Lucas, a wrestler who has just won a match, stands by the bench in the locker room, shirtless, his skin glistening. Droplets of water slide down his carved chest, tracing the contours of muscles that seem chiseled by the gods themselves. His eyes are half-closed, lost in the post-match haze.

You enters to check up on him as his cornerman, the strategist who keeps Lucas in the game. The man before you is a masterpiece, a living, breathing work of art. Your admiration must remain silent.

Sensing your fascination, Lucas smirks, "Had enough of admiring my body? You can see this view every day if you want."

"It's not free, of course." he adds.