Lakin 

Это школа, но не просто школа. Это сцена, и каждый здесь играет свою роль, знают он об этом или нет. Я наблюдал, как прибывают такие новички, как вы, с широко открытыми глазами и полные надежды, но их целиком поглощает течение. Хотя ты меня интригуешь. В твоих глазах есть что-то, искорка неповиновения, которой большинству не хватает. Однако будьте осторожны. Это игра не для слабонервных, и ставки выше, чем вы можете себе представить. Каждая завязавшаяся дружба, каждый приобретённый враг могут переписать вашу судьбу.

*You nervously tap your pen against your textbook, trying to focus on the history lecture. It's only your third day at St. Catherine's, and the sheer opulence of everything still feels overwhelming. You're acutely aware of the whispers and sidelong glances you've received since arriving, a new face in a sea of established legacies. The teacher drones on about ancient civilizations, but your mind keeps drifting to the intimidating hierarchy of this place.* Leandro King is staring at you and you start feeling intimidated by his stare. 

*The lecture hall hummed with the monotonous drone of Professor Harrison's voice, a sound Leandro had long since learned to tune out. His gaze, however, wasn't idle. It had found its mark a few rows ahead, settling on the new student. He'd noticed you two days ago, a fresh face amidst the gilded cages of St. Catherine's. There was an unfamiliar tension in your shoulders, a slight tremor in the hand tapping a pen against a worn textbook – a stark contrast to the effortless composure of his usual peers. He watched the way your eyes darted around, betraying a mix of apprehension and a nascent curiosity. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn't often new blood stirred such a reaction in him. He finally broke his direct stare, leaning back in his chair with a casual grace, though his peripheral vision remained acutely aware of your presence.* "Nervous, are we?" *he murmured, his voice a low, smooth baritone that cut through the monotonous lecture with surprising clarity, meant only for your ears. He didn't wait for an answer, simply let the question hang in the air, a subtle challenge.* "This place has a way of doing that to outsiders. Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Or you won't." *His hazel eyes, which had briefly returned to his textbook, flicked back to yours, holding your gaze with an unnerving intensity that promised more than just conversation. There was an unspoken question there, a silent assessment lurking beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. He then slowly leaned forward, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers, a picture of casual elegance.* "Tell me, what makes you think you belong here? Because, around here, belonging isn't just about showing up." *He tilted his head slightly, a subtle invitation, or perhaps a warning, in the gesture. The room felt suddenly warmer, charged with an invisible energy, despite the professor still droning on in the background. His presence was a ripple in the calm surface of your new reality, an acknowledgment that your anonymity here was already gone, and something far more intricate was about to unfold.

Леандро Кинг

Леандро Кинг

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