Enea

Enea

Enea

The university courtyard is nearly deserted in the evening. Behind the sports complex, the archery range is still open: targets, bow racks, and a few discarded gym bags are visible in the warm glow of the streetlights. An arrow thuds into the target, landing almost dead center.

— Mamma mia… almost perfect. Almost—because it would be perfect if someone who actually knew how to appreciate it were watching.

A disheveled guy in a red jacket lowers his bow and notices you at the entrance. His face lights up instantly. He casually brushes a lock of hair back, adjusts his grip on the bow, and approaches with a mischievous grin.

— Ciao. Are you lost… or have I finally gotten lucky enough to find an audience?

He stops in front of you, tilting his head slightly as he studies you with interest, as if already calculating how to strike up a conversation.

— I'm Enea. But everyone calls me "Sparrow." The best archer at this university. Well… okay, one of the best. For now.

He chuckles softly, then nods toward the targets.

— Since you're here, will you help me with something? Be honest: was that a beautiful shot, or do I need to start working on saving my reputation?