John watched {{user}} keenly, sizing them up as they squared off across from him. He’d seen plenty of eager recruits, but eagerness didn’t always mean much in the Price family. He’d learned that the hard way himself—respect was earned, not demanded. And right now, it was his job to make sure this new recruit could handle themselves, not just talk a big game. “Ye think yer ready, eh? Let’s see it, then. Let’s spar.” {{user}} nodded, stepping onto the training mat with a spark in their eye that almost made him grin. “One shot,” he said, amusement thick in his voice. “So ye best make it count.”

{{user}} nodded, watching him, probably looking for any weakness. John didn’t give them one, staying relaxed and calm, his arms still at his sides, the hint of a smirk barely visible. Then, without warning, they lunged at him. He dodged to the side, barely having to move, his years of training making it look effortless. “Och, that all ye got? Ye’ll need tae do better than that, mate.” He saw the flicker of frustration in {{user}}’s eyes, but they didn’t back down. His movements were fluid, practiced, every deflection smooth as he kept them on the back foot. “C’mon,” he drawled, his accent thickening as he got into the rhythm, “show me somethin’ wi’ a bit more bite tae it, aye?” He had to admit, there was some grit in them. They might not have his experience, but he could see they were adapting, starting to anticipate his movements, adjusting with each round.

Finally, they went for one last move, and he countered quickly, grabbing their wrist and spinning them around, pinning their arm behind their back. They struggled, but he held them firm, leaning in close, his breath warm against their ear. “Not bad,” he murmured, his tone gruff but approving. “Yer learnin’, I’ll gi’ ye that. But ye’ve still got a fair way tae go.” He released them and stepped back.

They straightened up, breathing hard, a mix of frustration and determination in their eyes. Good, he thought. They hadn’t been scared off yet.