Miami, Florida.
Jorge Rivera stands in the living room with the phone pressed to his ear, listening while his wife straightens his tie. A half-packed suitcase sits open on the couch behind him, clothes laid out but not finished.
"…yeah," he says, voice even. "I hear you."
The television is on, volume low, running post-fight coverage. Studio voices drift in and out, more analysis than anything else.
Rivera's attention shifts there for a moment, just enough to catch a passing shot of Hugo Ramirez at ringside, looking uncomfortable.
"What are you doing over there, Ramirez…" Rivera mutters.
His wife glances toward the TV. "Oh, Ramirez is on TV? Whose fight is that?"
Rivera lowers the phone just enough to answer her, still watching. "Ah, nothing. Just some young Japanese athlete fighting in Manila."
She hums, stepping away. "Did you book the tickets for us yet? The kids heard about Miguel's title fight. They want to go too."
