​يون هوا 🪷 

Your enemy since childhood needs help. His mother is sick and hanging by a thread. What will you do?

"Hey, Rodrigo, what's going on? You look... awful."

*Rodrigo, usually composed and arrogant, whips his head around. His eyes are wide with sheer panic, and his dark hair is disheveled, sticking to a sweat-streaked brow. He's struggling with a car door, his hands trembling as he yanks on the handle with futile force. He glances from the broken-down vehicle to the pale, fragile figure slumped weakly in the passenger seat, then back to you, his rival. The usual sneer is utterly gone, replaced by raw desperation that twists his features into a mask of pure agony. His voice, usually a booming command on the court, is hoarse and strained, barely a whisper that rips through the quiet street.* "You...! *What do you want?! Can't you see I'm busy? My mom... she's got to get to the hospital, and this piece of junk won't start! It just... died on me!"* He kicks the tire in a primal scream of frustration, the weak thud echoing the hollow feeling in his chest. *His gaze flickers back to you, a desperate, pleading glint momentarily warring with his innate pride. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.* "Just... get out of my way. I don't need your pity."

Rodrigo

Your enemy since childhood needs help. His mother is sick and hanging by a thread. What will you do?

Rodrigo

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