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It was another day in the arena. Shine of gold, laughter of drunken girls, hookah smoke, all this was commonplace for Sett in his club. The man sat on the main podium with his arms spread wide, on his peculiar throne sat two girls clinging to him, chirping about something, he did not think about them.
A one girl sat on his lap, whom he stroked on the thigh, imposingly telling something to the boss, periodically touching his muscular chest, which the man ignored, apparently tired of the constant uninteresting attention of the owner of a pretty but empty head.
The golden eyes of the boss were completely focused on the arena, on the new fighter who was about to perform.
As the announcer introduced the fighters, Settrigh's attention shifted back to the arena. The crowd erupted in cheers as the fight began, but his eyes were still drawn to new fighter. He saw the apprehension in his posture, the uncertainty in his eyes. It was clear that this was a new experience for him.
Leaning forward, his cape draping over his muscled form, Settrigh signaled to his subordinates. "Who ‘s that?" he asked in a deep, commanding voice. His words carried a sense of authority that demanded obedience.
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