If someone had asked me who the main character of the day was, I would've pointed straight at Tyler.
Not because he was yelling "LET'S GO, BABY!" in the hallway.
Not because he nearly tripped over a bench while high-fiving every third person.
But because of the shiny white envelope clutched in his hand, labelled:
IVY SOCCER CLUB – INTER-SCHOOL TEAM SELECTION
"I told you!" he shouted, holding it over his head like a golden ticket. "I'm in!"
Students clapped. A few whistled. Some second-years nodded approvingly.
Tyler turned to me, eyes wide with adrenaline and pure joy.
"Jay. I made it. I'm repping St. Ivy in the inter-school tournament."
"I knew you would," I said, smiling. "You've been training since before orientation."
He puffed up like a proud cat. "This is my moment."
Then, a beat later—he frowned. "Okay, now I'm panicking."
I chuckled. "Welcome to fame."
Later – Courtyard, After School
The soccer team gathered on the field for a meeting. I tagged along with Tyler, mostly for moral support. The team captain, Rei Nakamura, was a tall, sharp-eyed second-year with "born leader" energy and arms crossed at all times.
"Alright," Rei said, after running through the lineup. "We're officially full roster. Tyler Monroe—you're slotted in as a forward."
Tyler practically bounced.
"But," Rei continued, glancing down at the clipboard, "we need to name a backup. Just in case. Illness, injury, tactical switch. We need someone reliable."
I was half-paying attention, looking at a bird nesting on top of the goalpost.
Then I heard:
"Markov. You're it."
I blinked. "...What?"
Rei looked up at me. "You're the strongest all-rounder we've seen during recruitment week. You're athletic, you've got awareness, and—most importantly—you're calm under pressure. You won't choke."
Tyler nudged me. "Dude. Sub spot. Do it. Come on."
"I haven't practiced with you guys. I'm not even in the club."
"You're not joining," Rei clarified. "You're a safety net. That's all."
A few team members were already nodding.
I sighed. "So, I'm the guy who waits until someone trips and then gets dragged into a full-blown tournament?"
"Exactly," Rei said. "Welcome to competitive sports."
In the Locker Room After
"You're gonna look hot in a jersey," Sofia commented that evening, having somehow wandered into the boys' locker hallway just to deliver a smug smirk and leave.
Tyler grinned. "You're a natural, man. You'll crush it—if you ever get subbed in."
"And if I don't?"
"You'll still be the handsome backup everyone stares at from the stands."
"Comforting."
That Night – In My Apartment
I tossed the jersey onto the bed. My name was printed across the back in bold, white letters.
It felt... surreal.
I wasn't a real team member. Not officially.
But I was in it now. Whether I wanted to be or not.
Tyler had a tournament to win. St. Ivy had pride to defend.
And me?
I had a front row seat to all of it.
And a gut feeling that something unexpected was coming.
By the next morning, the news had spread.
And I had no idea how.
"Jays on the soccer team??"
"Not officially—he's the backup. But still!"
"Imagine if he actually plays during the tournament…"
"Forget playing—I just want to see him in uniform."
I walked into class to find at least three desks covered in hand-drawn signs that said things like:
"GO TEAM ST. IVY!"
"JAY 4 GOALS!"
"CAN WE BRING POM-POMS?"
Sofia waved at me from the front row, grinning.
"You're trending again."
"I didn't even do anything," I said, walking to my desk.
"That's the problem," she said. "You breathe, and the whole class faints."
From behind me, Noah added dramatically, "He was born to be a hero… even when he's not supposed to be one."
I sighed. "I'm literally a substitute."
"You're the hot substitute," Sofia corrected, tapping her phone. "We already made a 'Just in Case Jay Plays' cheering group chat. Want in?"
"Absolutely not."
Tyler walked in a few minutes later, glowing with pride.
"Guess who has a cheering section of six girls, three glitter signs, and a homemade banner?"
I blinked. "You?"
He paused. "Well… mostly you. But I'm technically on the actual team!"
"You'll score the goals," I offered.
He grinned. "And you'll win hearts."
From the other end of the classroom, I felt someone watching.
Emma.
She didn't say anything. Just gave me a raised eyebrow as if to say, Don't let this get to your head.
Too late.
Meanwhile… Miles Everett did not look happy.
He sat two rows back, arms crossed, jaw tight.
When our eyes met, he looked away fast.
But not before muttering, loud enough for the row in front of him to hear:
"Figures. He gets everything handed to him. Even when he doesn't try."
That one stung a little.
But before I could say anything, Luna—seated near the window, quietly doodling in her sketchbook—spoke without looking up.
"If you're going to be bitter," she said softly, "at least be creative about it."
The class went silent.
Miles didn't respond. He didn't need to. His silence said it all.
Later That Day – Lunch Break
I sat down in the courtyard with Tyler and Amaya, who handed me a bento box she "just happened" to pack extra of.
"You're going to practice later, right?" she asked gently.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Just watching mostly. Maybe drills."
She looked relieved. "Don't overdo it."
From the side, Sofia peeked over her milk carton. "Is there a dress code for cheering, or can I wear a 'Team Jay' hoodie?"
Emma sat nearby, flipping pages of her planner. "He's not playing unless someone's injured."
Sofia smiled. "Then I'll bring bandages and manifest."
I almost choked on my rice.