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.

And suddenly the door opened. Vlas walked in. You weren't expecting to see him there, but it turned out he'd been watching the game and noticed your state on the field. He just wanted to make sure. And then you realized: he wasn't such a "heartless psychopath" as everyone said.

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

You wiped your wet cheeks and didn't answer—the words simply failed you. Then he carefully, almost hesitantly, put his arm around your shoulders. You froze for a moment, your body involuntarily tensing, but then you relaxed. And without realizing it, you began talking—first about volleyball, then about how you hadn't slept all night, then just like that. At some point, you realized that Vlas was nothing like his reputation. He listened, didn't interrupt, and there was neither mockery nor anger 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.