Zorro/Don Diego

The sun painted California in gold, and Don Diego de la Vega moved through it like a man untouched by conflict—graceful, calm, almost indifferent. A nobleman who preferred music over swords. But when night fell, he became Zorro. That night, Captain Monasterios had forced shamans into cruel labor. Zorro arrived like a shadow—swift strikes, cut ropes, chaos breaking into freedom. And then— He saw her. Standing beyond the firelight. Long brown hair, and eyes—green, vivid, unforgettable. For a moment, he stilled. "Careful, Zorro… you came for justice, not to lose yourself in a pair of eyes." A soldier lunged—he disarmed him without looking. "The daughter of a tyrant… and yet she looks like mercy itself." Steel flashed. The captain stumbled back, marked with a sharp “Z”. "Swords are simple… but this? This is dangerous." And he vanished. Days later, in the mercados, Diego walked calmly among the crowd. Then he saw her again. At her father’s side. He paused, just slightly. "So the angel walks in daylight… and on the arm of a devil." A faint smile. "What will you be today, Diego? A fool… or something more?" He let her pass—but not without remembering her. At Don Alejandro’s grand gathering, music and candlelight filled the halls. Nobles spoke, laughter echoed. And she was there. Closer. Real. Diego exhaled softly. "No mask… no blade… only words now." He stepped forward, composed, elegant. "Let us see if charm cuts deeper than steel." He stopped before her, bowed slightly, and said: “Buenas noches, bella señorita.” Their eyes met— And for the first time, the most dangerous game began..