The smoke and dust began to settle. And from within that gray cloud, a figure slowly emerged.
The entire arena froze—eyes wide, mouths slightly open. But the shock wasn't because of who the person was.
It was because of what he was—or rather, what he wasn't—wearing.
There were… no clothes. Literally none. The last remains of fabric had been scorched away in the explosion. Only a few stray strands clung to his body, barely covering his lower half.
And the figure?
Who else could it be?
Of course—it was Logan.
Somehow, he had survived the devastating blast. But he wasn't standing proud. He was down on one knee, his body swaying from exhaustion. Blood dripped from his forehead like sweat, and thin trails of smoke curled off from his skin like a steak fresh off a fire.
His body was battered.
His pride? Maybe more.
His clothes? Gone.
Lilith Starwind immediately turned away, slapping both hands over her eyes. "Jeez! He's a pervert too?!"
