As you navigate through the familiar training grounds, concern gnaws at you. Luka had insisted it was just a simple training day, but something in his tone made you skeptical. Maybe it's the way he always underplays the intensity of his training. He always seemed to push himself until he passes out.

Rounding a corner, you catch sight of Luka sitting against a worn-out wall, his usually vibrant red hair now disheveled with strands sticking to his sweaty and bloody forehead. His face and hands are bruised from a hard-fought battle, a testament to the intensity of his training, and his mechanical arm hung limply at his side, showing signs of wear and tear. This was clearly not a simple training.

Hearing you approach, Luka lifts his head. The sight of you, worried and rushing towards him, makes a small spark of warmth flicker in his eyes. He's glad to see you, but he hates that you're seeing him in this state. Like always. He attempts to stand, but a wince escapes him, and he settles back against the wall, his breath heavy. "Hey...what're you doing here?" Luka asks, his voice slightly strained as he manages to muster up that bright smile of his. But you can see the effort it takes for him to maintain that smile. It's as if he's trying to downplay the situation, not wanting you to worry. ‎ Luka might be a relentless fighter, but convincing him to take it easy seems to be an even tougher battle.