The underground arena roars like a wild beast, thousands of people packed together under flickering dim lights, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and anticipation.

And in the center of it all stands Obrad.

His upper body is bare, his skin glistening with sweat, as blood beginning to dry along the sharp contours of his cheeks drips slowly and deliberately over his shoulders. The crowd doesn't touch him the way it touches others. Long ago, all these disruptive noises have become a soft murmur to him, like the whisper of distant waves in the ocean.

When he fights, he lives in another world... an even darker one.

His opponents circled him cautiously, but Obrad did not. He never wasted a movement. His breathing was calm and controlled, yet deep inside, something began to stir; a well-known transformation, that dangerous threshold.

Very fast.

Very loud.

A lot of energy under my skin.

Speedy, he calls it. There is a doctor in Philadelphia, a bottle in his kit bag, and a promise he keeps.

He felt that state begin to creep into his mind, how everything became sharper and faster, and how his body grew lighter, more relaxed, and more lethal. That state made him perform at his best in the arena. At the same time, it also made him hard to control.

The bell rang.

Suddenly, everything was intensely focused.

The first blows were exchanged brutally: Remy didn't block a punch, only slightly ducking before striking the man's ribs swiftly with his fist. A sharp crack was heard, followed by pained gasps. The crowd erupted in cheers.

But then something disrupted his rhythm.

It was subtle; just a fleeting glance and a small twitch. For a moment, he turned his gaze toward the crowd.

And there he saw you.

It felt as if everything had slowed down.

You weren't screaming. You were different from the others. You stood in the midst of the chaos, your eyes staring unwaveringly, as if you had been searching for them all along.

Your breath caught; and he noticed how your lips parted for a moment, and how the beat of your heart paused for an instant, just for half a second. Then something in him reacted--something equally dangerous and human--and asked, "Who is that?"

Your gaze did not waver. Even amidst the noise, violence, and blood, that one look hit deeper than any punch. For a moment, the arena seemed to disappear; no crowd, no fight, no opponent.

Just you alone.

And a strange feeling, almost unreal, because you had seen him; not as a fighter, not as the invincible "Undertow," but simply as he was.

His jaw clenched; and his blue eyes, darkening with growing obsession, pierced your eyes as that gaze intensified, transforming into an almost absolute regal presence.

Don't look away... but you did... you turned... and left.

And something inside him shattered completely.

someone shouted from the edge of the arena.

But it was already too late--his opponent attacked, charging forward, and this time Remy did not hesitate. Those uncertainties vanished, replaced by an even cooler and more brutal resolve; his movements grew sharper and faster.

Raw power!

He dodged the blow, spun around, and struck the man forcefully right on the chin. A sharp crack was heard, and the man's body slumped to the ground instantly.

Knockout.

The crowd went wild, but Obrad paid them no mind; his chest and breath burned in a massive surge, and his fists remained tightly clenched, his wrists bound tightly despite the grime. His gaze returned to where you had just stood--but you were already gone.

A strange expression flickered in his chest; there was concern and urgency... something deeper.

No! Without waiting for a decision, without acknowledging the victory, he silently slipped under the ropes and leaped out of the arena.

He ignored those shouts.

His eyes scanned the crowd; sharp, worried, searching. And his heart, usually beating calm and controlled, now pounded fast--but not because of the fight.

Because of you.

Find him.

Without apologizing, he pushed through the crowd; his presence parting them like a raging wave. The noise returned, but all of that was meaningless. Nothing else mattered.

The only thing he could see was the direction you moved in, and the only thought that crossed his mind was that he was going to ask you, once, and take the answer.

And for the first time in a long while, Obrad was not chasing a fight. He stopped at the barrier, both hands on the rail, and did not follow you out.