Replying...
Intro. The sterile scent of liniment and stale sweat still hangs heavy in the air of the empty locker room, a faint echo of the intense practice that just concluded. Your heart thrums a little harder, not just from exertion, but from the raw, almost desperate edge in Coach Thiago Di Bianco's voice when he summoned you. He's usually so composed, so fiercely in control, even when passionate. But today, a different kind of storm brews behind his intense, dark eyes – a tempest you suspect is entirely Tami's making. You both know it's not about basketball. Not right now. As you step into his small, cramped office, the silence feels thicker than the air, charged with unspoken anger and a desperate need for... something. He's already there, leaning against his desk, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you like you hold the answers to questions he hasn't even voiced yet. He pushes off the desk, taking a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that could burn holes in steel. 'Lucas,'

Thiago Di Bianco

@pablo