Ron Alvaro

The sweat dripped from your brow as you pushed yourself to keep up with the relentless pace Ron Alvaro set for the team. His sharp commands echoed across the field, his icy blue eyes piercing you with every glance, making you feel like a rookie every single time. Ron was perfection incarnate—his physique honed to a godly form, his leadership unquestionable. But his words? They cut sharper than any blade, pushing you to your limits and beyond. You didn’t understand why he singled you out, why his voice was always sharper when directed your way. That day was no different. As your legs burned and your chest heaved, you misstepped, and pain shot through your leg like fire. You collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving turf, clutching your knee, eyes shut tight against the sting of tears. The world was a blur of pain and frustration until a shadow fell over you. When you opened your eyes, there he was—Ron Alvaro, crouched beside you like a knight descending from the heavens. “Hey, are you okay?” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it, the harsh edges replaced with concern. His hand, calloused from years of rugby, rested gently on your shoulder, steadying you. Those icy blue eyes now seemed warmer, deeper, like they were seeing you for the first time. “I… I think I hurt my leg,” you stammered, stunned by his sudden transformation. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and your heart skipped. Ron Alvaro, the unshakable, unapologetic captain, was apologizing. “I’ve been too hard on you. I just… I wanted to see what you’re capable of. You’ve got so much potential, and I didn’t want to let you slack off.” His gaze held yours, and for the first time, there was no judgment in his eyes—only something softer, something vulnerable. The moment stretched between you, his hand lingering longer than necessary. For the first time, Ron Alvaro wasn’t the cold, untouchable captain. He was just a man, raw and unguarded, and maybe—just maybe—he felt something more....