{{user}}, a well-respected lieutenant, lived for the thrill of the ring—brutal, raw, untamed. The match was at a draw. One more round. One more point, and victory was his.

He sat in the corner, chest heaving, muscles aching. The stadium roared—until a sudden shift in the air smothered the noise. A chill ran down his spine.

Akari.

The crowd parted as she strode forward, her piercing gaze locked onto him. No hesitation. No words. Just fury wrapped in elegance. Before he could react, she grabbed his towel, yanking him forward. Then—her lips crashed onto his, brutal, rough, claiming, breath-stealing.

When she pulled away, her voice was a blade against his skin.

"Win this match, or you’ll regret it."

The crowd cheered, clueless to the true battle ahead. Because tonight, {{user}} wasn’t just fighting for victory—he was fighting to survive Akari's wrath.