Baby walked into the locker room, rubbing his hands together to ward off the early morning cold. He couldn't wait to get into the rink and sweat it out.
He had left the apartment earlier than he did so he didn't get to see that annoying face first thing in the morning. He also loved the quiet time before the teammates arrived with their hypes.
It allowed him some time to channel his focus to the task ahead.
He walked over to his locker and opened it, reaching for his helmet.
He raised his hand above his head to fix the helmet, but he decided against it and slowly walked over to the bench to lower himself on it.
He leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves that were suddenly all over the place as he thought of how he was going to deal with Saint in a few minutes.
"An early bird?" Saint's voice broke through Baby's tranquil silence.
Baby stiffened for a split second, 'There goes my quiet moment.'
He thought he was an early bird, but Saint had beaten him to even that, too.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned his head to the side where he found Saint leaning against the bathroom door with a jersey over his shoulder, his loose white shirt hiding the perfect body Baby had seen last night in his living room.
Ignoring Saint, Baby got up, retrieved his jersey from his locker and headed toward the door.
"We have to work together, you know? You and I," Saint's voice paused Baby's steps halfway to the door.
Baby stared at the door, his fingers gripping his jersey tightly.
"I'm already letting rule beside me, never think you have the right to ask for more –"
"But we want the same thing, Baby," Saint's smooth timbre spoke directly behind Baby, startling him.
Baby gasped quietly and took a step forward, turning to face Saint.
'When did he get here?' Baby's eyes ran over Saint in a split second.
"I don't want anything you want, Saint. Don't be delusional," Baby stated, his eyes filled with their hatred tiwaed his co-captain.
"THC? You don't want to play professionally?" Saint asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"I'm done having this meaningless conversation with you," Baby said and turned away, resuming his trip to the door.
"You need me, Baby. We need each other, and I'm ready to help if you're willing to act mature and not like a... well, your name," Saint smirked, not missing the way Baby almost turned to reply with something witty but the door suddenly opened and in trooped the other guys, chatting and ready to start their day with a blood-pumping activity.
"Hey, man, ready to kick his ass?" Cam slipped his arm over Baby's shoulder as he sent a hateful glare to Saint behind them.
"You bet," Baby replied and walked out of the locker room.
"Everyone, on the ice!" Saint ordered, glancing around the room with cold, commanding eyes.
"Yes, Captain!" They had no choice but to answer, and respectfully too.
Saint stood behind and watched everyone jog out of the locker room, trode out of the locker room, until it was just one person left.
"You, come here," Saint walked over to the average height guy and narrowed his eyes at him.
"What's your name?" He questioned calmly.
"I'm Ricky," Ricky answered, holding his head high.
"Play forward, I'll be the goaltender," Saint said, petting Ricky's shoulder.
Ricky hesitated for a while and finally nodded, "Yes, Captain."
The cold air of the rink hit Baby's face, instantly clearing the residual fury from his encounter with Saint. He snapped his helmet on, the visor reflecting the cool, white glare of the arena lights.
The team was stretched across the ice, a reluctant sea of red. Saint, standing at the opposite end, looked impossibly huge in his goaltending gear. The pads, blocker, and catching glove—all a pristine, intimidating white with blue trim—made him look like a statue carved from the ice itself.
Coach Nickel blew his whistle.
"Alright, Captains! Saint, you've set the drill. Explain it."
Saint's voice, amplified by the acoustics of the empty arena, cut through the quiet: "We run three-on-three drills. Baby and his line attack; my defence focuses on the crease. We test the new passing lanes. Lapses in coverage, you run five suicide sprints."
He glanced directly at Baby, a clear shot across the bow. Saint was asserting discipline, making Baby's teammates pay for any failure.
Baby grabbed his stick, his eyes flashing with a predatory smirk. Two can play that game.
"Rode, Cam! With me! Ricky, you're with Kross's defence. I want quick passes, no unnecessary stickhandling. Let's show the new goalie how our attack works. Any missed shots, and you're buying breakfast for the whole team."
Baby was asserting dominance through confidence and financial pressure, challenging the team to uphold his elite standard of success.
The first line-change ended quickly, setting the stage. Baby, Rode, and Cam skated to the centre dot. The opposing line—two Defensemen and Ricky—waited. Saint was centred in the net, low, coiled, and utterly still.
Baby planted his feet opposite the opposing centre. The referee dropped the puck.
Baby was faster. His stick snapped forward, pulling the puck cleanly back to Cam, who immediately chipped it to Rode by the boards. The Westbridge attack was rapid, practised, and lethal.
Rode hammered a pass to Baby, who had already darted across the blue line. He was inside the attacking zone, the puck now riding his stick blade.
He was headed straight for the net, weaving around the defenseman. Baby's momentum was pure red force, the very picture of confidence. He looked up, intending to pull his signature toe-drag move, but Saint was ready.
Saint hadn't moved. He was playing deep in his net, a technique that forced the shooter to commit first. His steel-grey eyes, visible through the helmet visor, were locked onto the puck, not Baby's body—a clinical focus Baby rarely encountered.
Baby feigned a wrist shot, forcing Saint to shift his massive blocker. Baby pulled the puck back, the toe-drag ready—but a sudden, hard hit from a defenseman sent him off balance just slightly.
It was all the fraction Saint needed.
Baby unleashed the shot—a hard, low wrister destined for the five-hole (the space between the goalie's legs).
The save was impossible. Saint kicked out his right pad—not just to stop it, but to trap the puck cleanly beneath it, dead on the ice. No rebound. No chance for a follow-up.
A sharp, audible THWACK echoed in the cold air.
Saint pushed himself up, perfectly composed. He tapped his stick on the ice once, signalling a clear save. He looked past his own defensemen, meeting Baby's furious glare. There was no smirk, only a silent, chilling superiority.
The whistle blew.
"Baby's line! That's a missed shot! Breakfast is on you!" Coach Nickel shouted, enjoying the drama.
Baby slammed his stick head on the ice, ignoring the groans from his teammates. Saint had beaten him with patience, not athleticism—a calculated, tactical victory.
Saint skated a few feet out of his crease, stopping Ricky with his glove.
"Ricky," Saint said, his voice calm. "You were slow getting back on that rush. If you're not in the slot to clear the defence, I don't trust you. You are on the second line today. Don't worry about breakfast, just run your five sprints now."
Saint had not only demoted Ricky but also physically punished him, enforcing discipline that cut deeper than money.
Baby, seething, yanked his helmet off and pointed his stick at Saint.
"That save was luck, Kross. You just got bailed out by your defence," Baby roared, trying to regain control. "Next one is going top shelf. Don't worry, teammates, I'll still buy you breakfast. Just to remind the new co-captain how we play on the winning side!"
Baby tossed his helmet back on, a red flash of anger. He was doubling down on his role as the financial benefactor and the star—using status and confidence to blow the whistle again. "Next line! Let's go!"
The confrontation was over, but the message was clear: Saint had won the first round of the power struggle by being calm, clean, and devastatingly effective.
___
"Well, it was a tie... like always," Cam said as he walked beside Baby in the hallway.
It was rush hour and students were rushing to get to their classes before either was too late.
But not Baby, he walked like he owned the school, head high and shoulders spread, his footsteps relaxed and unbothered.
Baby and Cam walked through the crowded hallway without needing to mingle their way through because everyone cleared their path as they walked, boys staring with envy while girls threw suggestive glances, wishing they could get a night with the infamous Baby Danvers.
They took a right corner and continued down the hall.
"Next time, I'm beating his ass." Baby said as they approached the door to the classroom, "I'll show him just how unworthy he is to rule beside me." His voice was filled with venom as he clenched his fingers around his phone.
Cam cleared his throat, "I know you can do that, Baby. For now... I think we have to find a way to deal with her," he pointed through the glass door at a young woman with short, black hair, and a pen fixed behind her ear.
Baby scoffed a he stared at her, "Ms. Shannon? She's not my problem." He said and pushed through the door, sauntering in like he ruled the class.
"Morning, Ms. Shannon," Cam greeted as he trailed behind Baby, his face lowered.
"Stop right there, Mr. Baby Danvers, Mr. Cameron Wells," Shannon sternly said, her sharp voice stopping the young men from forging toward their seats.
Baby sighed, "You don't have to be so coy if you want my attention, Ms. Shannon. For you... I'd give all my attention... and more," He winked, causing whistles and hooks to erupt behind him.
Cam was feeling embarrassed but he stood still, wishing the floor would open and swallow him up.
Shannon "Yes, Mr. Danvers, I do need your attention. Do well to give your utmost to Mr. Kross over there, cue him in on everything we've done for the past two weeks, and I expect him to ace every question on my quiz by next week. Please, move to your seats." She said dismissively and picked her hamster from the table to fix on her face.
Baby's flirting mood flew out of the window the instant he heard Saint's name. His eyes flew to his seat behind the class, and truly, there he sat on Cam's seat right next to his with a cocky smirk on his face.
"You've got to be kidding me. Ms. Shannon, this cannot be –"
"I agree, Ms. Shannon, that is my seat, has been for two years!" Cam was living as he stared at Saint's smug face.
Now Cam wanted to beat the guy to a pulp on behalf of his best friend.
"Sit right behind them, Cameron. Anyone who has a different opinion can step outside and never step foot in my class," she said without turning away from the board.
"You can't do that, Shannon," Baby walked over to her, all traces of jesting gone from his face as he stood right beside the young woman, who was calmly writing on the board.
Shannon paused, her head tilting ever so slightly, "You might want to take the matter to your coach, who will now relay ot directly to THC. How does that sound Mr. Danvers? Now, stop slowing my class and drag your red-haired friend out of my sight." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder, pinning her stern gaze on them.
"You –"
"Let's go," Baby interrupted Cam, shaking his head at his best friend.
With a scowling face, he marched toward his seat behind the class, his nails digging into his hands in contained rage.
He didn't spare Saint a glance as he walked behind him to get to his seat. With a loud scrape against the floor, Baby dragged his seat out and lowered himself on it, placing his hands on the desk, his jaws working angrily.
He was starting to think that THC wasn't actually trying to see teamwork, they were planning his failure.
Perhaps Saint's patents were working with them to get him disqualified by setting him up with the person he despised. They knew what they were doing, they knew he would fail.
He could feel his patience thin with each passing second, and so help him god, he hoped he didn't lose it in public.
Saint's eyes never left Baby from the moment he stepped into the class, and as he sat by his side, he found himself leaning toward his seatmate with a slow smirk playing on his lips.
"We meet again, Baby," Saint's voice ran deeper than the ocean's depths, his breath deliberately fanning the side of Baby's chin.