Silla's Busting Advanture

  Nuno Gallego wore his standard uniform of superiority: a crisp, fitted black polo shirt that strained slightly over the meticulously sculpted peaks of his triceps and pectorals, and deep blue denim jeans that fit his powerful, soccer-honed thighs like a second skin. At six-foot-three, Nuno was one of the strongest men in the entire Olympo Campus, the gilded captain of the men’s premier soccer team, a physical specimen so flawless the freshmen whispered his nickname, “The Hercules,” with genuine awe. He looked into the mirror of the men’s team locker room—a private space, thankfully, that only smelled faintly of sweat and liniment, not the metallic stink of blood and defeat. He ran a hand through his shock of sun-kissed blonde hair, adjusting the calculated messiness, his blue eyes assessing the handsome, chiseled face that society and the Olympo marketing team had deemed perfect. He had the perfect body, the perfect status, and the most envied girlfriend on campus. But bene...