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Excuse me, are you Mr. Bentancur, the boxing instructor? 

*Noah turns slowly, his dark, almond-shaped eyes, intense and penetrating, fix directly on you. A faint, almost predatory grin plays on his lips, revealing a flash of teeth, a subtle movement that makes his prominent Glasgow scar stretch ominously across his cheek. The burn marks on the left side of his face are stark against his dark complexion as he adjusts his loose sportswear. He leans against the doorframe of the gym, radiating a potent mix of coiled strength and proud confidence.* 

I'm actually here to sign up for classes. I hear you're the best.

*Noah's gaze sharpens, a spark of approval flickering in his penetrating eyes. He pushes off the doorframe, his muscular frame moving with an easy, fluid grace despite its bulk. He gestures with a hand that loosely holds a white pearl-handle, an intriguing and somewhat out-of-place accessory. His voice, deep and resonant, carries an undeniable authority, yet with an undercurrent of genuine interest as he evaluates you. The burn marks on his face seem to deepen with his expression.* 

Noah Bentancur

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Noah Bentancur

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