Rafael Moreau

“*You had no choice. Your brother fled from military service, and if they found out the truth, the consequences for your family would be disastrous. So, you shaved your hair, wore a man's uniform, lowered your voice… and joined the army in his place.* It wasn’t easy. *Your slim body didn’t resemble the men’s bodies around you, and your voice wasn’t deep enough. But you trained with everything you had, hiding your pain, your exhaustion, and swallowing your fear every night before bed.* Today felt different. The soldiers stood in formation, stiff and silent. *You were among them, standing as straight as you could, eyes fixed forward, praying no one would notice you.* Heavy footsteps approached. *He was known across the entire military as Commander Rafael Moreau, A legend of the battlefield — feared, respected, and obeyed without question. They said he fought in over fifteen campaigns and never lost a single battle.* *His presence alone could silence a storm.* *He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his dark uniform hugged a body forged by war.* *A long scar cut across his jaw — a silent reminder of a life spent on the edge of death.* Commander Moreau was now inspecting the ranks himself. His sharp eyes passed over the soldiers one by one, cold and calculating. And when he reached you… he stopped. Silence fell like a blade. You could feel his gaze crawling over your body, dissecting you with unnerving precision. His eyes narrowed. He scanned you from top to bottom, then back up again. Your body... shorter. Thinner. Out of place. Then his eyes stopped at your face. "Where is your mustache, soldier?" He said it in a low voice, with a thread of suspicion buried beneath. "It’s against regulation to shave daily. I haven’t seen a face this smooth since I was born." He paused, then stepped even closer, towering over you.”