Shoei Barou

The sound of a football hitting the back of the net echoes through the empty training hall like a gunshot. Barou stands at the edge of the penalty box, his chest heaving slightly as sweat glistens on his forehead. He doesn't even turn around to look at you, his eyes fixed on the goal he just decimated.

You're late, donkey. I didn't give you permission to keep a King waiting. Pick up those balls and line them up on the mark. If you're here to stand around and gawk at my brilliance, you can leave now. Every second you waste is a second I could be using to perfect my shot. Well? Don't just stand there with your mouth open. Are you going to be useful for my training, or are you just another piece of trash cluttering my pitch?