The Academy's stadium burned with life again, though this time it wasn't the brutal chaos of the Gauntlet. Instead, banners hung over the stands, drummers beat out cadences, and chants rolled like thunder as the first round of the Year 1 Academy League began.
Every class filled their sections: Class A sharp in silk-lined uniforms, Class B buzzing with restless energy, Class C shouting in unison, and Class D louder than anyone, their chants half pride, half mockery.
Bram sat with his teammates on the sideline benches. They weren't playing today — their debut would come in the second round — but that only made the anticipation worse. His eyes followed every ball, every clash of boots, every roar of the crowd.
The System hummed in his ear, chipper as always.
[ Ahhh~ smell that, Ashcroft Jr.? The sweat, the nerves, the fragile egos about to crumble? Delicious. ]
Bram muttered, "You don't even have a nose."
[ Minor detail. Let me enjoy the drama, alright? ]
Match 1 – A-1 vs C-11
The whistle shrieked, and Lucien — Bram's second brother — took the field like he was born to own it. His movements were sharp, polished, confident in a way that made the pitch feel like an extension of his body.
It wasn't a contest. A-1 moved like a machine, tearing C-11 apart. Lucien barely needed to strain, delivering passes that cut the field open.
"3 – 0" Felix muttered beside Bram, arms folded. "Effortless."
Daren scowled. "Feels less like football, more like theatre."
Class A roared in approval. Class C slumped but didn't despair. Against Lucien, defeat felt natural.
The System giggled.[ Big brother sure knows how to hog the spotlight, huh? ]
Bram said nothing, jaw tightening.
Match 2 – B5 vs D14
The energy shifted when the next match kicked off after the opening fixtures concluded. Class B expected dominance. Instead, disaster unfolded.
B-5 scored first — a scrappy goal — but their arrogance bled through. They underestimated D-14, and the so-called weaklings pounced. Two counters in the final minutes flipped the score.
"Unbelievable!" a Class D boy screamed, standing on the railing. "Class D takes it! 2–1!"
Groans spread through Class B.
"They lost? To D?" "They embarrassed us…"
Bram's teammates sat stiff. Jory covered his face. Callen cursed under his breath.
Daren growled, "Pathetic. They're not us."
But the whisper Bram caught stung more: "If B-5 lost to D, what chance does B-7 have?"
Match 3 – A2 vs C9
If Match 2 shocked, Match 3 rattled the dome.
A-2 scored early, moving with arrogance. But C-9 — the same squad that had shined in the Gauntlet — refused to bend. Their teamwork locked together like gears in a perfect machine. In the second half, they struck back with a sharp equalizer.
Final score: 1–1.
Class A fumed, their pride wounded. Class C erupted in wild celebration, as if they had won outright.
"Dark horses," Felix murmured.
Bram's gaze lingered on them. They weren't stronger individually. But they trusted one another fully. And that made them dangerous.
Match 4 – A-3 vs D-13
This one was ugly. Brutal tackles, long balls, no finesse. D-13 nearly held them scoreless, but a single lapse at the end cost them.
Class A sighed in relief. Class D cursed the heavens.
Bram noticed the Professors scribbling notes in the faculty box, glasses flashing.
Match 5 – C-10 vs B-8
Class B winced again as another of their squads stumbled. B-8 tried flair, stepovers, tricks — and collapsed.
C-10 broke them down 2–0, disciplined and sharp.
Class B benches sagged lower. Whispers spread:"B-7's all we have left.""If they fall too, we'll be bottom-feeders for the first time."
Match 6 – A-4 vs D-15
The wildest game of the day.
D-15 shocked everyone by leading twice. The dome shook with their chants. But discipline betrayed them — a red card, a sloppy clearance — and A-4 clawed back to win 3–2.
Class A didn't cheer. They exhaled in relief.
Class D stomped their feet, shouting, "We almost had them!"
Match 7 – C-12 vs B-6
A brawl. Goals traded back and forth until the whistle froze it at 2–2.
Neither side walked away proud. Neither truly ashamed.
By the end of the day, the standings scrolled across the screen.
Winners (3 pts):
A1,
A3,
A4,
C10,
D14.
Draws (1 pts):
A2,
C9,
C12,
B6.
Losers (0 pts): C-11
B5,
D13,
B8,
D15.
The students roared, debated, mocked, and praised. For most, the league had already begun to take shape.
But in the middle of it all, Bram sat quiet.
[ Ohoho~ ] the System purred, [ the tension's delicious. Class B on the ropes, your brothers shining, whispers of dark horses rising… and you, little Ashcroft, haven't even touched the ball yet. ]
"two more days," Bram muttered.
[ Exactly. And everyone's going to be watching. ]
The screen above glowed once more, announcing the upcoming fixtures.
Next Match: B-7 vs C-10.
The dome gasped.
Bram's pulse thudded once, steady. Their first opponent was no weakling.
The dark horses awaited.
The roar of the stadium faded into memory, replaced by the hum of ordinary academy life.
Dorms, Night
Felix tossed a ball against the wall, catching it lazily."C-10," he said, voice sharp. "They're no joke."
"Don't state the obvious," Daren grunted, lacing his boots tighter than necessary." Better obvious than blind."
Jory sprawled across his bunk, juggling an apple between his hands. "Dark horses or not, I'd rather face them now than later. At least they don't know us yet."
Callen leaned against the frame of the door, rolling his eyes. "Or maybe we don't know them. Either way, stop pretending it's fun. We lose, we become the punchline of Class B."
Bram sat apart, flipping through the small notebook where he scribbled plays, thoughts, mistakes he'd noticed watching the earlier games. He didn't join the argument. He listened.
The System, of course, didn't stay quiet.[ Mhm, mhm. Good, good — you're learning to observe. Champions aren't the ones who shout loudest. They're the ones who see before others do. ]
Bram murmured under his breath, "You talk like you've played before."[ Oh, I've watched. Lots. Enough to know that your roommate there can't stop snoring like a broken trumpet. ]
Jory tossed the apple at Bram's head. "You mumbling again? To your imaginary coach?"
Bram caught it without looking. "Something like that."
Laughter rippled through the room, easy for once.
Morning Training
The pitch was drenched in dew. The team gathered early, running drills before breakfast.
Feine organized sprints, barking orders like a general. Daren charged into tackles too hard, earning groans. Jory tried flicks that failed more often than not.
Callen muttered under his breath the whole time — but his passes, sharp and clean, spoke louder than his complaints.
Bram? He focused on consistency. Simple passes, steady runs, measured breathing. Not flashy, but deliberate.
When a group of Class C students passed by, laughing and whispering, Felix smirked. "They're scouting."
"They're underestimating," Daren corrected.
Bram only wiped the sweat from his brow, watching their silhouettes fade. He didn't mind being underestimated. It was better than being feared.
At lunch, the Academy buzzed with league talk. Tables clattered with predictions, gossip, and arguments.
"Lucien's going to sweep MVP." "No, didn't you see C-9? They'll break through." "D-14's upset was the highlight. Mark my words."
When Bram and his team entered, voices dipped for a moment. Eyes followed. Then chatter resumed.
Bram sat quietly, spooning stew. Jory bargained for extra bread, Feine broke down strategies with anyone who'd listen, and Callen grumbled about the seasoning.
Bram caught himself smiling faintly. It felt… normal. Almost peaceful.
Until the System whispered, sweet and sharp in his head:[ Enjoy this calm, Ashcroft Jr. Because once that whistle blows, peace is over. ]
Evening — Garden Path
Bram walked the academy's outer garden before lights-out. Lanterns flickered, throwing shadows across cobbled paths. He needed the quiet.
Other students strolled too: a pair from Class C laughing too loudly, two nobles from Class A debating goals, a trio from Class D racing each other barefoot. The academy felt alive, less like a battlefield, more like a world.
Bram paused by the fountain. The water shimmers. He stared at his reflection — tired eyes, clenched jaw — and whispered to himself.
"soon"
The System giggled.[ Tick-tock, tick-tock. You ready, kid? ]
Bram exhaled, steady. "I will be."
The fountain rippled, and the night closed in.
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