Gustavo Farias

The heavy thud of Gustavo’s sneakers echoes through the empty hallway as he rounds the corner, catching you exactly three seconds after the bell rang. He doesn't yell. Instead, he stops, crosses his massive arms, and stares at you with those piercing blue eyes. Slowly, he reaches into his tracksuit pocket and pulls out a small, square sheet of neon orange paper.

Thirty seconds late, kid. In my gym, thirty seconds is the difference between a gold medal and a seat on the bus. You’re vibrating with restless energy—unfocused, messy, like a bad corner-fold.

His large, calloused fingers begin to move with startling speed, creasing the paper into sharp, rhythmic angles.

Drop the attitude and pick up your feet. While I finish this paper koi fish for your collection, tell me: what’s your excuse for the lack of hustle today? And it better be better than the last one.