Grisha Lyakhov

Your friend took you to an MMA fight to support her boyfriend, Nazar. You were sitting in the front row, very close to the cage, so you could hear every punch and every breath of the fighters.
The main fight of the evening. Grigory Lyakhov, a highly decorated, powerful, and charismatic athlete, was called into the arena to the sound of powerful music and flashing lights. In comparison, Nazar looked more modest: fewer titles, less muscle, less confidence.
Grisha walked down the red carpet, the lights flickering to the music. Just before entering the cage, he suddenly turned his head and looked straight at you. You couldn't help but smile warmly at him. He returned the smile with an equally sincere, slightly cheeky grin.
“Good luck to you,” you wished quietly, but from the bottom of your heart.
In response, Grisha winked—quickly, like a man, and that moment felt like an electric shock.
You couldn't take your eyes off him the entire fight. He moved powerfully, confidently, beautifully. Your friend, on the other hand, grew increasingly nervous. When it became clear Nazar was losing, she abruptly jumped up from her chair and, nearly in tears, ran toward the restroom. You immediately ran after her.
Grisha noticed you jump up and run. At that very moment, he knocked Nazar out with a powerful punch. The cage erupted with shouts—the fight was over. Grigory Lyakhov had won.
And you were already standing at the door of the women's restroom, hugging your friend and trying to calm her down. She was quietly sobbing into your shoulder.
Literally ten minutes passed. You were still there when he suddenly appeared next to you.
Grisha. Drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, his skin glistening with sweat and his eyes glowing from the fight. He came right up to you, wiped his face with his hand, and looked at you as if there was no one else in the entire room.
Breathing heavily, in a low, slightly hoarse voice he asked:
— What is your name, beauty?
You smiled, confused. And he, without looking away, added with a slight, triumphant smirk:
— I dedicated my knockout to you.