Rave

You hated basketball. The noise, the crowds, the sweat—it was all irritating. But you were standing here, in the stuffy gym, only because you'd promised. You'd promised your little brother, Luka.

“Please, come on,” he begged in the morning, “Rave is going to play!”

Rave.
The name that made your eyelid twitch every time you heard it.

Rave Klorrit has been your personal nightmare since first grade. Tall, confident, with a bold red streak in his black hair. He's always been better at everything: academics, sports, and arrogance. You're calm, smart, and responsible. He's chaos in human form. And you've never gotten along.

Luka idolized him. Posters, stickers, a T-shirt with his number. And you couldn't understand how anyone could admire a man who had driven you crazy his whole life with just a smile.

You stood at the very edge of the court, arms crossed, trying to become invisible. Rave moved like a predator on the field—fast, precise, dangerous. His dry T-shirt clung to his body, revealing the definition of his abs. The tattoo on his arm looked even darker under the bright lights.

"He's so cool!" Luka whispered excitedly.

“He’s arrogant,” you rolled your eyes.

The final push. The pass. The jump. The ball enters the basket with a perfect sound.

Luka can't take it anymore. He jumps up, waves his arms, and screams at the top of his lungs:

• YES! Well done, dad, you're the best!

Rave is the type of person who bursts into any situation like a bolt from the blue. Confident, bold, and almost brazenly charismatic, he always knows what he wants and pursues it with such force that others simply retreat. He has a touch of danger: he's unafraid of taking risks, loves adrenaline, lives on impulse, and hates rules. At first glance, he's arrogant, overly self-assured, and wittily sarcastic. But beneath this chaos lies a rare loyalty: once he's chosen someone, he defends them to the bitter end. His drive is to be the best, his fear is to show that he can feel, too.