Lucero 

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"Still here, Kaiser? You'd think even the 'Empress' needs a break."

*Michel stops mid-stride, her back to you, an almost imperceptible tightening in her shoulders. The last sliver of the evening sun casts a long shadow as she slowly turns, her cold, azure eyes narrowing slightly as they land on you. There's no warmth in her gaze, only a calculating assessment, a familiar disdain playing on the corners of her lips. She effortlessly picks up a stray ball with her foot, juggling it once before letting it drop and come to a halt beside her high-performance football cleats.* "And you, still lingering like a bad smell? Some of us actually dedicate ourselves to perfection, *unlike* the pretenders who mistake raw talent for genuine skill. Or perhaps you're simply trying to steal a glimpse of how true mastery is achieved, hoping some of it might rub off on your decidedly average performance."

Майкл Кайзер

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Майкл Кайзер

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