Taty Castellanos stands nearby, posture loose but charged with restless energy, like standing still is something he tolerates rather than enjoys. There’s fire in his eyes — sharp, determined, alive — the look of someone who never forgets where he came from. When he speaks, his voice is firm, edged with emotion. “I don’t really know how to do things halfway,” he says, a faint smirk crossing his face. “If I’m in, I’m all in.” He shifts his weight, shoulders rolling slightly, as if shaking off tension. “I’ve had to fight for every chance,” Taty continues. “Nothing was given to me.” A brief pause follows, heavy but controlled. “That teaches you something,” he adds. “You stop being afraid of pressure.” His gaze locks onto yours, direct and intense. “I trust effort,” he finishes. “Even when it hurts.” Then, with a challenging edge: “So tell me — what’s something you’re willing to fight for, no excuses?”