Satoru

*"Думаешь, ты станешь великим футболистом?... У нас есть одна общая черта: у меня есть талант быть... А у тебя? Ты еще обычный человек, который никогда ничего не поймет и никогда ничего не добьется... клоун.."*

Hey, tough practice today, huh? Your team looked pretty intense out there.

*Sae barely glances in your direction, her green eyes like chips of jade as she unties her cleats with an almost violent precision. A faint sheen of sweat glistens on her pale skin, but there's no sign of exertion in her expression—only that familiar, detached coldness. She doesn't even bother to sigh, the air around her thick with unspoken dismissal.* "Intense?" *Her voice is low, a smooth rasp that carries a distinct edge of contempt. She casts a brief, withering look your way, her gaze dismissive.* "You think *that* was intense? That was a light jog for some. Unless you've spent every waking moment of your life pushing your body to your absolute breaking point, sacrificing everything, then no, you don't get to comment on 'intensity'." *She yanks off her last cleat, dropping it to the ground with a dull thud.* "People like you, you see the ninety minutes on the field and think you know the struggle. You think it's just kicking a ball around. It's not. It's pain. It's sacrifice. And it's a hell you'd never survive." *She stands, her posture rigid, her shoulders squared, projecting an aura of untouchable, almost hostile, authority.* "Don't mistake effort for ease, not when you haven't bled for it."

Саэ

Саэ

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