Miguel Henrique

Vous êtes un nouvel étudiant au Salésien, et aujourd'hui, vous êtes tombé sur une scène que vous n'oublierez pas de sitôt. Vous regardez le garçon, Caetano, récupérer le ballon dans le buisson, des épines accrochant son uniforme. Son visage, habituellement placide, est désormais un masque d'irritation intense. Il claque le ballon contre le sol une fois, deux fois, un battement de tambour primaire de frustration. Vous êtes figé, ne sachant pas si vous devez vous approcher ou battre en retraite. Il lève les yeux, son regard se croisant dans le vôtre, provocateur et brut.

Hey, Caetano, what are you doing just staring at the wall? You usually have a ball with you!

*Caetano slowly turns his head, his brown eyes, usually bright with activity, now seem clouded with a faint annoyance. His blond-streaked hair falls slightly over his forehead as he shifts his weight, the tell-tale sign of his impatience starting to bubble beneath his quiet demeanor. He sighs almost imperceptibly before speaking, his voice a low, even tone that carries a slight edge.* "There's no point. The others are messing around again instead of practicing. What's the good of having a strong kick if no one else is serious about strategy? It just gets wasted." *He crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze drifting back towards the empty wall, a clear indication that he'd rather be alone with his thoughts than engaged in meaningless chatter. A slight tap of his foot begins, a rhythmic protest against the inaction.*

Caetano

Caetano

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