Tennessee's Dorm Room.
Back at the dorm, Tennessee stared blankly at the bare wall.
The wallpaper bore the faint marks of posters that once hung there.
Opening the closet, Tennessee was met with crumpled papers, forcefully stuffed in.
The once-pristine posters had been mangled beyond recognition during their hasty storage.
Could they ever be hung up again?
Even if they were, they'd never look as nice as before.
For some reason, Tennessee felt a pang of melancholy, as if the posters mirrored his own life.
A life crushed and reshaped to fit the rigid mold of his family.
Like a poster too crumpled to return to its original state.
He gazed at the image of Dragon Planet printed on the paper.
"It was fun," he murmured unexpectedly.
Startled by his own words, he blinked in confusion.
"…?"
A giant question mark seemed to hover above his head.
"What… was fun?"
He didn't bother answering but knew the truth deep down.
Today had been enjoyable—surprisingly so.
Not that it had been all good.
—What business do you have with my friends?
Why had he blurted that out?
Friends? Really?
He'd spoken so casually, as though he could actually stand by those words.
His face flushed at the thought, but only for a moment.
Tennessee began to retrace the events of the day, savoring them.
Before long, a faint smile crept onto his face.
"Park Ji-hoon, huh."
What an intriguing character.
Being with him felt like stepping down a few rungs from the lofty staircase of nobility.
But Tennessee shook his head vigorously, as if rejecting the notion.
It wasn't just because of Park Ji-hoon.
The comfort he felt, the unexpected enjoyment of the day—it couldn't all be attributed to Ji-hoon.
It was simply a brief escape from the 17 years he had spent as a noble.
That's all it was.
Wasn't it?
"Of course," he muttered to himself, as if to affirm his thoughts.
Determined to shake off the distracting thoughts, Tennessee grabbed the crumpled poster.
Climbing onto the bed, he attempted to reattach it to its original spot.
The paper, wrinkled and creased, refused to lie flat.
"…"
Was it because Super Mario was beaming so brightly?
Even crumpled, it had its own charm.
Tennessee couldn't tear himself away from the poster for quite some time.
***
Had they been waiting all day for gym class?
As soon as the bell rang, my peers rushed out to the field in a frenzy.
The reason was simple.
The Queensman reporters had set up shop on the field.
Among them was a familiar face.
"Lukash is here too?"
Apparently, the feeling was mutual.
"Bosssssssssss!"
He waved wildly, utterly oblivious to his surroundings.
Ugh.
I had no choice but to hurriedly look away.
But Lukash's wave seemed to be interpreted differently by my peers.
"Look this way for the camera," they must have thought.
Everyone started warming up with exaggerated motions, fully aware of the cameras.
The only ones who seemed unaffected were me, Jack, and one other person.
Tennessee, who was the sole male student sitting on the bench.
Just the three of us moved as if the cameras weren't even there.
Anyway.
We split into teams and began the match.
It was the same setup as last time: the first-string players versus the second-string.
I was still part of the second-string team.
It was just a practice game during gym class.
But with all the cameras around, my peers were more serious than ever.
Of course, that didn't magically give them skills they didn't have.
Wham! Bam! Boom!
Every time I ran, the opposing team could do nothing but give up points.
Was it the result of all those grueling drills under Devon?
I definitely felt more explosive.
And on top of that—
Bam!
Charging forward fearlessly, even through contact.
Whoosh.
Pretending to collide head-on, then—
Swish, swish.
Swiftly weaving my way out with a well-timed move.
"Agh!"
The opponents could only groan in frustration, unable to mount a single meaningful defense.
What came next was predictable.
"You should've stopped it!"
"Why are you blaming me? Let's be honest, isn't it your fault for not covering properly?"
Accusations and finger-pointing flew back and forth.
At this rate, it was clear no one was going to get any proper training done.
That's when—
"Have you all lost your minds?!"
Devon's booming voice silenced the chaos.
"..."
Not a single excuse or drop of blame escaped anyone's lips, as if they'd turned into frozen faucets in the dead of winter.
"Who told you to live like saints?"
"..."
"All I'm asking is for you not to make me curse, and you can't even manage that?"
"..."
"Should I just lose my temper completely?"
Apparently, even that wasn't enough to cool his frustration.
Devon stormed off with heavy strides.
Was he heading to the equipment room to grab a bat or something?
The students watched nervously, bracing for the worst.
But surprisingly, his destination wasn't the equipment room.
It was… huh? The bench where Tennessee sat.
Technically, it was Tennessee's fault for not stopping me, leading to this entire mess.
As the only formally selected player here, Devon must've been about to ask him to step in and handle things.
But Tennessee? The guy who practically broke out in hives at the mention of rugby?
Even Devon would have a hard time getting him involved.
"...!"
And yet, to everyone's shock, Tennessee stood up—albeit reluctantly—without Devon even needing to exert any force.
***
Meanwhile, in the second-year student council room.
Ralph was left in disbelief, completely blindsided by the outcome.
He had expected total carnage.
"What?"
Carl, on the other hand, looked as if the knife had struck somewhere he hadn't anticipated.
"Tennessee called Park Ji-hoon his friend?"
"…Yeah."
Unbeknownst to Ralph, Carl's thoughts were now more tangled than ever.
Suddenly, certain mysteries seemed to click into place.
Why Tennessee had trashed the dress.
Why he'd run for student council president out of nowhere.
Why he'd brought up those grade-level selection trials.
Scenes that had been baffling until now were beginning to align.
"Don't tell me those two planned all this just to screw me over?"
"I-I'm not sure about that…"
"You've got to be kidding me!"
Carl had always been the type to jump to conclusions and rile himself up.
The more baseless his suspicions, the more fiercely his temper flared.
"There's a limit to how much someone can underestimate me."
Trembling.
"What? Are they afraid I'll back down if they join forces against me?"
"Carl… you're being too loud. If Tennessee overhears this, then—"
"So what if he does!"
When it came to sheer family power, no one could rival the Grosvenor dukedom.
That's why Carl had always been willing to step back and let things slide.
But now, this? Challenging him to settle things with rugby?
"These idiots don't even know how dangerous the world is!"
With a loud crash, Carl hurled a chair against the wall.
Ralph, startled, quickly opened the door to check the hallway, praying no one had heard.
Thankfully, it was empty.
As Ralph sighed in relief and went to return the chair to its place—
"Fine! Let's do it! Strip away all the family crests, and let's settle this with rugby alone!"
Bang!
Carl threw another chair, forcing Ralph to scurry over and clean up again.
Even after all the yelling and smashing, Carl's anger showed no signs of abating.
"What's that guy's background, anyway?"
Hearing Carl refer to Tennessee as "that guy" for the first time made Ralph flinch.
Still, he couldn't risk aggravating Carl further.
"That… uh, that guy's rankings are pretty high. Nationally, he's in the top ten. For defenders, he's top three."
Ralph handed over a document filled with Tennessee's official game stats.
"This is what they call top three?"
Indeed, based purely on defensive metrics, the stats didn't look all that impressive.
Carl even suspected that Tennessee's ranking might have been padded for the sake of his family's honor.
Sensing Carl's doubts, Ralph cautiously added,
"There's a scouting report at the bottom. It might explain things."
"What? A scouting report?"
Carl's eyes darted to the lower section of the document.
Carl's gaze froze on the final line.
"Even on the field, this guy can't stop acting like a noble?"
"Well, there's a bit of a story behind that…"
***
Tennessee stepped cautiously onto the field.
It had been so long since he'd last set foot on a rugby pitch.
Maybe that's why the phantom voice of his tutor no longer haunted him.
—Go and prove how exceptional you are, my lord.
"How long has it been?"
Tennessee barely had a moment to get lost in his thoughts before—
Whoosh!
Park Ji-hoon shot straight into Tennessee's territory like a bullet.
From the sidelines, it was clear.
Shutting down Park Ji-hoon alone should have been enough to hold the line.
And yet—
Clatter!
The players scrambled in disarray, unable to stop even one person.
It was chaos as they fumbled, dragged along helplessly.
"Why are they chasing the man instead of blocking the lanes?"
The solution was obvious to Tennessee.
Even so—
"..."
Tennessee didn't raise his voice at his teammates.
To issue orders, he would have to shout, but raising his voice unnecessarily struck him as distinctly un-noble.
So what could he do?
They continued conceding goal after goal, unable to stop even Park Ji-hoon.
The same scenario played out repeatedly, and Tennessee's face gradually grew darker with frustration.
He could tolerate losing goals—well, not really.
But what truly grated on him was their lack of reflection after conceding.
Blaming it on the skill gap?
Then they should at least cling to Ji-hoon's legs and refuse to let go!
If they were covered head-to-toe in grass stains, he could excuse it.
But standing there, clean and composed, spewing excuses? Unforgivable.
"..."
Calm down. Stay calm.
His dislike of rugby wasn't just because of his tutor.
It was this damn competitiveness.
The way he lost his temper every time he started losing, as if rage shot straight to the top of his head after conceding just one or two goals.
This relentless drive to win, so much like his father, made him hate rugby.
The glaring reminder that he had inherited the blood of the Grosvenor family was too much for him to bear.
That's why he had avoided stepping onto the field for so long.
"Phew…"
Exhaling deeply, he forced himself to calm down and called for Jack.
Maybe it was because they had spent some time together recently, but seeing Jack helped steady his nerves.
In his most composed and noble tone, Tennessee began.
"Our defense is a mess."
Jack nodded along.
"Everyone's moving however they want. The spacing is off, and their timing to break forward is completely wrong. So…"
"…?"
"Stay by my side and issue the orders."
"You want me to give the orders?"
"It's not hard. I'll tell you what to say, and you just shout it at the top of your lungs."
Essentially, he was asking Jack to be his human megaphone.
But a question lingered.
"Why don't you just do it?"
How could a noble possibly shout like that?
But saying that outright felt too boastful.
"I have a sore throat."
It sounded ridiculous, especially given how much he'd just been speaking.
Would that excuse even work?
"Alright. If you're sick, it's only right for your comrade to step in."
To Tennessee's surprise, Jack agreed without hesitation.