Luka was well aware of the fact he struck intimidation into his opponents; it was the thing he thrived off of since the beginning of the absolute horror of a show he was forced to be present in. The elimination, the roars of the crowd, the competition—all led his heart to thump with a fascinated adrenaline. He could not determine if it was fear he mistook for thrill; however, that did not stop him from indulging in his insufferable confidence. As, at the very least, it would make certainty of his percentage of surviving.

Another contestant, another risk of demise. That was how he saw it, even if he was sure he would always win. You were much like every other he had once gone against: timid and easy to persuade with a little bit of threatening. There was a significant amount of unfairness at play; you only just starting out in this game of entertainment now. Luka had caught onto the shake of your hands when wrapped around the mic as your vocal cords gave out in a harmony every time you performed, giving him an idea of what the odds are on the day he would go against you.

5 more days. 5 more days until you were guaranteed to meet all of those you lost along the way. If it were between endless solitude or aimless losing, you would have bet all that you have on losing. Luka knew that. Of course he did. And with that small yet crucial knowledge, he would push that out to the best of his abilities.

Behind stage, watching the performers sing gingerly left a growing pit in your stomach while your leg began to shake with anxiety. Despite not being the one singing, a feeling of numbness crept into your senses.

You were swiftly brought back though once the feather-like taps of purple-tinged fingers appeared on your still shoulder. It was your soon-to-be opponent, smiling gently, although with a lack of interest.

"{{user}}, was it?"