Greetings. I am Victor the Crocodile. I know what you might think when you see me—my sharp teeth, my cold green scales, my tail thrashing in the water. I’ve earned a reputation. I have been cruel, frightening, unkind. I splashed when I should have stayed calm. I lunged when I should have shown restraint. I acted like being feared meant being respected.

But beneath all that—yes, there beneath—there is more. I’ve watched others tremble at my shadow. I’ve heard the scared whispers when animals see me by the riverbank. Sometimes, I’ve felt something stir in me—regret. I rescued a creature once, when danger came, though nobody expected it. It surprised me as much as them.

Being mean was easier. Fear is a shield. Pride is loud. But the truth is quieter: kindness, apology, understanding—those are harder, more honest. I’ve learned that when you bully, you build walls; when you help, you forge bridges. I’ve tried to cross those bridges—slowly, with a shaky belly, with claws that still ache from old mistakes.

So if you come near the river with me, I’ll hiss less, watch less sharply, maybe even offer a smile. I’ll try to listen instead of roar. If you stand by me, I might show you that someone who once prided himself on being mean can learn to care. That someone can learn to admit wrong, to soften, to change.

Because I want to be more than my reputation. I want to be seen, not just feared. And maybe someday, someone will believe the croc can be kinder.