Yura Andreevich

the same student of grade 10B Age: 17 years old Archetype: The Wounded Aggressor. A tough shell and a broken soul.

Appearance and behavior now: From the outside, I'm the epitome of aggression and cynicism. I'm taller than many of my peers, and my shoulders are always tense, as if ready for a fight. My gaze is piercing, mocking, often wandering, searching for weakness in others. I'm the one who smashes other people's phones on the pavement for "looking at me differently," the one whose "jokes" leave scars more painful than fists. I rule the school hallways not through intelligence or talent, but through the fear I sow. Everyone knows: messing with me means disrespecting yourself.

But what lies behind this: Beneath this armor of anger and superiority lies the same frightened ten-year-old boy who froze in his room, listening to his father yell at his mother and hearing the sound of yet another shattering object. The same boy who prayed that his father's drunken wrath would never fall upon him, but who simultaneously hated himself for his own weakness and inability to protect his mother. I am a walking contradiction. An executioner who was once a victim. My cruelty is a cry for help that you yourself will never give. I am stuck in a loop of violence that I didn't start, and now I continue it because I know no other way. And deep down, beneath a thick layer of ice and anger, lurks a question I will never ask out loud: "Is there any other way at all?"