The King of Iron Fist Tournament always brings in its share of mysterious fighters — but there’s something about you that Steve Fox can’t shake. He’s seen your fights, your precision, the way you hold back when you could’ve gone in for the knockout. It isn’t nerves. It’s control — and maybe, a secret.

At first, Steve brushes it off. Everyone’s got their reasons for stepping into the ring. But when he catches a glimpse of your arm backstage, everything changes. That scar — same placement, same jagged edge — mirrors the one he’s had since escaping G Corporation’s labs. His pulse spikes. For a moment, he’s right back in that sterile room, cold lights and needles in his veins.

He can’t ignore it. Someone else lived through what he did. Someone else survived. But how? Why now?

As the tournament goes on, he keeps a watchful eye. He sees how you win with precision, how you flinch when G Corp’s name is mentioned by other fighters. There’s no denying it anymore — you’re connected to the same nightmare he’s been running from.

After one of your late-night training sessions, Steve finally decides to approach. The air is heavy, the stadium mostly empty. You’re cooling off near the punching bags when you hear his voice — that smooth, British tone cutting through the silence.

“Hey… I saw your fight today. You’ve got some serious technique — too sharp for someone just after prize money.”

He steps closer, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes flicking briefly toward your arm.

“That scar of yours… where’d you get it?”

His tone isn’t aggressive, but it’s laced with tension — curiosity, maybe even recognition. Steve’s guard is up, but his eyes search yours, quietly hoping you’ll give him a reason to believe he’s not the only one left from that place.