Their dormitory air was heavy. Not tense like before the match. Different. It smelled of sweat, and fresh.
Boots hit the floor one after another. Thud. Thud. Some tied laces loose and lazy. Some yanked them off like they hated the leather.
Jory was the first to break the silence. He threw himself on his mattress, arms spread wide like he'd conquered the world. "Someone get me a drink," he groaned, voice half-dead. "
Percy sat beside him, already peeling tape from his ankles. The strips came off in stubborn jerks. "If you die, can I take your locker?" he said with a grin.
"Locker? You can have my socks too." Jory lifted one sweaty foot and shoved it toward Percy.Percy flinched back, gagging loud. "Gods, no! Keep those weapons to yourself!"
The others laughed weakly. Even Felix, standing with his arms crossed, let a smirk slip before hiding it behind his water bottle.
Daren was still buzzing, pacing circles near the showers. His fists opened and closed, like he couldn't let go of the game."Two more steps and I'd have buried that last shot," he muttered for the fifth time. "Two steps. I swear."
Callen threw a towel at him. "Shut up already. We all know you'll keep saying that in your sleep."
The towel hit Daren's shoulder. He caught it and tossed it back harder, smirking now.
Bram sat at the far end. Quiet.His jersey clung to him, damp. His hair stuck to his forehead. He wasn't laughing, wasn't pacing. Just sitting, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he could still see the grass there.
Jory leaned forward, wagging his brows. "Player of the Match, huh? Don't forget us when the girls start chasing you."
The room cracked with laughter. Percy added, "Yeah, sign my shirt now so I can sell it when you're famous."
Bram's mouth twitched. Just a little. Almost a smile.He shook his head. "Idiots," he said quietly.
But the word carried warmth. And that was enough to set them off again—louder, freer this time.
The next morning, the dome was buzzing again. Not with a match. Not with whistles and league pressure.
With noise. Laughter. Shouts. Students everywhere. Some in uniforms, some in casual shirts.
The Trials.
Small stations scattered across the training grounds. Each one glowing with enchanted markers. Points to earn. Prizes to buy later. Snacks, upgrades, silly charms.For once, it wasn't about survival. It was about fun.
"Alright!" Daren clapped his hands, eyes shining. "Which one first? Sprint dash? Crossbar challenge? Or that crazy rope climb?"
Jory yawned, hands in pockets. "The cafeteria."
Percy nudged him with an elbow. "That's not a trial, you cow,"
"It should be," Jory muttered. "I'd win."
"Do you even have points to buy food." said Collins.
Felix was already reading the board with calm eyes. "We split. Less waiting. Group back after two stations." He pointed without looking. "Bram. Callen. You're with me."
Bram nodded, quiet as usual, but his eyes moved, scanning all the test domes.
Test of speed. Test of aim. Test of balance. His fingers twitched slightly.
They walked toward the rope climb first. A tall frame, ropes swinging in the morning breeze. The line was long. Students shouting, laughing, slipping halfway up and landing flat on the padding below.
"Piece of cake," Daren said, stepping forward like a warrior facing destiny. He spat in his hands, grabbed the rope, and shot upward.
For three seconds, he flew. Muscles straining, legs kicking. He even shouted, "See? Easy—"
Slip.
His foot missed a knot. His body twisted sideways. WHUMP. He smacked the padding, flat on his back.
The crowd roared with laughter. Even Felix shook his head.
Daren rolled over, groaning. "That… was a warm-up run."
"Sure," Callen said, smirking. "Warm up the floor."
Jory was doubled over, nearly choking. Kael slapped his back. "Don't die yet, I need you for the food stall."
Bram's lips curved faintly. Just a flicker. He looked at the rope again. His chest felt tight, not with pressure, but with curiosity. How far could he go?
He stepped forward. Hands on rope. The fibers rough under his palms. He pulled once. Twice. His feet found the knots. Slow. Steady. One move at a time.
The crowd wasn't laughing now. They watched in silence as he climbed higher, higher, every pull clean, controlled.
His breath was calm. His arms burned, but he didn't stop. He reached the top. Touched the mark. It glowed bright.
(+30) Points earned.
When Bram dropped back down, the noise returned. Cheers, claps, even whistles.
Daren grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. "That's how you do it! That's my teammate!"
Bram just rubbed his arm, shaking his head. But deep inside, warmth spread slow. Not heavy like a match win. Different. Lighter.
The Trials went on. Crossbar challenge. Balance beams. Sprint dash.
Jory missed every shot at the crossbar but swore the wind cheated him. Percy slipped on the beam, arms flailing like a bird before crashing down—then he sat there laughing at himself until everyone else laughed too.
Even Felix cracked when Callen beat his sprint time by half a second. "Smile, captain," Callen teased. "It won't kill you."
The grounds buzzed like a festival. Not the heavy buzz of a match. Not tension. Just noise. Happy noise.
Shouts. Laughter. Shoes thudding on turf. Some running, some arguing, some daring each other. Points glowing on each Cerebrox band.
Daren spat into his hands again, glaring at the rope like it had insulted his family. "Alright, you little snake. Round two."
He jumped, clung, pulled. Muscles bulged. He grunted like a bear dragging itself uphill. One step. Two. Three. "See—SEE? Easy! I told y—"
Slip. Feet missed again. His arms panicked, clutched, failed. WHUMP. Straight on his stomach this time. The floor padding bounced him once.
Someone shouted, "Try the kiddie rope!"
The sun hung lower now, stretching long shadows across the field. The buzz fading. But B-7 lingered, still together.
"Food," Percy said suddenly. "Yes," Collins agreed instantly. Daren raised one finger without lifting his head. "Carry me there."
Jory kicked his shoe. "Move yourself."
Felix crossed his arms, pretending to debate, then sighed. "Fine. Food."
The group dragged themselves off the trial ground, legs heavy, but voices light. Laughter trailed behind them, broken by more groans and more teasing.
The mess cafeteria. Not the quiet kind. The clatter of trays, the crash of cutlery, the smell of fried bread and stew thick in the air.
B-7 stumbled in like survivors of a storm. Hair damp. Feet dragging.
Percy was first in line, a food like a man possessed. Bread rolls. Rice. Two bowls of soup. Callen raised a brow. "You planning to feed an army, how many points do you even have?" Percy didn't look up. "I am the army, and even if i go broke we have our midfield maestro."
They all turn to Bram, he didn't even glance at them.
Bram finally sat down, Felix ended the chaos with a sharp knock on the table. "Eat. We're going to watch the Women's League after this."
That shut them up. Then Callen leaned forward, smirking. "Finally. Real football."
Kael looked offended. "Excuse me? What did we just play?" "Trials," Callen shot back. "That's a… training wheels."
Jory wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "He just wants to see the girls run circles around us."
Daren perked up, grin lazy. "Circles? I'll allow it."
Felix rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Even Bram's lips tugged into a smile.
The table settled into a rhythm. The scrape of spoons. The thud of mugs. The warm blur of voices.
And beneath it, an unspoken thought: The match would be fun. Loud. Maybe even inspiring.
**
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