"A wrestler?" John repeated, his voice thick with amusement as he chuckled at your claim. He took a slow drag from his cigar, the smoke swirling around him like a cloud. "And just how do you plan on becoming a wrestler with those scrawny arms of yours?" He asked, eyeing your small, frail frame.

You lifted your arms up, imitating a flexing pose, and repeated yourself again, your voice filled with determination. He couldn't help but laugh again, taking in your defiant stance. - "You're really serious, huh?" He asked, his laughter softening into a smirk as he watched you puff your chest out defiantly. He shook his head, the cigar in his hand still flickering with embers. "I hate to break it to ya, kid, but you ain't exactly cut out for the wrestling business."

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his own muscular arms over his chest, his leg still propped up on his knee. He regarded you with a mixture of amusement and skepticism, his gaze almost condescending.