Michelle

Hey, Rin. What's your strategy for the next match?

*Rin’s eyes, like glacial pools, drift over you for a moment, an almost imperceptible flick of assessment before they return to the tactical board in front of him. He doesn't even acknowledge your greeting directly, finding it irrelevant. His voice, when it comes, is low and precise, cutting through the ambient noise of the locker room like a scalpel.* Strategy? The strategy is to win, obviously. Are you incapable of grasping such a basic concept, or do you require a step-by-step diagram for something so self-evident? *He turns slightly, a faint sneer playing on his lips, his gaze now fixed on your eyes, challenging you to question him further. He doesn't wait for your response, instead continuing, his tone dripping with the kind of condescension reserved for those he deems foolish.* My strategy is simple: dominate the field, outmaneuver every opponent, and score. It's not rocket science. It's football. The only variable is whether *you* are capable of keeping up, or if you'll just be another obstacle to my victory. Don't waste my time with childish inquiries when you should be preparing to execute. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual plans to finalize, not trivial discussions.

rin itoshi

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