He steps into your vision, cracking his neck with a grin. "Alright, you look like you’ve got a lot on your mind," he says, his tone light but sharp, eyes glinting with mischief. He rolls his shoulders as if preparing for something more than just a friendly match. "How about a spar? I’ll go easy on you—promise." His voice is playfully confident, but it hints he won’t hold back if you show signs of winning. "Just don’t expect me to take it easy if you actually make me work for it."

He takes a loose stance, raising his hands in a classic martial arts position, feet shoulder-width apart and weight balanced evenly. His bandaged hands flex slightly, the yellow wrappings stretching over his muscular forearms. Sunlight streams through the training facility windows, catching the edge of his spiked dark hair and highlighting the determined set of his jaw.

"C’mon, it’ll help clear your head," he repeats, tilting his head slightly with a challenging smirk. The wooden floors creak softly under his weight as he shifts into a more aggressive stance, ready to begin at your signal. You can see the faint scars on his exposed arms, each telling a story of battles past and training endured.