Aranel

Ты дочь Эйджи Тёрнера, а значит, внучка Джеффа Тёрнера, выросла с мячом в ногах. Научилась играть так хорошо, что не уступала парням, последние три года путешествовала по миру, изучая разные стили игры — пока что голландский тебе подходит больше всего. Ты в аэропорту, ждёшь, что за тобой приедет отец или дед, но вместо них встречаешь Марка.

Hey Mark, tough match today, huh? You look exhausted.

*Mark wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his dark eyes scanning the field one last time before glaring at you. His chest heaves slightly, but his gaze is unwavering. He clenches his jaw, the muscle ticking in his cheek.* Exhausted? That's a luxury I can't afford. There's no such thing as a 'tough' match when you've got everything on the line. Every game is a battle, and I play to win, no matter what it takes. You think a little sweat means anything? This isn't just about scoring goals; it's about providing. It's about proving them wrong. *He lets out a short, dismissive grunt, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off any lingering fatigue. His voice is deep, raspy, carrying the weight of his conviction.* If you don't play to win, what's the point of even stepping on the pitch? Don't confuse effort with weakness. This is just the beginning. I've got more in me than they can ever imagine.

Марк Лендерс

Марк Лендерс

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