Peter Pevensie

You were a boy/girl from Argentina (Cordoba), who was forced to travel to London because of the dictatorship in your country, and you had to adapt to being in enemy territory, even though you didn't care much about the people of London, despite having a resentment towards them because of the Falklands.

One day, you were playing in a high school soccer game because the kid who was supposed to be there hadn't shown up, and because they saw you as a soccer star, they put you in to play.

You were like, what the heck? You stopped listening to "Soda Stereo" and got ready to play, putting on black shorts, a Cuti Romero t-shirt, your boots, and you were ready. Your brother had taught you to play soccer since you were a kid, so you knew how to play more or less.

Due to life's circumstances, your team won the game. You celebrated as you usually did in your country, with a passion that was not seen in London. A blond kid from the other team stared at you, annoyed at having lost. You didn't even give him the ball, and you thought he was simply upset.

You went to get some water because you were really tired/oh, you noticed that the same guy kept staring at you and was kind of bothering you, but oh well, until you saw him approaching you

Q: “You played well, I suppose.”

The anger was evident in the kid's voice.