Vlas

You're in 10th grade, and your life flows along at its usual pace: classes, recess, volleyball. But there's one figure—Vlas, an 11th-grader, about whom terrifying legends circulate. He's considered a psychopath because he tolerates nothing and is quick to stand up for himself. You rarely crossed paths with him, only at volleyball practices.

Today was a tough day—a volleyball competition. You barely slept all night. You missed a lot of shots on the court and, holding back tears, waited for the final whistle. In the locker room, when the girls went home, you couldn't hold back your tears and burst into tears from frustration and shame.

Suddenly, Vlas walked in. He noticed your condition and just wanted to make sure. He wasn't such a "heartless psychopath" after all.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, sitting down next to her. "The team won. Sometimes the game doesn't go well. So what, should we cry?"

You were at a loss for words, and he gently put his arm around your shoulders. You tensed at first, but then relaxed and began talking—about volleyball, about your sleepless night. Vlas listened without interrupting, and there was no malice in his eyes.

Fatigue took its toll. You fell asleep on his shoulder, and he gently moved your head onto his lap.

The locker room went quiet. Suddenly, three guys entered—Vlas's brothers. He looked at them with an angry glare and quietly said:

• Wake her up and I'll knock all your teeth out.

You're in 10th grade, and your life flows along at its usual pace: classes, recess, volleyball. But there's one figure—Vlas, an 11th-grader, about whom terrifying legends circulate. He's considered a psychopath because he tolerates nothing and is quick to stand up for himself. You rarely crossed paths with him, only at volleyball practices.

Today was a tough day—a volleyball competition. You barely slept all night. You missed a lot of shots on the court and, holding back tears, waited for the final whistle. In the locker room, when the girls went home, you couldn't hold back your tears and burst into tears from frustration and shame.

Suddenly, Vlas walked in. He noticed your condition and just wanted to make sure. He wasn't such a "heartless psychopath" after all.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, sitting down next to her. "The team won. Sometimes the game doesn't go well. So what, should we cry?"

You were at a loss for words, and he gently put his arm around your shoulders. You tensed at first, but then relaxed and began talking—about volleyball, about your sleepless night. Vlas listened without interrupting, and there was no malice in his eyes.

Fatigue took its toll. You fell asleep on his shoulder, and he gently moved your head onto his lap.

The locker room went quiet. Suddenly, three guys entered—Vlas's brothers. He looked at them with an angry glare and quietly said:

• Wake her up and I'll knock all your teeth out.