The following morning, the roar of the corridors had been replaced by whispers of matchday 5, Yes it's been announced. And this will be one of the biggest challenge, since the start of the league, and it's been the talk of the day.
When the fixtures was announced, Feine their assigned coach, called for a tactical meeting before they begin their morning training.
[ Matchday 5 – Key Fixture ]Class B-7 vs Class A-3.
A clash against the polished. Against pedigree. Against a team expected to sit among the top.
Feine studied the board like scripture. Mhed, Collins, and Kael all quiet as usual. Daren pumped his fists, calling it "our first real hunt." Jory muttered prayers. Callen just grinned and said, "About time."
And Bram? He only stared. Quiet, steady.
The System purred in his mind, [ Climbing quick, little Ashcroft. But how high before the air chokes you? ]
Bram said nothing back. He didn't need to. Because deep down, he already knew—this was the match that would decide if B-7's spark could survive the storm.
The days slipped by faster than anyone realized. Training, eating, sleeping, training again. The calendar didn't care about tired legs. Match after match passed, and before B-7 could breathe, A-3 was waiting on the schedule.
But the day before, it didn't feel like a war was coming.
It felt… almost lazy.
The academy grounds were alive with noise. Not from battle cries, not from whistles, but from normal things—students walking with snack bags crinkling, balls bouncing on the side pitches, laughter echoing off the stone walls.
B-7 moved together through the courtyard. Not in a rush. Just… drifting.
Jory had a paper bag of fried breadsticks. He shoved one in his mouth and mumbled through crumbs. "Tomorrow's doomsday and I'm eating like a pig."
Daren snatched one before Jory could react, chewing loud. "Correction—we're eating like pigs."
"Hey!" Jory tried to grab the bag back. Too late. Percy had already stolen two, Callen plucked one clean, and Felix… Felix didn't even look, but his hand reached out and took the last without a word.
Jory stared at the empty bag. His eyes went wide with betrayal. "…Unbelievable. My own brothers."
The group laughed. Even Felix's lips twitched—not a smile, not fully, but close.
Bram didn't laugh. Not loudly, anyway. He just watched, shoulders loose, a soft grin tugging at his mouth. The kind of grin that didn't need sound to carry warmth.
This is what it should feel like, he thought. Not just pressure. Not just fighting. Sometimes… just walking together.
The System's voice slipped in, quiet, almost teasing:
[ Host seems… relaxed. ]
Bram tilted his head slightly, hands in his pockets. "I can't fight with my teeth clenched every day," he muttered under his breath. "Even warriors breathe, don't they?"
[ Wise. ]
The tone was neutral, but Bram almost thought it carried amusement.
Daren puffed his chest. Behind him, Percy leaned in, whispering, "You're getting used to it, huh? The stares."
Bram shook his head. "No. But I can carry it."
Felix heard that. He gave the faintest nod. Approval without words.
The courtyard buzzed louder. Students on benches, on steps, in windows—everyone seemed to be talking about the same thing.
"A-3 tomorrow." "B-7's miracle run ends here." "Or maybe not. Didn't you see how they played C-9?"
Whispers clung to the air like humidity. Some sharp, some mocking, some hopeful.
Bram listened. His heartbeat didn't rise. Not yet.
It's like waves, he thought. Noise crashing, retreating, crashing again. If you drown in it, you lose. But if you float… you see further.
He looked at his teammates. Jory was sulking over his stolen breadsticks, Daren was still laughing about it, Percy had his hands behind his head, calm as ever, Callen and the others walked steady, scanning faces, and Felix—stone, always stone.
And for the first time, Bram felt free enough to speak first.
"Tomorrow…" His voice was calm, carrying without needing volume. The others glanced at him.
"…Tomorrow we don't need to prove anything. We just need to play. That's all."
For a moment, nobody answered. Then Jory snorted. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Player of the Match."
Daren punched Bram's shoulder lightly, grinning. "Nah. He's right. If we keep thinking we're fodder, we'll play like fodder."
Felix finally spoke. Quiet. Firm. "Then let's not."
The group walked on, the sunlight hitting their backs. Ahead, the academy dome loomed like a shadow, waiting. Tomorrow, it would roar. But today, the steps felt lighter.
The next morning came heavy. Not storm, not rain—just a weight in the air.
The A-3 match.
B-7 moved quieter than usual. No laughter in the hall, no teasing in the corridors. Boots in hand, bags slung over shoulders, they walked like soldiers toward the locker room.
Inside, the air smelled of polish and leather. Small rituals began. Felix laced his boots twice, tugging them until they squeaked. Daren paced circles, bouncing on his toes, fists tapping his palms. Jory sat on the bench, pulling at his shin guards, mumbling prayers he thought no one heard. Percy leaned back, eyes closed, humming under his breath. Callen checked every strap, neat and sharp, like order itself.
And Bram? He sat still, boots half-tied, hands resting on his knees. Calm on the outside, but inside… the beat of his heart felt like the start of thunder.
The System whispered.[ Big day, hm? ]
"…Yeah," Bram muttered under his breath.
[ Pressure suits you. Don't choke. ]Its voice wasn't cruel—just sly. Like it wanted to see what he would do.
Feine Rennard stepped in, sharp eyes scanning his squad. "Listen." His voice cut clean through the quiet. "This is not just another match. A-3 are polished. Fast. Trained to punish mistakes. If we play scared, we're finished. But if we play together—" He let the word hang, sharp as a blade. "—we can carve them open."
No one spoke. They didn't need to.
Feine's eyes landed on Bram last. Not a smile, not a nod—just a look that said: It's your time too.
Then the bell rang. Game time.
They walked out of the tunnel, boots striking stone, light spilling brighter with every step.
The dome roared before they even saw the pitch. Crowds swelled in color and sound, banners waving, chants bouncing off the high walls. "A-3! A-3!" mixed with "B-7! B-7!" until the whole air shook.
Bram squinted against the flood of noise and light. His teammates walked at his sides, close, steady.
He breathed once. Twice. The field opened before them.
The storm was here.
**
**
*"Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying the story, please **add this novel to your library** — it really helps me grow and ensures you don't miss the next chapter! *