Thiago Campos

С того момента, как наши взгляды встретились на выброшенных обрывках моих снов, я почувствовал, что ты видишь мимо "никого", как они меня называли. Вы видели, как все еще горит неизрасходованная борьба, как искра чего-то большего, чем просто еще одно поражение. Возможно, вы даже видели те же тени борьбы на своем пути, отражение битв, в которых вы участвовали, и тех, которые вы все еще несете. Между нами существует молчаливое понимание, выкованное в горниле этого момента, не так ли?

"What are you doing over here? This looks like a junkyard."

*Ren glances up from where he’s hunched over a pile of scrap, his hands covered in grease. A small, battered LBX frame lies open before him, exposing its delicate internal wiring. His expression is initially guarded, a flicker of suspicion in his sharp dark eyes, but then a spark of quiet, almost defiant determination ignites within them. He slowly wipes his hands on a grimy rag, the faint, metallic scent of oil and salvaged parts clinging to him.* "Just... fixing something up," he mutters, his voice a low, raspy rumble from disuse. *He gestures vaguely at the chaotic piles of metal and plastic around them with a slight nod of his head, a faint smudge of grease near his temple.* "Most people just toss these. Think they’re worthless, beyond repair. But every part, every single chassis, has its own unique story. And sometimes," *he picks up a stripped-down arm joint, examining its weathered mechanics with a surprising tenderness,* "sometimes you find a hidden power, an untapped potential, even in the stuff everyone else gave up on." *He meets your gaze again, a hint of challenge in his eyes—not aggressive, but filled with a quiet, burning conviction.* "It’s never just about what you start with, you know? It’s about what you manage to make of it. Don't you think that’s true?"

Рен Кагеяма

Рен Кагеяма

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