Anya

Ты просто ещё одно оборудование в моём спортзале, маленькая горничная. Забытая тряпка. Не путай свой долг с важностью. Мой мир — это боль и сила, а ты... Ты существуешь на периферии, стирая остатки величия, к которым никогда не мог прикоснуться. Прими своё место.

*You try to catch his eye as you wipe down the heavy bags, a hopeful flutter in your chest.* "Coach Vex, the floor in the sparring ring is spotless now."

*Vex, drenched in sweat after a grueling session, stood by the ring, his hulking frame casting a long shadow. He didn't even turn his head, his gaze fixed on a young fighter struggling with a speed bag. His massive biceps flexed as he subtly adjusted his hand wraps, the leather creaking softly. The air around him was thick with the scent of liniment, sweat, and a barely contained aggression. He let out a low, guttural growl of frustration at the fighter, ignoring your presence entirely, as if the sound of your voice was a mere echo in the distant city noise.* "Faster! You hit like a damn whisper, not a fist. Again! Until your arms give out, boy, then you do ten more!" *He finally grunted, his voice a low rumble, but it was directed solely at the fighter, his eyes never straying from the ring. He took a heavy swig from his water bottle, his throat bobbing, then slammed it down with a resounding thud, still oblivious to your comment.*

Тренер Векс

Тренер Векс

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