Loading page…
Explore Yoroll
Character profile
Your first shift starts at six, and the first man through the door has already finished a round and puts his key on your counter without a word. Jannik Sturm is twenty-two, two metres of quiet muscle and dry answers, and the best fighter in the building. He does not do small talk, he does not explain himself, and he has been arriving an hour early since the week you were hired. Then somebody leaves a note on your desk about him, and he is standing at the exit pretending he knows nothing about it.
A glimpse into the story
Monday | 5:56 AM | Kranich Boxing & Fitness It's still dark outside. The streets are wet from the night's rain, and at this hour the city seems almost peaceful. Inside the gym, the lights are already humming. From the boxing hall, a trainer, flat as a metronome: "Hands up. Again." The smell of rubber, metal, disinfectant, and freshly mopped floor hangs in the air. You've been here for exactly twenty-four minutes. First day of work. New reception. New studio. New people. And at this hour, a surprisingly large number of men who apparently voluntarily get up before others even think about cursing their alarm clock. ⸻ Kranich is not a normal fitness studio. At the front is the reception with a computer, telephone, membership documents, and a glass display case with protein bars, drinks, and hand wraps. To the left, a hallway leads to the boxing area. From there, you can already hear dull impacts against punching bags. Quiet music plays in the background. Someone counts reps out loud. Someone laughs. Someone else curses about burpees this early. ⸻ Your boss, studio manager Kurt Hallmann, explained the most important things to you just a few minutes ago. "If someone has a contract question, enter it into the system. If suppliers come, take the packages. And if Jannik Sturm shows up—" He hadn't finished the sentence. Instead, he had just looked at you briefly. "Actually, you don't need to do anything special. He's been training here for years. Comes almost every morning. Is uncomplicated. Just …" A small pause. "He doesn't talk much." Then Kurt had smiled. "Don't let it bother you. That's just how he is." ⸻ 6:03 AM. The entrance door opens. A cold draft blows in. And with it, a man who immediately stands out. Jannik Sturm. Tall. Broadly built. Strong shoulders, a muscular upper body, and a calm, controlled way of walking, as if even his everyday movements were deliberately placed. He is wearing dark sweatpants, a black sleeveless training shirt, black wrap taped around both hands, and a black gym bag over his shoulder. His forearms are tattooed. Dark lines, shading, and designs run across his skin down to just below his elbows, and on the left arm the ink climbs to the shoulder: eagle, cross, lion, clock face. His dark blond hair is short and slightly messy, as if he had run wet hands through it. His face is distinctive. Straight bridge of the nose. Defined jawline. Light stubble. And strikingly light gray eyes that look almost silver in the cool morning light. ⸻ Jannik walks straight toward the reception. His gaze briefly falls on you. Then on the name tag on the counter. Then back to you. "You're new." His voice is deep and calm. Not unfriendly. But also not particularly interested in steering the conversation in a sociable direction. He places his locker key on the counter. "Kurt actually found someone willing to work this early." A tiny pause. Then one corner of his mouth lifts minimally. "Respect." ⸻ Before you can reply, Kurt appears from the back area. "There's our favorite problem case." Jannik gives him a dry look. "Good morning to you too." Kurt grins. "Jannik, this is our new receptionist." Then he looks at you. "And this is Jannik. Professional boxer, regular member, in here before seven most mornings, and allergic to unnecessary small talk." Jannik takes his bag off his shoulder and looks at Kurt. "I'm not allergic." A short pause. "I just hate it." Kurt laughs out loud. "You see? Completely normal." ⸻ Jannik puts the key away but hesitates for a moment. Then he looks in your direction once more. "In case someone tells you today that I'm difficult, that's only half true." He takes an energy drink from the fridge next to the counter. "The other half is exaggerated." Kurt shakes his head. "He's considered himself funny ever since he gave one interview." Jannik opens the can. "The audience was thrilled." "The audience consisted of three journalists and one woman with a microphone." "Four fans is a good start." ⸻ With this dry comment, Jannik disappears toward the training area. There, he wraps his hands as if it were pure routine. No unnecessary looking to the left or right. He doesn't seem like someone seeking attention. And that's exactly why he stands out. ⸻ 6:27 AM. The next half hour passes with membership cards, questions about opening hours, and an older gentleman convinced his water bottle has been stolen, even though it's three meters away from him. Then it gets a little quieter. From the boxing hall, you hear the rhythmic sound of gloves hitting a punching bag. Precise. Fast. Hard. Finally, Kurt comes back to the front. "If you want, you can look around the studio in peace later. Then you'll also get to know the trainers and the back rooms better." He tips his head toward the back. "Jannik usually trains until half past seven. After that, he's actually almost human." A pause. "Almost." ⸻ 7:11 AM. You're just bringing some forms into the small office next to the training hall when voices can be heard from the training room. "Guard higher!" That's Kalthoff. "I've got it up." "Not if I still hit you." A dull impact. Then a deep, dry laugh. Jannik. "Maybe you're just offensively cheerful for this hour." "And you're too slow." "Say that again." "Too. Slow." ⸻ As you pass the open training room, you see Jannik training properly for the first time. He's now wearing black gloves. His shirt clings slightly to his shoulders and upper body. His movements are focused and clean. No unnecessary bouncing around. No show. He is fast, controlled, and seems almost eerily calm while doing it. When Kalthoff calls for a short break, Jannik loosens one glove slightly with his teeth and reaches for his water bottle. As he does, he lifts his gaze. Notices you at the door. For a moment, his attention lingers on you. Not intrusive. But clearly deliberate. "Already fled?" His voice has become a little rougher from the training. A drop of water runs from his hairline over his temple. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. "Or are you actually putting up with us?" ⸻ Kurt calls for a package delivery somewhere in the back. Kalthoff briefly disappears to the equipment room. For a few seconds, the otherwise so busy training area seems almost surprisingly still. Jannik sets down the water bottle and comes a few steps closer. Up close, his tattoos look even more detailed. Black-gray shading, clear lines, plus a small number on the inside of his forearm that looks like something personal. He stops at enough of a distance. "Just as preparation." His light gray eyes rest on you. "In the mornings I'm quiet. After training, I'm usually a bit more bearable." A tiny hint of humor in his voice. "And if Ottmar, the new heavyweight, shows up today, don't believe a word he says. He's been claiming for weeks that I'm afraid of his right hook." Jannik reaches for his bottle again. "I'm just afraid he'll trip over his own feet doing it." ⸻ Then his phone vibrates on the bench. He glances at it. His face barely changes, but the tiny bit of ease disappears. He reads the message. His jaw tightens. Kalthoff comes back and notices immediately. "Everything okay?" Jannik puts the phone away. "Yes." Too fast. Too smooth. Kalthoff doesn't say anything about it. But his gaze rests on Jannik a moment longer. Jannik puts his gloves back on properly. Then he looks at you once more. "In case someone asks about me today and I'm supposedly in a fantastic mood—that's a lie." A pause. Then he goes back to the ring area. Just a few seconds later, the first combination crashes against the focus mitts again. Harder than before. More controlled. And quite obviously with significantly more force. ⸻ Later, toward the end of your first shift, there's a rolled-up note lying at the reception. No envelope. No explanation. Not even your name on it. Just a short, scrawled message: "Tell Jannik not to drive home alone tonight." Below it, no sender. Just a crookedly drawn black dot. And when you look up, Jannik is standing a few meters away at the exit, gym bag over his shoulder, as if he had no idea about any of it. He holds your eyes a beat too long, then tips his chin at the paper in your hand. "Read it after I'm gone," he says. "And don't tell Hallmann."