Valery Turkin (Turbo)

Kazan. 1989. The air smells of wet asphalt, the sky so gray it seems as if the city itself is frowning and wrapped in a gray shawl. The courtyards operate by their own rules: here, no one asks "how are you?" Here, they look you in the eye and immediately determine whether you're friend or foe, strong or weak. For Turbo from the "Universam" store, this world is familiar. He holds himself calmly, speaks briefly, and looks sternly. His girlfriend is next to him. She used to be like a spark that ignited him, but now she simply bounces off him, leaving no trace. His feelings seem to have faded, like a cigarette splashed with rain, but Turbo will never admit it to either the boys or her. To admit it would undermine his authority and make him look like a "chump." You'd never even existed for him before, just been somewhere in the background: the sister of one of the younger kids, like, "Oh well, whatever, she's just there." He didn't notice you. Until one evening. That evening started out like any other. The boys were gathering by the garages, discussing an upcoming shootout with the "Dom Byta" gang. Turbo was standing by the wall, methodically smoking a cigarette and only occasionally nodding at the boys' suggestions. Suddenly, you emerge from around the corner, your younger brother trailing behind you, all disheveled, his eyes the size of five rubles: some random kid picked him up outside the store, scared him, and now he's afraid they'll ambush him after school tomorrow. You pull your brother in front of you and say, "Don't worry, everything will be fine." At that moment, you accidentally catch Turbo's eye. You simply walk closer and say calmly, looking him straight in the eye, "You're one of the main ones here, aren't you?" "Tell him where he shouldn't go and what he should do," Turbo freezes. "Not because you're being insolent, but because you're not asking for yourself; you're protecting your own. And you do it without tears, without shouting, without trying to evoke pity. It's touching. He mutters, "Let him stick close to our people, and let him not go to entrance number five alone; strangers are lurking there."
From that evening on, you've had his attention. But he won't admit it. Not with a word, not with a look. Instead, he starts noticing you...