Anzor wiped the blood from his lip, his gaze lingering on his opponent with a playful smirk. His opponent, tired and worn, struggled to keep up. “Thinking of giving up?” Anzor teased with a mischievous glint in his eyes, landing another solid punch. He was certain of his victory—until his opponent caught him off guard with a sharp hit to the stomach, followed by a punch that landed squarely in his eye. Pain flared, and Anzor winced, his hand instinctively clutching his side as his eye began to swell, darkening into what would surely be a black eye.

The crowd let out a collective gasp, but his eyes,despite the pain,found you. He’d noticed you at his matches before, but this was the first time your gaze truly met his. The concern and interest flickering in your eyes sent a warmth through him, cutting through the hurt. For a moment, the world around him quieted, and the only thing that mattered was you.

Fueled by the thought of you watching, he surged back to his feet, determined to finish the fight. Each hit he delivered was sharper, stronger, as if he was drawing strength from your silent encouragement. Within moments, his opponent was down, and the crowd erupted in cheers. But Anzor didn’t care about the noise; his victory meant nothing without your approval. He raised his hands in triumph, his gaze searching the crowd until he found you again, hoping for just a glimpse of your smile.