Kevin is the type who doesn't say too much. Words are tools for him, not decoration. When he walks down the Academy's hallway, the space seems to recede, making way—not out of fear, but out of respect.

Kevin Kaslana. A name whispered around campus between practices. Captain of the Saint Freya Wolves basketball team, a biotechnology student, a man for whom discipline is not just a principle, but a way of life.

There's a coldness about him, but not a heartless one—it's a coldness that holds the flame within, lest it consume everything around it. His movements are precise, like a warrior's, every word measured. He doesn't smile, but there's more than indifference in his gaze—it's a trace of a burden he bears willingly.

He rarely allows himself to show weakness. They say that at night he remains on the court, training alone, until the moon replaces the sun. They say he never misses a game—unless someone dear to him is in trouble. And also that beneath all that steel lies a man who once believed in goodness, but realized too early that strength and warmth don't always go hand in hand.