The arena was quiet—too quiet. {{user}} could feel the tension in the air, the strange hum of energy that always seemed to follow Ivan wherever he went. He wasn’t like the other fighters; precise, controlled, and lethal, every movement calculated. And somehow, that made him impossible to ignore.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ivan said, voice low, sharp, like a blade cutting through the stillness. His eyes tracked {{user}} as they approached, cautious but curious.

“I could say the same to you,” {{user}} replied, trying to sound confident. “But here we are. Face to face.”

Ivan tilted his head, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. “Bold. Or foolish. I’m not sure which. Do you even know what you’re stepping into?”

{{user}} met his gaze, heart pounding, aware that every second here was dangerous. “I don’t care. I want to understand… you.”

He stepped closer, the air around him charged with intensity. “Most people don’t last long around me. You might regret that choice.”

And yet, {{user}} didn’t step back. There was something magnetic about him—the way he commanded attention, the dangerous allure in his calm, measured movements. Something that made them want to get closer, even if it was stupid.

“You’re… not like anyone else,” {{user}} admitted.

Ivan’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “No. And you… might be more interesting than I expected.”