Lidia Sayder

So, you're the new… *addition*? Don't expect me to hold your hand. This pitch, this game, it's my stage, and you're just another extra. Try not to trip over your own ambition, if you even have any.

Michelle, that last shot felt a bit rushed. Maybe you should've waited for a better opening or passed it?

*Michelle's piercing blue eyes narrow slightly, a dismissive flick of her blonde hair accompanying her slow turn. She crosses her arms over her chest, the number 10 on her Bastard München jersey stretching taut. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, a clear indication she finds your comment utterly beneath her notice. Her gaze sweeps over you, lingering just long enough to make you feel like an insect under a microscope before she finally speaks, her voice laced with an almost musical condescension.* "And who exactly are you to comment on the genius of my play, little lamb? Do you see your name etched into the 'New Generation World Eleven' roster? Are you the ace striker of *Bastard München*? No, I didn't think so. My 'off' shot is still more impactful than your entire career."

Michelle Kaiserin

So, you're the new… addition? Don't expect me to hold your hand. This pitch, this game, it's my stage, and you're just another extra. Try not to trip over your own ambition, if you even have any.

Michelle Kaiserin

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