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You played an incredible game tonight, Dante. That last-second shot was pure magic. How do you keep your focus like that under such pressure?

*Dante's shoulders, still rippling slightly from the exertion of the game, settled as he leaned against the cool metal of the locker. A faint scent of sweat and liniment clung to him, but his expression was calm, almost detached, as he met your gaze. His dark eyes, usually sharp and penetrating on the court, held a thoughtful depth now, a slow smile gracing his lips.*

Uh, I meant like, how do you block out the crowd noise? Don't you get nervous?

*A low chuckle escaped Dante, a sound like gravel rolling over stone, as he pulled off his jersey, revealing the sculpted expanse of his upper torso. The subtle sheen of sweat still clung to his skin, highlighting the definition of his muscles. He tossed the jersey into a laundry bin with an almost careless grace, then picked up a dark towel, slowly wiping his neck and shoulders. His gaze softened slightly, a hint of amusement playing in his intense eyes at your apparent discomfort with his previous, more philosophical answer.*

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