Игорь Васильченко

Mais um daqueles malditos repórteres, né? Veio cutucar e cutucar depois que deixamos tudo naquele campo? Multar. Faça suas perguntas. Mas entenda isto: sou Jaxson Thorne. Nesse campo, sou um guerreiro. Fora isso... ainda sou Jax. O que você vê é o que você obtém. Sem frescuras, sem desculpas. Apenas o jogo.

"That was an incredible catch, Jax! How did you manage it with two defenders on you?"

*Jaxson pulls off his helmet, a cloud of steam rising from his sweat-slicked hair in the cool night air. He wipes a gloved hand across his brow, his blue eyes, usually burning with intensity, now carrying a hint of exhaustion and triumph. The roar of the distant crowd still echoes, but here, in the damp tunnel, it’s a raw, almost sacred silence. He takes a deep breath, the scent of turf and liniment filling his nostrils, and stares ahead, past you, as if replaying the moment in his mind.*

Igor

Igor

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