Joe’s face turned white instantly. He stood there flustered, stammering an apology: "S-sorry, Counselor! I... I’ll take it back and add ice right now!"

Seeing Joe looking like he was about to cry from fear, Sebastian waved him off irritably. The nameless fire in his heart didn't subside after the outburst; instead, it turned into a sliver of self-loathing... loathing the version of himself that took his anger out on others indiscriminately.

"Forget it."

Sebastian took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the hostility in his gaze had lessened, though his tone remained stiff. "Leave it there. Go back to work."

Joe felt as if he had been granted a divine pardon and scrambled out of the office.

Sebastian looked at the still-steaming cup of coffee but had lost all desire to drink it. He rubbed his aching temples, and that hollow space in his heart began to throb with a faint ache again.

Ever since that bastard moved out, the entire world seemed to have become suffocatingly quiet.

At dusk, as the city lights began to flicker on.

Sebastian declined his partner’s invitation for dinner and drove to his usual private gym. He needed intense exercise to vent, needed physical exhaustion to numb the mental emptiness.

The gym was filled with the dull thud of boxing gloves hitting sandbags and heavy, labored breathing.

Sebastian changed into black athletic gear. Just as he was about to grab his gloves, a familiar figure flashed into his field of vision like a bolt of lightning.

Lucian.

The bastard was shirtless, wearing only athletic shorts. His muscle lines were fluid and tight, gleaming with a healthy bronze luster under the lights.

Sebastian had always considered himself a "iron-straight" man before meeting this brat. Forget being topped—even a standard social cheek-kiss used to disgust him. But now, it felt as though some hidden meridian had been blasted open.

Lucian was venting his rage on a sandbag. Every punch carried the whistle of wind; clearly, he was also full of suppressed fire.

Almost simultaneously, Lucian sensed the gaze.

He snapped his head around, sweat sliding down his jawline and dripping into the hollow of his collarbone.

Their eyes met. The air seemed to solidify for an instant before erupting into crackling sparks.

Sebastian stared at him, his gaze unfriendly.

Strong limbs, simple mind.

He truly wanted to give this person a thorough thrashing.

Standing not far away, Chen, who was currently drinking water, keenly sensed the bizarre magnetic field. His eyes lit up as his soul for gossip burned bright. He quietly hugged his water bottle and crept over to a bench in the corner, assuming the posture of a bystander ready for a show.

"Yo."

Lucian spoke first.

He wiped the sweat from his face, a mocking smirk curling his lips. His eyes swept shamelessly over Sebastian, finally landing on his waist and abdomen.

No back brace.

"What, is your back better? Doesn't hurt anymore?"

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. He showed none of the embarrassment of having a sore spot poked; instead, he elegantly unbuttoned the top two buttons of his athletic jacket, revealing his lean, powerful upper body.

He took his time putting on his gloves. "Thanks to you, the house is much quieter without a dog that only knows how to bite. It’s perfect for recovery."

"You!"

Lucian was fuming, his chest heaving violently. He hated Sebastian’s mouth most—the man looked like a refined gentleman, yet the things he said could provoke someone to death.

"Fine. You're tough."

Lucian gritted his teeth and stopped paying attention to Sebastian. He turned back to the sandbag and unleashed a fierce assault. His fists slammed into the bag until it swung wildly, as if it were Sebastian's face.

Sebastian let out a cold laugh and stood before the adjacent sandbag. His back was mostly healed, and he hadn't exercised in a long time; clearly, he was itching for it.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The dull sounds of impact rose and fell.

As Sebastian struck, he used his peripheral vision to watch the huffing Lucian next to him, his tongue showing no mercy: "Is this the result of your practice at school?"

Lucian ignored him.

"Fancy moves, but no substance. Your power is scattered, and your punching angles are full of openings. Do you actually have the nerve to show off with this technique?"

Lucian stopped, spinning around to glare at Sebastian with fierce eyes: "Sebastian, do you just not know when to shut up? If you're so capable, why don't you come here and show me?"

"Reverse psychology doesn't work on me."

Sebastian elegantly adjusted his stance, then delivered a side kick to the middle of the sandbag that rang out with a loud boom.

"Since you’ve asked so sincerely, I’ll be merciful enough to tell you. Your core strength is too weak. No wonder in bed..."

He intentionally dragged out the end of the sentence, his eyes sweeping contemptuously over Lucian’s waist.

Lucian’s face instantly turned a deep shade of purple. Overcome with shame and rage, he roared: "Isn't it enough that it feels good in bed? Why do you need so many fancy postures? What’s it to you?"

Sebastian stopped. He took off one glove and slowly tapped the dust from his hands. That high-and-mighty attitude was enough to drive anyone insane.

He looked at Lucian, a thin, cool smile curling his lips, and said one word at a time:

"Both are poor."

"What?" Lucian didn't react immediately.

"I mean," Sebastian put his glove back on, his gaze as cold as ice, "whether it's boxing or your performance in bed, you’re far from adequate. Don't think you can do whatever you want just because of that face. Someone like you can only be considered... a trophy."

Having finished, he stopped looking at Lucian’s exploding expression and turned back to the sandbag for a new round of attacks. His movements were fluid, every strike precise and powerful.

In the corner, Chen tucked his neck in and silently lit a row of metaphorical candles for Lucian.

These two really clashed every time they met. Yet, the tension vibrating between their words... why did it feel more "intense" than those couples who acted lovey-dovey every day?

Lucian was shivering with rage. He took a deep breath, put his gloves back on, and hammered the sandbag as if to vent his soul.

He swore he would take first place in the modeling competition. He would get that prize money and make something of himself! He would show Sebastian that he, Lucian, could not only survive without him but live better than anyone else!

Two sandbags were close together, their punching winds occasionally crossing. Chen watched from the sidelines, completely mesmerized.