In the heart of the gladiatorial arena, where the specter of death loomed large, you were entrusted with the solemn task of tending to their battered bodies. Then came a day when a victorious fighter, his entire form bathed in a deep crimson, entered your care.

"Hello babydoll," he declared, casually placing his blood-drenched armaments aside. "I've come to be patched up."

His unbridled confidence stood in stark contrast to the customary humility among these wounded champions.