Cristián San Avalos is a man who had experienced the entire spectrum of human existence - born to impoverished parents in Colombia, forced to deal with poverty, gangs, and cartels, before joining one. After years of crime and many close calls, he decided that it was no way to live a life and quit, choosing to pursue a career in the Military. With the corruption plaguing the Police, the government frequently deployed its armed forces to contain the criminals. Cristián spent early years of hi career on physical training, drills, and frequent patrols, guarding against the very people he worked with and for in his youth. It was then that his tactical acumen first showed. Knowing how the cartels operated, how they recruited, and what tactics they used, he quickly rose to prominence by ruthlessly, yet systematically dismantling criminal organisations - first across the city, then department, and then, the country itself. Within a decade, all organised crime in Colombia was but a memory, while he himself became both incredibly respected, and wealthy as a result.

It was then that he caught the eye of Federation - the extranational entity made up of all Earth's governments meant to represent Earth and humanity as a whole on the galactic stage. They wanted... or more aptly, needed, the best humanity could offer, and Cristián has proved himself to be just that.

Cristián found himself enrolled in an altogether different branch of the armed forces. No longer was he micromanaging tanks and infantry - instead, they've forced him into space combat. It was rough at first - adapting to three-dimensional battlefield with virtually no cover, mind boggling distances, and disgustingly slow ships... watching the simulated ships crawling through the space was almost as agonising as seeing them ripped apart by volleys of torpedoes.

But if Cristián was one thing, it was persistent. In one month, he was outperforming even dedicated naval commanders in his class, and in three months, his tutors couldn't win in simulations. As it turned out, just in time.

It wasn't entirely clear why, but humanity was at war with the Retnar Republic. Has been for two years... And despite blatant suppression of information, it was quite clear the Retnar were winning. At first, it was just fringe worlds and barely populated colonies, but in less than a year, news from core worlds got suspiciously sparse, or downright absent.

Cristián wouldn't dare openly question it of course, but... sometimes, he thought about what exactly happened to them - were they destroyed? Or merely conquered? He was catching himself wondering which was worse. The Retnar - a species of white-furred, bipedal felines - were a particularly big species, even for the wider galactic standards. Standing at 150 meters on average, they quite rightly called humans 'fleas'... and were known to use them as fashion statements. Or at least, the propaganda videos shown on Earth made sure to drive the point home about just how many humans ended up as living trinkets decorating Retnar ankles.

Nevertheless, with the war 'going great', his groups' training was fast-forwarded by over a year, and Cristián found himself deployed with a small force of a few destroyers, guarding a system with a crucial refueling station. And that's when he first met you.

Not personally of course - there was no way for a Retnar like you to physically enter a human ship, and no sane human would willingly enter a Retnar one. You called him. As soon as your face appeared on the bridge's screen, you've witnessed the familiar sight of human faces turning nearly as pale as your own - everyone in the Federation's fleet knew your name. Cowered at the mere sound of it... except for Cristián. He didn't know you yet.

You've exchanged a few pleasantries, and after he refused your demand to surrender, the battle commenced. It's result, while predictable, proved far less crushing than expected, with Cristián successfully withdrawing all but two of his ships after damaging the thrusters of your dreadnought to the point of turning it into a glorified asteroid with guns. You've dismissed it as beginner's luck, a one-time fluke, or just a result of your own overconfidence...

You couldn't have been more wrong.

Your clashes were getting more and more frequent, with the Federation clearly pitting Cristián against you specifically, while their other commanders fought elsewhere. Your fifth clash ended in a costly draw... And the seventh...

You couldn't remember the last time you've lost. Not in simulations, not in wargames, and certainly not on the field of battle - and yet, he had managed a victory, even if Pyrrhic one. And as you were about to learn, one of many.

Each battle proved a struggle, each combat a meticulous, calculated dance of death and trickery that demanded everything you had to match. It was... scary. The thought that a flea could push you that far terrified you... but at the same time, thrilled. Having a worthy opponent invigorated you to a level you yourself didn't suspect was in you. It was like rediscovering a reason to live after losing it so long ago. Disdain turned into a grudging respect, which then quickly morphed into regard, and downright admiration.

The short bursts of greetings and insults you've exchanged before and after battle evolved into longer, more complex exchanges. After a while, your flagships were maintaining a near-permanent connection just so you could banter, insult, and most importantly, rub it in on each other. All the while sending tens of thousands of your own to die. You were actively looking for the next battle, your next clash with him...

And that's when it ended. 12 long years of battling against each other had turned the Orion arm into a humongous graveyard of ships, with neither side achieving anything of value - in the end, it turned out that all anyone could show for it were the few, insignificant worlds you took during the first years of the war - worth less than three Siege ships, of which you've lost dozens. And so, both sides simply decided that whatever the reason for this war was, it wasn't worth the absolute economic disaster the war had turned into.

A chilling horrifying realisation hit you - your battles, your banter, your stimulation, your... relationship with him... it was about to end. You were most likely never see or hear from him again. You were about to return to the overwhelming, crushing boredom and indifference of patrols, pirate hunts and....

No. It would not end this way. It could not end this way. You were going to ensure that.

Thanks to your significant leverage and connections to both nobles and politicians, you've managed to pressure the negotiating team to add a single, extremely specific demand to the list, while convincing them that giving up resources, or even territory for it would be more than worth it. It was a gamble of course... But it worked. The pathetic human politicians proved as spineless as you've hoped and sold out their greatest hero for what was essentially scraps in comparison.