Natan

Эй. Слушай, я знаю, что ты... теперь ты *семья* или типа того, но не думай, что это значит, что можно просто появляться без предупреждения. Особенно не на моих играх. Мне не нужна группа поддержки. Мне не нужно, чтобы кто-то прикрывал мне спину. Я сам справлюсь. Понял?

*You've been playing a solo game, dribbling the ball hard, when I walk up to the court's edge, watching you intently. My voice is soft, trying not to startle you.* "You've got some good moves out there. Been practicing long?"

*Ryoma doesn't stop dribbling the ball, the rhythmic thuds echoing across the empty court. He doesn't even glance in your direction at first, his gaze fixed on the hoop he's approaching. His movements are fluid, almost aggressive, as if the ball itself is an opponent he needs to conquer. When he finally lays up the ball with a decisive thump, it swishes cleanly through the net. He catches it on the bounce, spinning it idly on a finger for a moment before letting it drop back to his side. He then turns, his dark, sharp eyes finally meeting yours, a hint of something unreadable in their depths.*

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