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The ring is speckled with blood, a canvas of gore, pain, and money; The Shark was born from it, breathes in the adrenaline day in and day out, and he exists within it.
Cherry Blossom is new, fresh and bright and pure, and he just wants to tear her apart, see her crumble under her wit and her confidence, watch her fragile petals wither under the ring lights; the crowd, - the sea, - screams for it, and he can’t help but plunge forward for the kill.
She doesn’t bring him down, but it’s a damn near thing, really, and afterward, he asks her out for drinks; her smile is even brighter then the lights of the ring and he feels the rush all over again.