Cold-Blooded

Reblog from Tumblr by thesuitaskin

Index

• Part 1
• Part 2

Part 1

"Hey, hold on! I'll help you!" Shit! Lucas shouted, his voice sharp with urgency. He sprinted with thinking, the pounding headache from his hangover now forgotten in the face of the crisis. Shit, shit, shit. As he neared the figure in the water, his stomach dropped. The person was barely alive, floating lifelessly in the cold water.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Breathless, Lucas dove to the ground, skidding across the icy shore, desperate to pull the stranger from the water. His heart raced, fear gnawing at him. He feared he wouldn't be able to get him out, especially now that he could see how physically imposing the younger man was. When Lucas grabbed the stranger's swollen shoulder, the skin gave way beneath his fingers—soft, like a rotten fruit. He jerked his hand back, startled.

————

Just the night before, he'd angrily tossed his apron into the trash, defeated by another failed job. He’d been kicked out of the kitchen again. And this time, it wasn’t even his fault. He’d been working as a kitchen assistant, but a sneaky asshole named Samuel had sabotaged his work once again. Lucas hadn't been able to prevent the mess from reaching the boss, and he'd been fired on the spot.

In a haze of frustration, Lucas had gone out, bought a bottle of whiskey, and stumbled through the night, trying to drown his failures. He had no idea how he was going to survive the month without a job. His apartment was hanging by a thread—there was no way he could pay the rent. Another failure, another step closer to rock bottom.

Full of self-pity, he had collapsed on a park bench, the cold seeping through the thick layers of his jacket, but the warmth of the alcohol kept him from freezing. The world felt as numb as he did.

The next morning, he woke up with a crushing headache, the remnants of alcohol still thick in his bloodstream. He stumbled home, hoping to figure out how to pull himself together. The thoughts swirling in his mind were as chaotic as his footsteps as he walked through the empty park. Then, at the lake's edge, he saw a small figure, crumpled and motionless. Something in his gut twisted.

————

"What the hell...?" Lucas muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He approached slowly, unsure if his touch had caused the strange reaction on the stranger’s skin.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked, his voice shaky, but knowing full well he wouldn't get a response. The man had to have been in the lake for a while; there was no way he hadn't sunk to the bottom by now. Lucas was baffled—why hadn’t the man disappeared into the depths?

Lucas took a deep breath and braced himself. He reached for the man’s shoulder again. The skin was just as strange as before—almost too soft. But this time, Lucas gritted his teeth, tightened his grip, and, with all his strength, he pulled the man out of the water.

To his surprise, the stranger was unnervingly light. His body felt hollow, like an empty shell. It was as if all the substance had drained out, leaving only the skin and muscles behind.

As Lucas finished dragging the man onto the icy shore, he stared down at the body in disbelief. This wasn’t what he had expected.

The man he had just rescued seemed more like a suit than a person. Lucas quickly noticed a large slit running along the stranger’s broad back. Could I slip inside?

He had never imagined he’d find himself in a situation like this. But if what he was thinking was possible—if he could somehow fit into that hollow form—this could be his way out of the nightmare he’d been living.

Lucas inspected the bodysuit again. It was still dressed in wet jeans, worn-out sneakers, and several necklaces—details that hinted at the person it once was.

His curiosity growing, Lucas wondered if there was anything of value hidden on the man. He dug into the stranger’s pockets, hoping for something—anything—that might offer an explanation or, at the very least, a clue.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

He reached into the side pocket of his pants and felt a large object. Shit, that's his cock. After a few seconds of hesitation, Lucas switched to the other pocket and his fingers brushed against something small and rectangular. With trembling hands, he pulled it out and flipped it open.

The wallet held an ID, a driver’s license, and several credit cards. Lucas froze, his breath catching. He scanned the contents quickly, his mind racing. The name on the ID. The address. Everything seemed fine, just waterlogged—meaning that man couldn’t have been in the lake for long. His heart pounded louder, but then another thought crept into his mind.

Ignoring the biting cold and the water still clinging to him and the body, Lucas glanced around, making sure no one could see him. Then, without hesitation, he stripped off his own clothes and prepared himself to enter the empty shell before him. Though the body was deflated, it didn’t mask the solid muscles underneath. Without wasting another second, he dove in, disregarding the freezing temperature.

The sensation of stepping into another body was unlike anything Lucas had ever imagined. As his feet settled into place, he was stunned at how quickly the body seemed to connect with his own nerves. It felt almost as if the body was melding with him, making him forget that he wasn’t in his own skin anymore. The young man’s powerful thighs now supported Lucas’s weight, and as he continued, Lucas moved his own tool into the guy's cock, positioning himself in a way that gave him a sense of satisfaction. He was overwhelmed by the new sensations, his mind momentarily distracted by the overwhelming feeling.

He continued maneuvering the body, flexing the massive arms and feeling the layer of muscle beneath him. His own torso was now covered by a proud, muscular frame that felt foreign yet exhilarating. Hesitating for a moment, Lucas pulled the man’s face over his own, as if pulling on a hood. His vision blurred, and a heavy weight settled over his features. The sensation was both disorienting and thrilling. He immediately noticed the slit on his back closing as if sealing him into this new form.

The cold air hit his skin differently now. He quickly discarded the wet trousers and slipped back into his own clothes, which now stretched tight over his newly muscled frame. He marveled at the experience, but his growing unease reminded him that he had to leave before anyone noticed him. He had to move quickly.

Once fully dressed, though his old clothes now strained against his new, more muscular body, Lucas checked the man’s ID—Ivan—for an address. Elm Street in Dunwell. Damn it. Lucas knew that area well. It wasn’t the best part of town, but it wasn’t much worse than the mess he’d just found himself in.

In a hurry and eager to escape, he grabbed everything around him, including the wallet, and rushed to Ivan’s home. He knew he had to get there fast—before anyone saw him, before the reality of what he'd just done fully sank in.

————

Lucas reached the address and checked Ivan’s ID one last time.

So, this is your place, Ivan Petrov.

Breathing heavily, Lucas finally took a moment to focus on the unfamiliar sound of his breath. He was drawn to the rasp in his voice and experimented with it, adjusting to the new sensation in his throat.

Not just a handsome guy. Even that voice, he chuckled to himself.

His gaze shifted to the apartment door, where Ivan’s name was displayed. To his surprise, the door stood slightly ajar. He stepped inside cautiously, half-expecting an intruder. What he didn’t expect was the size of the apartment. His breath caught in awe—it was far bigger than he’d imagined. Relieved to find it empty, he closed the door behind him and began surveying the space.

Not bad for a 23-year-old...

As he entered the bedroom, his eyes fell on a phone. He unlocked it effortlessly with facial recognition, and the screen flooded with missed calls and messages from someone named Logan.

Damn it. No idea what happened to this guy, or what kind of mess he was in.

Taking a deep breath, Lucas forced himself to stay calm, setting the phone aside.

Then the discomfort hit him. The feeling of being dirty—drenched in the water his new body had swum through. The cold air that clung to his skin. The clothes, too tight for his frame, constricting with every move. And the adrenaline still coursing through him, making his skin itch and sweat.

Damn, never thought my clothes would feel this tight. Never thought I’d wear someone else’s body, either...

He undressed quickly, standing in front of the mirror for the first time, fully aware of the body he now inhabited.

Staring at his reflection, Lucas examined every inch of the new form. His face—sharp, angular, with eyes that burned a striking blue—was utterly foreign to him. He leaned in closer, inspecting each detail, tracing the contours, the pores, and the angles of his features. The unfamiliarity of it all gnawed at him. What kind of man was Ivan Petrov?

The eyes, cold and piercing, were unmistakably Eastern European. He tested different facial expressions: a smile, a frown, annoyance—then locked on the last one, a scowl. But it was the challenging look he found most compelling, the silent dare in the depths of his gaze.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard) video

Lucas couldn't help but admire the sight. His once average looks were now hidden beneath this young, shapely face. It was almost surreal to see himself in a form that probably exuded more confidence than he had ever known.

He took a few steps back, surveying his entire body. The broadness of his shoulders, the muscular chest, the imperfections of his skin—it was a welcome shift from his former, unremarkable physique. The reflection in the mirror was a stranger, yet it was him now. A man called Ivan Petrov...

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Lucas curiously tested the movements of his new body, stretching his fingers and running his hands over the muscles and veins that now defined his arms. He marveled at how his skin stretched smoothly over the solid, unfamiliar frame. Each flex, each shift, brought a strange yet satisfying pleasure, as if the body itself was waking up to its new strength.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Lucas studied his reflection one last time, a flash of envy crossing his mind as he took in Ivan’s youthful, sculpted features. He couldn’t help but compare the vibrant, chiseled face before him to his own 35-year-old frame. Damn, he thought, I can’t wait to see what this body can do. The weights are calling.

His gaze fell to Ivan's disheveled hair, and he chuckled under his breath. With a smirk, he flashed a grin at his reflection. A new confidence stirred within him. It was time to wash away the cold, the wetness, and keep exploring what this body could do.

As he stepped into the cramped shower, a soft laugh escaped him. His broad frame nearly pressed against the shower walls, the tight space accentuating the difference between his former self and this new form. The small, confined space felt even tighter now—another reminder that everything was about to change.

He confidently reached for his now fleshy cock, which had grown to almost 7 inches. This Slavic stallion definitely had a weapon in his pants. As he shot his load, he was overcome with pride - he didn't know if it was his seed or the guy's - but the idea that his seed could now continue the line of Slavic men was a great one.

As Lucas stepped out of the shower, he couldn’t help but flex his back in front of the mirror, his eyes widening at the sight. The muscles seemed to ripple with every movement, more defined and powerful than anything he’d ever seen from this distance. Unable to resist, he gave his bicep a flex, watching in awe as the muscle swelled beneath his skin. The sheer strength and definition were staggering—he had never imagined he could possess something like this. It was as if his body had been sculpted from stone. The feeling was both exhilarating and humbling.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Is this even natural? Lucas thought, his mind buzzing. Or is this just how guys are these days?

Bemused, he strode toward Ivan’s wardrobe, curiosity piquing his interest. As he rifled through the clothes, he quickly realized that Ivan had a diverse range of styles—everything from sleek, 'old money' to casual streetwear, each piece reflecting a different side of him. The wardrobe was a reflection of confidence, a far cry from his own limited choices.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Lucas tried on a few outfits but ultimately chose a muscle t-shirt that highlighted his new torso, paired with comfortable joggers. It felt fitting—a way to embrace the youthful energy he was now radiating. The look seemed authentic, at least in appearance.

With no clear plan and no idea what to do next, his attention drifted back to Ivan’s phone.

This guy named Logan... Logan’s desperation was clear from his frantic messages.

"Ivan, where are you????!"

"Call me back!!"

"Shit, I’ll have to leave."

"Hope you aren’t dead, bro."

Each message deepened Lucas’s concern. The intensity of their exchanges revealed a close bond between Ivan and Logan. But the more Lucas read, the more he realized things weren’t as simple as they seemed. Among the casual banter, there were mentions of gang movements, a planned robbery, body suits, and taking over—none of it explained exactly what had happened, but the implication was clear: they were in deep.

Before he could process any more, the doorbell rang.

Lucas froze, his heart pounding. He moved cautiously toward the door, trying to make no noise. The bell rang again, followed by a series of heavy knocks.

"Ivan! It’s me, Logan. Are you there? Open up!"

Lucas braced himself for whatever was about to come as he slowly turned the door handle. When the door cracked open, he was met with the face of the man who could only be Logan. Without a moment’s hesitation, Logan charged in, a large bag gripped tightly in his left hand.

"Svyatoye der'mo!" Logan swore, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. In one smooth motion, he pulled a gun from his pocket, the cold barrel pressing directly against Lucas’s face.

ft. Unknown

"What the fuck, bro?!" Lucas shouted, panic creeping into his voice.

"I tried to contact you a hundred times! Who the fuck are you? Is this some of Andreyev's rats wearing my best bro's skin?" Logan hissed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Logan, calm down! It’s me!" Lucas shot back, his voice steady despite the rising tension. He knew if Logan pushed him, it would all unravel. There was no room for mistakes now.

"Prove it! Turn around and show me your back!" Logan demanded, his voice cold and unyielding, his finger pressing firmly on the trigger.

"Logan..."

"NOW!" Logan barked, his tone razor-sharp and commanding.

Without a second thought, Lucas spun around and ripped off his shirt, exposing his back.

"Vyataya Bogoroditsa! Dude, you scared the hell out of me! What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn’t you respond to me? I thought I lost you, you crazy son of a bitch!" Logan exclaimed, his voice filled with both relief and frustration.

Lucas turned around, surprised to see Logan looking much more relaxed.

“I’m fine. For now... I had to hide,” Logan said, his voice steady now. “I thought they knew it was me, but they went after the wrong guy. Had to play it safe. Sorry, bro!”

Lucas felt a knot loosen in his chest, though his unease lingered. Would Logan buy this?

“Shit, goddamn,” Logan muttered, relief evident in his voice. “Well, I’m just glad we’re here now. It’s all in here, Ivan. We did it!” He clapped Lucas on the shoulder, a moment of brotherly camaraderie.

“They have no clue who actually stole the serums,” Logan said, his tone almost triumphant. “Now we can take control of the gang if we’re careful enough. Finally, we won’t just get a piece of the success—we’ll decide how it all plays out and reach new limits!”

Lucas's mind eased for a moment, but his smile was more reserved than Logan's exuberance. He nodded, playing along.

“Hey bro, you mind if I use your bathroom? I reek like hell!” Logan asked, his tone casual.

“Sure, go ahead!” Lucas replied, his mind still whirring with what Logan had just said.

As soon as Logan disappeared into the bathroom, Lucas couldn’t resist. He opened the large bag on the table, his eyes immediately falling on the syringes lined up inside. Each one was filled with a blue or orange serum.

His mind raced back to the cryptic messages he had read earlier—Logan had mentioned two types of serum, each with a specific purpose. The blue serum triggered the transformation, leaving behind a temporary husk. The orange serum, however, was the key to accessing the husk's mind.

It all clicked in that moment. Lucas didn’t fully understand why Logan thought he was the real Ivan, but the pieces were falling into place. He had already been lucky once. He wasn’t sure if his luck would hold, but it felt like the right time to find out.

With a sense of urgency, he reached for the orange serum, pulled out a syringe, and jammed it into his thick thigh. He gritted his teeth as the needle pierced his skin, tossing the empty syringe into the corner without a second thought. He quickly zipped up the bag and sat back down, his heart pounding in his chest.

Almost immediately, his body began to feel weak. His limbs felt heavy, and his vision blurred, the overwhelming sense of tiredness crashing over him. Had he mixed up the syringes? His panic flared for a moment, but it quickly faded into the fatigue.

————

"Hey Ivan, bro, wake up!" Logan's voice jolted Lucas from his daze. "I hope you don’t mind I used your shower and am about to borrow some of your clothes."

"Oh, sure… uh, sorry," Ivan mumbled, shaking off the grogginess. "I’m just totally wiped from the past few days."

He kept his movements steady, unwilling to reveal how drained he truly felt. He approached the bag, unzipped it, and reached for the blue syringe. His fingers remained steady, despite the storm of anxiety swirling inside him.

"That's crazy, Logan. We really could do this!" Ivan flashed a sly grin, masking his unease with a touch of malice.

Logan, practically vibrating with excitement, grinned back. "So, you ready to transform Kastuś into a bodysuit? Honestly, I can’t wait to wear his skin!" His eyes never left the syringe in Ivan’s hand, filled with eager anticipation.

Ivan returned the grin, his expression outwardly confident but with a hidden knot of tension inside. "Without a doubt, bro! This is gonna change our lives."

Logan leaned in, his voice sharp with urgency. "So, Ivan, now I wanna hear it. What the hell happened? Where have you been? I was freaking out when you didn’t respond to me!"

Ivan paused for a moment, forcing a calmness he didn’t feel. He had to maintain control. "Yeah, sure. Let’s sit down. I’ll grab us some whiskey," he said, hoping the simple task would buy him some time and calm his nerves.

Logan let out a relieved laugh. "I like that idea, bro." He flashed a grin as he lowered himself into a chair, clearly trusting Ivan to get things back on track.

As Ivan passed Logan, he abruptly drove the syringe into Logan’s neck with ruthless force.

"What the fuck? How, you fucking cunt?! I checked your back! There was no trace!" Logan's voice cracked with disbelief. The weight of betrayal hit him like a sledgehammer—he couldn’t fathom that the person he trusted most was just an imposter.

"I don’t know either, Logan," Ivan replied coldly, his voice steady, betraying no emotion as he fought to suppress the flicker of satisfaction that danced at the edges of his mind. "But I am grateful for the opportunity you and Ivan gave me. From here on out, though... I'll be the one in charge. You can rest easy knowing I'll make sure everything falls into place."

A sinister smirk tugged at the corner of Ivan's lips, his eyes glinting as he watched Logan’s pupils start to dilate, his focus shifting.

Ivan leaned closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding, as he observed the slow, agonizing transformation unfolding before him. A knot of unease twisted in his stomach at the sight of his best friend succumbing to the process, but he shoved the feeling down. The endgame was in motion—there was no turning back now.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

"Ne brini, prijatelju. U bliskoj budućnosti, ti i ja ćemo postići ono što nismo smeli da zamislimo," Ivan whispered softly into Logan’s ear, his words dripping with a chilling sense of finality. He wasn't sure if Logan could still hear him, but there was something undeniably thrilling about speaking in perfect Serbian now—something that felt almost too natural, as if the words flowed as easily as his new, foreign persona.

The weight of what he'd just done, what he was about to become, settled heavily on him. Despite the grim circumstances, a quiet satisfaction bloomed in Ivan's chest. This was just the beginning.

————

Ivan grabbed his old phone and quickly typed a message to Vic, his fingers moving with an ease that felt almost instinctual, despite the chaos swirling around him.

Hey Vic, how’s it going? You know the boxing club on Cole Street? Got a new job—let’s meet there.

He sent the message, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he read it over. A rush of anticipation surged through him, a thrill that was both exciting and comforting. Reconnecting with Vic wasn’t just a casual meetup—it was a declaration of what was to come.

Redressing and packing up his boxing gear, Ivan felt the weight of the moment settle on him. This was more than just meeting an old friend—it was about testing the power of his new body, all the skills he’d picked up so quickly. It was time to see just how far his new abilities could take him. Vic’s gonna lose his mind, he thought, the grin on his face deepening.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Part 2

The usual smells of sweat and leather filled the air, blending with the faint scent of chalk and worn-out mats. It was a place Vic knew well, a place that carried memories of grueling workouts, the satisfying smack of gloves against bags, and the quiet hum of concentration. Boxing had always been simple for him—a sport that required little more than fists, grit, and willpower.

Vic ft. Unknown

But today, as Vic stood outside the gym, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His phone buzzed again, pulling him from his thoughts.

Hey, already there? Lucas's message appeared on the screen.

Vic frowned, tapping his foot against the pavement. Get some patience, Lucas! He didn't hesitate and headed inside.

The moment Vic entered, the familiar atmosphere hit him. The thud of gloves on punching bags, the grunts of exertion, and the rhythmic sounds of skipping ropes. A small nod from one of the regulars greeted him—someone he'd known for years.

"Vic," the man said, wiping his hands on his shirt. "Long time, huh? You here for a workout?"

"Yeah, I'm just waiting on someone," Vic answered, shoving his phone into his pocket. "He said he got a job here, but didn't tell me much. Just insisted we meet up today."

"Interesting," the guy muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Don't know anyone who started here recently. But hey, you interested in a quick spar? For old time's sake?"

Vic smiled, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good. I'll just wait."

A few minutes passed. Vic's mind wandered as he took in the sights around him—the shadows of fighters practicing in the ring, the clang of weights being dropped, the familiar faces that never seemed to change. But his thoughts kept drifting back to Lucas.

Another buzz.

Hey, gonna be late. Wait for me.

Vic couldn't help but frown again, staring at the screen. Is he kidding me?

Vic knew Lucas was struggling to find stability in his life, but hearing that he was starting at a boxing gym just didn't make sense. What the heck are you doing, Lucas? Lucas wasn't interested in fighting—hell, he didn't have the discipline for it. Not like Vic, who'd trained for years, or the seasoned pros who had been around since the gym's early days. Lucas had always gotten by on charm and smooth talk, but those weren't the qualities that got you by in a place like this. It didn't add up. Not even for Lucas, the one person who seemed to always find a way to screw things up and still land on his feet. 

Vic leaned forward, crossing his arms as his eyes scanned the gym. A few familiar faces were scattered around, some working their jabs on the heavy bags, others perfecting their footwork in the ring. The rhythmic sound of gloves landing against bags filled the air, punctuated by grunts of exertion. Vic felt the familiar itch to get in there, to feel the satisfying thud of his fists against the bag. His fingers twitched, but he held back, knowing Lucas would probably show up any minute—though what kind of job his friend had gotten himself into still baffled him.

As he observed the gym, his attention was suddenly drawn to a figure in the corner of his eye. A young guy, probably in his early twenties, who stood out from the rest. Tall, broad-chested, his posture exuding a quiet confidence. Vic's brow furrowed as he watched, intrigued.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard) video

This wasn't just some rookie trying to figure out the basics—this kid had serious skill. He was hitting the bag with a fluidity and precision that caught Vic off guard. The kid's punches were fast, almost unnervingly smooth for someone his size. Every strike was deliberate and controlled, yet carried a raw energy that hinted at a level of experience Vic hadn't expected.

After a few more punches, the guy paused, taking a break to check his phone. To Vic's surprise, he started snapping selfies, adjusting his angle with an almost practiced flair. Great, Vic thought with a smirk, just what the gym needs—another self-absorbed showoff.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

The kid hopped into the ring, his movements fluid and precise. He faced off against his sparring partner with a quiet confidence, his posture relaxed but ready. Vic's eyes narrowed as he watched, closely analyzing every move.

The kid dodged his opponent's punches with ease, weaving around them like he was made of water. Each duck, each pivot, was calculated, smooth—nearly flawless. But what stood out the most was the aggression in his style. It was raw, like the kid had been in more street fights than Vic could count, but there was something more to it. He blended that street-honed toughness with real technique—a brutal combination. His punches weren't just flailing strikes; they were precise, powerful, and carried with them the weight of someone who knew how to land a blow that counted.

Vic's eyes narrowed as the kid unleashed a perfect combination on his opponent, landing a series of rapid punches that knocked the other fighter off balance.

What the... ? Vic thought, his mind racing. He couldn't help but feel a little unsettled as he watched the kid. This kid was someone who clearly knew what they were doing, someone who could hold their own in a real fight.

Vic shifted, glancing around the room to see if anyone else had noticed, but most were too focused on their own training. That's when the kid turned his head, catching Vic's gaze across the gym.

Their eyes locked.

The kid didn't flinch, didn't look away, and there was something unsettling in the way he regarded Vic. It was as if he knew exactly what Vic was thinking—like he could read his every thought.

The kid's lips curled into a sneer, an arrogant, almost predatory smile. Without a word, he stepped out of the ring, his eyes locked onto Vic with unnerving intensity. There was something about his posture, his movements—like he was daring Vic to react.

Vic stood up straighter, brushing the edge of his jacket absentmindedly, his muscles tightening in response to the energy radiating from the kid. As the kid closed the distance, Vic could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and unwavering, like the air itself had shifted around them. He wasn't one to back down from a stare-off, but this one was different.

When the kid was just a few feet away, Vic's irritation began to mix with his curiosity. He was used to young cocky guys coming into the gym, thinking they could take on the world. But there was something off about this one—something that made him feel like he was facing more than just an arrogant rookie. Vic got ready to confront him.

But before Vic could say anything, the kid—no, the man—stopped in front of him, tilting his head slightly to one side. He looked Vic up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly, sizing him up in a way that felt almost predatory.

"Zasto me gledaš?" he asked, his voice smooth but edged with an unmistakable coldness.

Vic paused for a moment, realizing that he didn't understand a word. The question sounded harsh. The words were foreign, but the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Excuse me?" Vic responded, his confusion quickly turning to irritation.

The man smirked again, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he studied Vic's reaction. "I asked, why are you looking at me like that?" he said, switching to English, but his accent still noticable and commanding.

Vic's jaw tightened. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just trying to figure out why you're acting like you're the king of the gym," he shot back, his irritation rising.

The kid's smirk widened, clearly unfazed. "Then let's figure that out," he said, his tone now dripping with a kind of arrogance that made Vic's blood boil. "I know exactly what I'm capable of. You, on the other hand, seem like you could use a reminder, old man."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, all Vic could do was stare at him, the challenge unmistakable. The tension between them thickened.

The kid's lips curled upward again, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "You're staring like some kind of freak. Afraid of losing?" he sneered, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

Vic's stomach churned. The lack of respect was unmistakable.

"Careful, kid," Vic grumbled, trying to dismiss the unease gnawing at his chest. "I'm just wondering why a good fighter like you has to be so arrogant. You're not one of the regulars here, are you?"

The kid's expression shifted, the cold grin turning into something more taunting. "No, I'm not one of the regulars. I'm better," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. He took a step closer, a faint scent of leather and something sharp lingering in the air. "So, are you gonna stop staring like some creep, or what? Let's see how you handle yourself, old man. You look like you've seen your share of fights. Come on, show me what you've got."

Vic blinked, his pulse quickening. The challenge hung in the air like a weight, the implications of it settling in. The kid was calling him out. Right here. Right now.

A mix of irritation and annoyance bubbled up in Vic's chest. He clenched his fists at his sides, knuckles cracking under the pressure. The words stung, the challenge stung—he wasn’t used to being talked to like this, especially not in the gym.

Vic exhaled sharply, adjusting his gloves with a controlled motion. "You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid," he said, his voice low but steady. "But alright. Let’s see if you can back up that mouth. I’m Vic, by the way. We usually introduce ourselves before we start throwing punches."

The kid didn’t budge, his smirk widening. His eyes remained sharp, scanning Vic with an almost unsettling intensity. "Ivan, but you will remember me anyways." he sneered, his voice dripping with cockiness. "Get yourself some gear. We’re about to kickbox. Trust me, you’ll need it."

With that, Ivan’s grin deepened as they entered the ring. He moved into a stance, light on his feet, his eyes locked onto Vic’s every move. Vic mirrored his stance, muscles taut, ready for the challenge. But as Ivan settled into position, the realization hit Vic—this kid was dead serious.

The gym hummed with the usual noise of training—the rhythm of feet sliding, gloves smacking heavy bags, the occasional shout from fighters coaching each other. It wasn’t unusual, but the tension between him and Ivan was palpable. This wasn’t going to be a typical sparring session.

Vic’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized the stance. Ivan was quick, but more than that—he was deliberate. Every movement, every slight shift, told Vic this kid wasn’t just playing around. He wanted to show something.

Ivan’s grin widened as if reading Vic’s mind. He cracked his knuckles in a smooth motion, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling confidence. "I’m waiting," Ivan teased, his voice thick with mockery. "Don’t tell me you're scared, old man."

Vic’s lip curled, his chest tightening. "No kid’s gonna get under my skin," he muttered, but a nagging doubt lingered at the edge of his mind.

"Don't think you can just walk in here and—"

Before Vic could finish, Ivan was already on him. The kid closed the distance faster than Vic anticipated. A quick jab—too fast to block—caught Vic off guard, knocking him back on his heels. Ivan wasn’t just fast; he was sharp, his strikes coming with precision, his footwork effortless.

"Tsss," Ivan hissed, his voice carrying a whip-like snap. "You can’t even keep up with me, old man."

Vic grunted, snapping back into focus. This kid wasn’t just quick—each kick, each punch was controlled, calculated. Ivan wasn’t just fighting to win; he was fighting to dominate him. Ivan didn't just fight to win; he fought to dominate. It was the kind of street technique honed in situations where survival was at stake, taking control and never letting go.

Clenching his jaw, Vic charged forward, throwing a right cross aimed at Ivan’s head.

Ivan, moving with an almost unnatural grace, sidestepped the punch effortlessly. In the same motion, he threw a sharp low kick to Vic’s thigh, the strike landing with a sickening thud that sent pain shooting up Vic’s leg. Ivan wasn’t done. He closed in, a quick left hook to Vic’s ribs making him wince.

"Tsss," Ivan sneered again, his words dripping with disdain. "You’re not even worth my time."

Frustration flared in Vic’s chest as he staggered back, his ribs burning. This kid was toying with him, slipping through his defenses like he wasn’t even there. With every move, Ivan made Vic feel slower, more clumsy. It was starting to gnaw at him.

Vic steadied himself, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t let his anger control him. He faked a jab to Ivan’s face, hoping to bait him into making a mistake.

Ivan’s eyes flashed with amusement, but he moved forward to counter, confident in his ability to dodge. But Vic spun, ducking low just as Ivan committed to the attack. In a fluid motion, Vic landed a clean uppercut to Ivan’s gut. The punch connected with a satisfying thud, and for the first time in the spar, Ivan staggered back, gasping for air.

Vic smirked, a glimmer of satisfaction flickering in his chest. "Thought you were untouchable, huh?"

Ivan's smirk faltered, and in a rare moment of hesitation, Vic saw his opportunity. He feigned a jab to Ivan's face, but before Ivan could react, Vic snapped a sharp left hook straight to his jaw. The punch landed clean, and Ivan’s head snapped back with a sickening crack.

The gym fell momentarily quiet as Ivan staggered back, momentarily stunned. Blood trickled from his lip, dripping onto his chin.

Vic stood tall, his confidence soaring as he watched Ivan’s cocky demeanor crack for just a second. “That’s what happens when you underestimate me, kid.”

Ivan wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Tsss," he hissed, licking the blood from his hand, unfazed. "You’re starting to annoy me, old man."

Without warning, Ivan dropped low, sweeping his leg out from under Vic’s feet. The move was swift, clean—Vic had no time to react before he was slammed hard onto the mat.

But Vic wasn’t ready to call it quits. He sprang to his feet, barely avoiding Ivan’s next strike, and threw a wild hook that caught Ivan off guard. The kid groaned and stepped back, momentarily stunned.

That brief pause was all Vic needed. They circled each other, wariness in their eyes.

"Come on, old man," Ivan taunted again, his voice dripping with that same dark confidence. "You’re still not tired, are you?"

Vic’s breath came in ragged gasps, sweat pouring down his face. His body ached, his legs heavy with exhaustion, but the fire in his chest burned brighter. This kid wasn’t going to break him—not yet.

Ivan moved in again, relentless. Each kick, each punch, each strike was fast and brutal—precise, targeting Vic’s weaknesses. A solid jab to the ribs sent Vic stumbling, and before he could recover, Ivan followed up with a knee to the stomach. The blow wasn’t perfect, but it knocked the wind out of him, leaving Vic gasping for air.

His legs felt like they were made of lead, and for a moment, everything inside him screamed to stop. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not while there was fight left in him. He wouldn’t let this arrogant kid—this cheeky idiot—take him down so easily. He’d push back. Harder.

"Gubim vreme sa tvojim patetičnim dupetom," Ivan taunted, his voice colder than before. "You can't win." 

The words stung, reminding Vic of conversations he had with Lucas. Before he had time to think, Ivan was already on him again. A low kick to Vic’s leg sent him stumbling, and Ivan closed the gap with a brutal elbow to the ribs. Vic’s body screamed in pain, but he didn’t fall. The crowd around the gym gasped in shock, but Vic barely heard it.

"Hey! What type of bullshit is that, Ivan? No more of that!" The coach's voice rang out, sharp and filled with authority.

Ivan, mid-move, froze for a split second. His eyes shot toward the coach, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

"Ko ti je dao pravo da mi naređuješ?" Ivan snapped, his voice thick with disdain. His stern expression twisted into a smirk, each word dripping with venom. He closed in on Vic, who was barely holding himself together. "You're lucky, old man."

The coach’s face turned red, his patience snapping. "That's enough! Get out. Now. You're done here."

Ivan, now with a cold expression again, turned back to Vic, clearly savoring the coach’s frustration. "I'm just showing this man who he'd better not mess with," he murmured with contempt. "Ti si samo… starac."

The coach threw up his hands, a deep sigh escaping him. "Get your ass out of here, Ivan" he said again, his voice clipped with finality. "Immediately!"

Ivan gave the coach a mocking bow. A twisted smile curled on his lips before he strode past the coach and headed toward the restrooms.

"God damn, Ivan. I gave you more than one chance to change your attitude," the coach muttered. "Are you alright, mate? Didn't pay attention. I thought you two knew each other."

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Vic stood there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, his body aching in ways he hadn't imagined possible. What was up with that kid? The whole experience felt off—like it wasn't just about the fight anymore. There was something deeper at play, something Vic couldn't quite put his finger on. And that phrase... "You can't win"... it sounded so familiar.

"I'm fine. I'm used to worse injuries. Thanks!" Vic explained, waving off the coach's concern as he signaled for him to mind his own business.

Just as Vic was about to leave the ring, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, staring at the screen as his thoughts raced. It was a message from Lucas:

Meet me in the restrooms. I need your help.

Vic's brow furrowed as he glanced at the phone again. Lucas should have been here by now. A sharp mix of confusion and frustration settled in his gut. What was going on? Had Lucas even been watching the fight? Why was he sending this message now?

Reluctantly, Vic made his way toward the restrooms, each step feeling heavier than the last. As he passed a nearby room, he caught a glimpse of Ivan. The kid was once again in front of the mirror, admiring himself. The sight was almost laughable—his arrogance on full display as he struck pose after pose, completely oblivious to the world around him.

What a jerk!

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

As soon as Vic stepped into the restroom, he called out for Lucas, his voice sharp with frustration. He scanned the room, but the only response was the door slamming shut behind him. The click of the lock echoed in the cramped space, and the air seemed to thicken, pressing in on him.

For a moment, Vic's mind refused to process what was happening. What the hell?

"Dude, are you out of your mind?" Vic's voice dropped, laced with confusion and rising tension. Ivan stood between him and the only exit, the door now locked.

Ivan turned slowly, a smirk spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed with something cold—too knowing, too calculated.

"You're not going to like this, Vic," Ivan said, his voice deceptively casual, but there was an unmistakable chill in his tone. He raised his phone, the screen lighting up to reveal a conversation—one with Lucas.

Vic's confusion shifted to frustration. He took a step back. "What the hell? Why do you have Lucas's phone?" He pointed at the device in Ivan's hand, his voice rising with urgency. "Where is Lucas?"

Ivan chuckled, shaking his head in mock sympathy as he stepped closer. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but the smirk on his lips betrayed something darker beneath the surface. "Lucas is right here," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. With deliberate finality, he tossed the phone onto the sink, the clink of it against the porcelain sending a cold chill down Vic's spine.

"Yeah, right!" Vic laughed, though it was strained, disbelief lacing his voice. "You...! Did you rob him? So you're not just a douche in the ring, you're completely messed up. You need serious help."

Ivan let out a long, deliberate sigh, shaking his head as if Vic were the one who didn't understand. "I know this is hard to wrap your head around, but it's the truth. You're looking at Lucas… well, sort of." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in, watching as Vic's eyes widened in shock. "I found something, Vic. Something that changed everything."

Vic's expression hardened, his confusion quickly morphing into anger. "What the hell are you talking about, kid? You had your fun, but I'm not wasting my time on your twisted games." His fists clenched at his sides, and the muscles in his jaw tensed with frustration. "And even if I believed just single word of this bullshit you said... why the hell would my best friend—who can't even fight—hit me like that?"

Ivan exhaled slowly, a slight twitch in his jaw before he spoke again.  Ivan noticed the way Vic tensed, his fists tightening. His voice softened, a deliberate shift in tone—as though he was trying to make Vic understand.

"Vic, control your temper," Ivan said with a taunting grin. "There's no way I wouldn't win the next round. Bet that punch to your ribs still hurts like hell. You don't want another one, do you?" His gaze sharpened, challenging.

Vic paused, visibly trying to steady his breath, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. For a moment, he could see the truth in Ivan's words.

"Ivan here is actually a bodysuit," Ivan continued, his gaze briefly dropping to the floor before locking eyes with Vic. "I wanted you to experience its full effect. You needed to see it for yourself. You know I couldn't fight... I was weak. I was the guy who struggled, barely scraping by, getting through life with no real talent. But that's not who I am anymore."

The way he spoke, the way he carried himself—there was an undeniable aura in his presence. Yet, beneath it all, Vic believed he could see traces of Lucas—small patterns, fleeting glimpses of familiarity. But the man in front of him was cocky, confident, and undeniably imposing for his age.

"I found it in the park a few days ago," Ivan continued, his voice tinged with the same arrogance Vic had felt during their fight. "And instantly decided to wear it." He smirked, leaning into the confidence that now radiated from him. "It's not just a disguise. It's a gift, Vic. This thing? It doesn't just change my appearance. It gives me everything else—his strength, his speed, his fighting ability. It even gives me his memories. His entire life... like it was my own."

Vic blinked, still struggling to process the words that were coming out of Ivan's mouth. "So you're telling me you're Lucas… wearing Ivan's body?" His voice was filled with disbelief, and his anger rose with each passing second. "How is this even possible?"

Lucas—no, it was Ivan's body now—took a slow, deliberate step forward. His gaze shifted toward the mirror, and he ran a hand through his messy hair, admiring the reflection of the face that had once belonged to Ivan. 

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Ivan's body was nearly perfect—decent features, a nice jawline, and eyes that gleamed with cold confidence. His body was muscular—powerful—and Lucas couldn't help but revel in it. Every flex of his arms seemed to channel more strength. As he raised one arm to inspect his biceps, he was almost entranced by their sheer size. His hand wandered over his chest, feeling the defined pecs beneath his fingertips. Lucas was intoxicated by Ivan's body. The power, the confidence—it was all too much, and he was drunk on it.

"Damn," Lucas muttered, flexing again for emphasis. His voice oozed satisfaction. He caught Vic's eye in the mirror, his smirk unwavering. "Look at this body. It's everything I've ever wanted. Hell, it's more than I imagined."

With a final glance at his reflection, Lucas turned back to Vic. Each step he took toward him was slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes locked onto Vic's, dark with something dangerous. "And it's not just about the look, Vic," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "It's everything. His strength. His experience. His skills. I'm Ivan now... and all those things you probably hate about him? I get to enjoy them."

He paused, savoring the effect his words had on Vic. Then, without warning, Lucas shifted gears. His voice flowed smoothly in a language Vic still couldn't name, the words rolling off his tongue with eerie ease. The tone was flawless, natural, as if he had spoken the language his entire life. "Možda još ne razumete, ali ovo je sada moj život. I biće mnogo bolje od mog starog."

The words were a taunt, a deliberate mockery, and Lucas flashed Vic a grin, letting the meaning of the speech sink into Vic's chest like a heavy weight.

Seeing the confusion in Vic's eyes, Lucas let out a low chuckle. "Did you get that, Vic? That's Serbian. My native language. I couldn't even manage to say a single word of it just days ago… hilarious, huh?" His eyes gleamed with malice. "It's like being born again, Vic. But better."

Vic's fists clenched, his body tightening with a mixture of disbelief and simmering jealousy.

"Calm down, tiger. I just said that this is my life now. And it's going to be a lot better than my old one." Ivan explained.

The body Lucas now wore was something Vic could only envy. He felt left behind, as if he was stuck in a past that no longer mattered. The thought of it stung more than Vic was willing to admit. The bitter knot of jealousy twisted tighter in his chest with each passing second, suffocating him.

"Seriously?" Vic spat, his voice rising with frustration. "You tell me you just found Ivan's suit… and the best you could come up with was beating me up?" His fists clenched tighter, nails digging into his palms, as jealousy seeped into his every word.

Lucas met Vic's gaze in the mirror, his smirk widening. His eyes gleamed with something dark, something knowing. "You're saying that you would have believed me if I had just spoken to you? No, I mean this way was the right way. You think I don't see it, Vic? You think I don't know you're jealous?" His voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. "I see it all. You hate me for what happened just minutes before and right now."

An uncomfortable realization gnawed at Vic, a feeling that he couldn't shake. The truth hit him like a cold splash of water: This was real. Lucas was wearing Ivan's body. And the power, the identity, had become a part of him.

"Then prove it," Vic shot back, his voice trembling, caught between confusion and rising anger. "Take it off."

For the briefest of moments, Lucas's expression shifted—his cocky, unshakable arrogance faltering, the faintest flicker of something else passing through his eyes. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by that ever-present smirk.

"That's the thing, Vic," he said, his voice lowering, thick with discomfort. "I don't know why. It's… it's stuck. I don't know how to get out of it. Nor would I even try. I think I'm locked into Ivan's life now." He paused, the words hanging in the air, thick with uncertainty. Then, almost casually, he added, "But don't worry, I'm not sad I'm stuck here."

Vic stood frozen, staring at the figure before him—the sight of it was suffocating. The impossibility of it all crashed over him in waves, his mind spinning in circles. Questions, a thousand questions, rose up within him, but none of them made sense. Lucas was gone. That much was clear. The man in front of him wasn't the person he'd once known. But every so often, a flicker of Lucas still managed to break through, like a ghost haunting Ivan's form.

A soft laugh escaped Ivan's lips, shattering the silence between them. It was eerie—the way it lingered, filling the room with a disquieting, unsettling air. "Look at me, Vic," he said, his tone shifting, becoming almost playful, but still sharp with mockery. "This body—those skills—it's not something I'm planning on letting go of." He stretched his arms out, flexing Ivan's muscles with exaggerated pride. His grin widened with every movement. "Do you really think I'd give this up? No chance. This is too damn good, Vic."

Ivan's blue eyes glimmered with something dark as he took a slow, deliberate step toward Vic. The space between them felt charged, alive with tension. "And you?" Ivan's voice was dripping with condescension, like he knew something Vic didn't. "You're still stuck in your old life, still pretending you don't want what I have now. But deep down, I know you do. You can't win, Vic."

There it was again. That phrase. "You can't win." The words—Lucas's words—echoed in his mind. He remembered how often Lucas had used it to taunt him, to get under his skin. Now, it felt different, twisted in a way that made Vic's skin crawl.

Vic's eyes narrowed, a cocktail of jealousy and confusion swirling inside him. "So, what's the deal, Lucas?" he asked, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration. "Or should I say… Ivan?" He emphasized the name, a challenge in itself. "Why should I believe any of this? What's your angle?"

Lucas—no, Ivan—smiled, leaning slightly closer, his presence overpowering. "You catch on quick," he said, throwing Vic a wink that felt more mocking than playful. "Think about it, Vic. The way I took you down earlier? The way we're talking now? That's proof enough, don't you think?" He gave a slow, deliberate shrug, like everything had fallen perfectly into place. "This body is a new kind of freedom. I've spent years holding myself back, but not anymore." He let the words hang for a moment before his gaze hardened, a faint, dangerous gleam flickering in his eyes. "But don't worry, we're in this together now. You'll see what I mean."

Vic hesitated, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of disbelief and reluctant curiosity. Despite the shock, despite the overwhelming strangeness of it all, a part of him couldn't look away. There was something magnetic about Ivan's—no, Lucas's—confidence. It was impossible to ignore, impossible to brush off.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

Ivan stepped away from the mirror, his eyes locking onto Vic with a knowing glint. He moved toward a nearby locker, unhurried, his every step brimming with confidence. There was no rush in the way he moved, no hesitation. It was as if he owned the room—and Vic, by extension. He peeled off the black undershirt and shorts, each movement deliberate, showcasing the strength in his back as he twisted and tossed them aside carelessly. His muscles flexed with ease, the sheer breadth of his back catching the light, almost as if he wanted Vic to admire his new body.

Vic's gaze flickered to him despite himself. It wasn't just the physique—it was how Ivan carried himself now. It was the way he moved with the confidence of someone who knew he was in control. The predator now in full display, aware of the prey before him.

Once the undershirt and shorts were discarded, Ivan grabbed a pair of grey trousers, slipping them on smoothly with casual expertise. The fabric hugged his thighs, emphasizing the muscle there. He pulled a simple black shirt over his head, the material stretching across his chest as he moved. When he reached for a grey hoodie hanging on a nearby hook, he stretched his arms high above his head, a fluid movement that let Vic see the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulge beneath the fabric, as though the body was an extension of the power he now felt coursing through him.

Ivan shifted his focus to the beige Timberland-like boots sitting nearby. He bent down slowly, making sure to stretch his legs with a deliberate, controlled motion. The muscles in his thighs and ass shifted with the movement, and for a brief moment, Vic couldn't tear his gaze away.

Once the boots were on, Ivan stood tall, giving a subtle flex of his calves, ensuring Vic didn't miss the sleek definition in his legs. With a satisfied grunt, he straightened himself and twisted slightly, adjusting the fit of his boots, showing off how natural it all felt. He was comfortable, settled in his new skin.

Finally, Ivan reached for the green bomber jacket hanging on a nearby hook. His movements were slow, careful as he shrugged it on, the fabric settling over his broad shoulders like it belonged there. He adjusted the sleeves, stretched them out with a deliberate motion, and in the process, showed off his biceps again. Every action he was constantly flaunting. The jacket, the boots, the beanie that he threw casually onto his head—it was all a statement. It was a look that commanded attention, and Ivan was basking in it.

He ran a hand through his hair, making sure everything was in place, his expression one of pure satisfaction as he took in the reflection of his new self. He pulled out his phone and set it up for a selfie. With a small, pleased grin, he raised the camera in front of him, turning his head just slightly to the side. He moved his arm to show off the new width of his muscles, the hoodie and bomber jacket adding to the definition of his physique.

The transformation was almost complete, and Ivan could feel the new persona settling over him like a second skin. The body, the confidence, the look—it was all his now. And Vic? Vic was left standing in the background, watching it all unfold, caught in a whirlwind of confusion, jealousy, and disbelief.

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)

The camera clicked, and Ivan studied the shot for a moment, nodding in approval. Without skipping a beat, he took another, this time winking at the camera, clearly aware of the image he was projecting.

"Yeah," he muttered to himself, a smug grin spreading across his face. "This is it."

He turned toward Vic, locking eyes with him. His grin widened, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Not bad, huh?" Ivan asked, his voice oozing with cocky confidence. He flexed his arms slightly, savoring the feel of the muscles beneath the fabric.

"Alright," Vic muttered, his voice still tinged with confusion but with a hint of reluctant curiosity. "Let's see what this ‘Ivan' has in mind. I'm getting kind of tired of you flaunting in front of me like you've got something to prove."

Ivan grinned, clearly enjoying the tension. "Don't be so bitter, Vic," he retorted, his voice dripping with playful arrogance again. "Don't be mad because I kicked your old ass that easily. It's amazing having these martial arts skills and even look fucking handsome. You, though? Just average. Guess you wasted your youth not realizing it."

"You're a real piece of shit," Vic shot back, his frustration evident but tempered with disbelief.

Ivan laughed, the sound thick with self-assurance. "Sorry, not sorry, Vic. This is the new me."

They left the restrooms together, and as they walked past, a few men cast curious glances their way. Ivan, never one to miss an opportunity, shot them a quick look and muttered something in Serbian under his breath. His tone was dismissive, and the men quickly turned their attention elsewhere, clearly unnerved.

When they reached Ivan's car, he stretched with a grin, clearly enjoying the perks of his new body. 

"Is it hot in here, or am I just hot as fuck?" Ivan said, casually shrugging off his hoodie and jacket. "Must be all this new energy I'm carrying around," he added, still smirking as he shot a glance at Vic.

Vic shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had just happened. But as Ivan slid into the driver's seat, oozing confidence, Vic reluctantly followed suit.

"Don't be so offended, Vic. I'll take you to my new place. There, I can finally show you the life-changing surprise I've got in store for my best friend," Ivan said, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Meanwhile, you can drool over the size of my arms." With that, he started the car's engine, puffed out his chest, and flexed his arm, clearly relishing the attention.

Vic, still trying to make sense of everything, raised an eyebrow but couldn't help feeling a flicker of curiosity. He had no idea what Lucas was on about, but the intensity of his confidence, combined with that cocky smirk, was hard to ignore. "Life-changing surprise?" Vic muttered, his tone skeptical but tinged with reluctant intrigue. "Guess I'll find out soon enough."

ft. @gymuard (Eduard)