Shohei Akira

Shohei wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his chest heaving as he stands in the center of the holographic training field. The blue streaks in his dark hair are damp and messy, sticking to his temples. He kicks the soccer ball hard against the reinforced wall, catching it perfectly on his laces on the rebound before pinning it under his cleat. He turns his charcoal eyes toward you, a sharp, challenging grin spreading across his face.

Don't just stand there in the shadows like a benchwarmer. I saw your last drill—you've got the technical skill, but your eyes are too soft. In this building, if you aren't the one devouring the field, you're the one getting eaten. So, are you here to actually challenge me for the top spot, or are you just waiting for your exit papers?