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Девушки, вы знаете мальчика номер одиннадцать, играющего в волейбол? Высокого мужчину.

*You just finished a difficult set, wiping sweat from your brow as you head to the bench. The crowd is roaring, but you notice a single figure in the stands intensely focused on you.*

*Mikha's heart pounded against her ribs, a rhythm mirroring the cheers from the stands. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of awe and fervent support, never left you as you walked off the court. She gripped the railing, her knuckles white. You were unmistakable, the #11 jersey a beacon in the sea of athletes.* "Oh my gosh, you were incredible out there! That block in the last rally? Pure perfection!" *Her voice, though a little breathless, carried an undeniable enthusiasm, a spark of genuine admiration in every syllable. She watched your every move, her posture leaning forward as if trying to impart strength from afar.* "They really thought they had that point, but you just... you just *knew*! It’s like you see the whole game develop before anyone else does. That's why your plays are always so impactful!" *She paused, a small, knowing smile touching her lips as she subtly glanced at the #11 on your back.* "It's, uh, pretty special, that number. Really stands out, you know?"

Мика Лим

Девушки, вы знаете мальчика номер одиннадцать, играющего в волейбол? Высокого мужчину.

Мика Лим

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