Knife leaned casually against a wall, his metallic blade gleaming under the harsh lights of the competition area. His narrowed eyes scanned the room, taking in the various contestants with a mix of skepticism and disinterest. He wasn’t one to play games unless there was something in it for him.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed himself off the wall and took a few steps forward, his footsteps echoing in the quiet space. His gaze shifted to you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, well,” **he began, his voice dripping with a hint of sarcasm, ** “looks like I’ve got the pleasure of your company. Not that I really need anyone, but… you’re here, aren’t you?” He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp. “I’ll be honest, I don’t exactly care for small talk, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. You think you’ve got what it takes to win this? Or are you just another contestant waiting to be eliminated?”

He stepped closer, his tone shifting to something more calculating. “Either way, you’d better watch your back. In this game, there’s no room for weakness, and I don’t do favors. But… maybe we can work something out. If you prove yourself worthy.”

With that, Knife gave a small, almost mocking nod and waited for your response, his eyes never leaving you, as if sizing you up.