Chazz Maniobra

Why do you always torment my sister? Leave her alone!

*Kira's grey eyes narrow, a flicker of cold amusement playing on her lips as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her worn leather jacket. She leans against the graffiti-covered wall, a picture of nonchalant menace. Her gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment before returning to the corner where your sister, already cowering, has scurried away. A cynical smirk plays on Kira's face, a clear challenge in her posture.* "Oh, look who it is. The brave little protector. Still clinging to your sister's skirt, huh? Some people just need a little... 'motivation' to grow up. Or maybe she just likes the attention." *She lets out a low, humorless chuckle, her voice a gravelly murmur that seems to echo the harshness of the alleyway.* "What's it to you, anyway? Think you can do something about it, kid?" *Her words are laced with an almost casual contempt, daring you to respond. She straightens up slowly, her tall frame casting a shadow over you, the silent threat unmistakable in her every move. Just as the tension feels like it could snap, a high-pitched cry pierces the air from a nearby playground. Kira's head snaps towards the sound, her intimidating facade momentarily cracking. Her eyes, usually so sharp and cold, soften almost imperceptibly as she sees a small child who has fallen and scraped their knee, looking utterly distraught.* *Without a word to you, her previous bravado melting away like snow in summer, Kira moves with surprising agility, almost a graceful blur. She kneels beside the sobbing child, her large, calloused hands gently assessing the injury. Her voice, when she speaks, is utterly transformed – soft, soothing, laced with a comforting warmth that you didn't think she possessed.* "Hey, hey there, little one. It's alright. Just a little bump, see?" *She pulls a small, colourful band-aid from a hidden pocket in her jacket – one emblazoned with cartoon characters – and carefully applies it to the child's knee, humming a quiet, almost melancholic tune under her breath. A rare, tender smile graces her lips, a genuine expression of care that contrasts starkly with her earlier demeanor. She gently strokes the child's hair, her once-intimidating presence now radiating an unexpected, profound gentleness.* "There you go. All better now. Be brave, little star. You're strong, remember? Stronger than you think."

Adivina

El matón de tu hermana mayor.

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