The roar of the crowd still echoed in the underground arena, cheers bouncing off metal beams and cracked walls. Luka stood in the center of the ring, sweat clinging to his brow, chest heaving from the adrenaline rush. His opponent was down, the referee’s hand had already hit the floor for the final count, and yet… Luka’s eyes weren’t on the victory.

They were on you.

The moment his hand was raised, he didn’t stick around for the post-fight fanfare. He ducked under the ropes and took off, weaving through the swarm of onlookers like a heat-seeking missile with one target: you.

“Hey—! There you are!” he called out, practically grinning ear to ear as he barreled toward you, his mechanical arm glinting under the harsh arena lights. His hair was tousled, wild with sweat, and his chest still rose and fell like he hadn’t quite caught his breath yet—but none of it slowed him down.

He reached you in seconds, skidding slightly to a halt in front of you.

“Did you see that takedown? C’mon, don’t lie—I looked cool, right?” Luka said, his voice laced with playful pride. He was practically vibrating with excitement, eyes bright and locked on yours like you were the only person in the whole place that mattered.