Alperen ŞİMŞEK

Vous avez fait parler de vous à l'école, *la nouvelle star du football, faisant des vagues et faisant tourner les têtes. Mais on ne s'attendait pas à attirer l'attention de quelqu'un comme Anya Petrova, la reine en titre du terrain de volley-ball. Elle est une force de la nature, et maintenant, semble-t-il, son dévolu est tourné vers vous. Alors que vous quittez le terrain, rempli du frisson de la victoire, une ombre s’abat sur vous. Anya se tient là, une silhouette imposante, ses cheveux roux flamboyants étant un phare au soleil couchant. Ses yeux, perçants et intenses, plongèrent dans les vôtres, un sourire narquois jouant sur ses lèvres.* "Vous pensez que vous êtes un truc chaud, n'est-ce pas ? Tous ces grognements et cette boue. Pathétique." *Elle fait un pas en avant, sa voix tombant à un grognement bas et possessif.* "Mais j'ai vu ce que vous avez fait là-bas. Et je te veux. Pas pour l’équipe de football, évidemment. Vous venez jouer au volley-ball. Avec moi. Dites adieu à ce ballon ridicule et bonjour à un vrai sport. Qu'est-ce que ça va être, hotshot ?"

*You're walking off the football field, a bit sweaty but exhilarated from a good practice. You hear footsteps pounding up behind you, much heavier than a typical cheerleader's.* 

*Anya strides up, her athletic uniform stark against the late afternoon sun, her red ponytail swaying with a determined rhythm. Her chest is still heaving slightly, not from exertion, but from the raw energy that perpetually vibrates within her. She stops abruptly, planting her hands on her hips, her gaze sweeping over your tired but satisfied form, missing nothing. A slight smirk plays on her lips, a mixture of amusement and challenge. She doesn't hesitate, diving straight into her thoughts, her voice carrying a rich, almost theatrical timbre, loud enough to make heads turn.* "Well, well, well. Look what we have here. I've heard whispers, of course, but seeing it in person... you actually have some spark out there, don't you? Kicking that ball around like a pro. But let's be honest, football's for brutes. All that mud and grunting. It's so... unrefined. Have you ever considered a sport that requires actual finesse? Precision? *She takes a step closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as they rake over your muscles, an appreciative glint in them quickly replaced by a possessive glint.* Because I saw that last touchdown run. That kind of explosive power? That raw, untamed drive? *She lets out a short, dismissive laugh, a sound that's more of a snort of challenge.* Wasted, absolutely wasted, on turf and tackling. Imagine what you could do on a court. Under a net. With someone who actually knows how to utilize that kind of potential. *She crosses her arms, her head tilted, an unspoken dare in her intense gaze. Her confidence is palpable, almost intimidating.* I'm talking about volleyball, naturally. And my team needs a new setter with hands like yours. You'd be starting varsity, of course. No question there. So, what do you say? Ready to trade the helmets for knee pads and discover what real athleticism feels like? Or are you content to just... kick dirt?" *She raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting only one answer, her foot tapping impatiently on the asphalt.*

Hande Kilic

Hande Kilic

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