The silence that followed Bill Maël's story was suffocating. It wasn't the kind of quiet that comes from peace or comfort. It was the silence of a graveyard—heavy, cold, and filled with the ghosts of broken dreams.
Belt sat motionless at the table, his mind running calculations at a speed that would have made a supercomputer jealous. But this time, the numbers didn't add up to a clean solution. This wasn't a physics problem with a single answer. This was human corruption. This was betrayal. This was the ugly truth hiding beneath the polished surface of professional sports.
"Half a million euros," Belt whispered, almost to himself. His voice was flat, but underneath it, there was a tremor of something darker. "They sold a genius for the price of a luxury car."
Maël looked up sharply, his exhausted eyes meeting Belt's cold blue stare. For a moment, the Captain seemed surprised that someone had spoken. The rest of the table—Snick, Nans, Morgking, Bobby, Vance—they all looked like statues frozen in time.
"Not just a genius," Maël corrected, his voice hoarse. "They sold our future. Vincent wasn't just the best player. He was the architect. He was the foundation. Without him, we were just... bodies running around a field, pretending to be a team."
Belt leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming slowly on the table. His brain was dissecting every detail of the story, analyzing it from every angle. The director's greed. Vincent's rage. The system's rot. And most importantly—the lesson hidden inside the tragedy.
"So that's why you're obsessed with rigor," Belt said, his tone clinical, like a doctor diagnosing a disease. "You're trying to rebuild what was stolen. You're carrying the ghost of Vincent on your back, hoping that if you work hard enough, you can honor his memory by reaching the summit he never got to climb."
Maël's jaw tightened. His hands, still clenched on the table, turned white at the knuckles. But he didn't deny it. He just stared at Belt with an intensity that could have melted steel.
"You're smarter than you look, Number 13," Maël said quietly. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm doing. And if you think that's weakness, then you're more naive than I thought."
Belt shook his head slowly. "I don't think it's weakness. I think it's dangerous."
The table went dead silent again. Even Bobby, who usually had a sarcastic comment for everything, just watched with wide eyes. Morgking leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over half the table.
"Dangerous?" Maël repeated, his voice dropping to a growl. "Explain yourself, rookie. Before I decide you've crossed a line."
Belt didn't flinch. He met the Captain's glare with the same cold, analytical stare he always wore. If anything, he looked more focused now, like a predator locking onto its prey.
"Dangerous because you're not playing for yourself," Belt said, his words deliberate and sharp. "You're playing for a ghost. You're trying to win a championship to prove something to a man who's not even here. That means every mistake you make isn't just your failure—it's a betrayal of Vincent's legacy. Every loss isn't just a loss—it's proof that you're not good enough to carry his dream. That kind of pressure will crush you, Captain. And when you break, this entire team will collapse with you."
The words hit Maël like a punch to the gut. His face went pale, and for a second, he looked like he'd been slapped. The other players shifted uncomfortably in their seats. No one had ever spoken to the Captain like this. No one had ever dared to challenge him so directly.
But Belt wasn't done.
"Vincent was betrayed by the system," Belt continued, his voice rising slightly. "But you're betraying yourself. You're letting the past control your future. You're so busy trying to be worthy of Vincent's crown that you've forgotten you're your own person. You're not Vincent Stringler. You're Bill Maël. And until you accept that, you'll never reach the top."
The cafeteria was so quiet you could hear the faint hum of the overhead lights. Snick looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. Nans was holding his breath. Morgking's eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and respect.
And then, Bill Maël did something no one expected.
He laughed.
It wasn't a bitter laugh or a sarcastic one. It was a real, genuine laugh—the kind that comes from deep in the chest, the kind that shakes your whole body. He threw his head back and laughed so hard that tears started forming in the corners of his eyes.
"You..." Maël gasped between laughs, wiping his eyes. "You really are insane, aren't you, Belt?"
Belt just stared at him, expressionless. "I prefer the term 'logical.'"
Maël shook his head, still grinning. "You just told me—the Captain of this team, the guy who's been here for three years, the guy who survived the collapse of the Legendary Trio—that I'm living in the shadow of a ghost. You told me I'm betraying myself. And you said it like you were ordering a sandwich."
"It's the truth," Belt replied simply. "You asked me to explain. I did."
Maël's smile faded, but it didn't disappear completely. Instead, it shifted into something else—something more dangerous. Respect.
"You're right," Maël admitted, his voice quieter now. "I have been carrying Vincent's ghost. I've been trying to be the king he never got to be. I've been so focused on honoring his memory that I forgot... I'm not him."
He stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. He walked around the table until he was standing directly in front of Belt. The two of them locked eyes—the veteran Captain and the rebellious rookie.
"But here's the thing, Belt," Maël said, his voice low and intense. "You're wrong about one thing. I'm not going to break. I'm not going to collapse. Because I'm not alone anymore."
He placed a hand on Belt's shoulder—a firm, heavy grip.
"Vincent was alone when the system betrayed him. He had no one strong enough to stand beside him. But me? I have you. I have Morgking. I have Bobby, Snick, Nans, Vance. I have a team. And that's the difference between me and Vincent. He tried to carry the weight of the world by himself. But I'm going to share that weight with warriors who are just as hungry as I am."
Belt looked down at the hand on his shoulder, then back up at Maël's face. For a moment, something flickered in his cold blue eyes—something almost like understanding.
"So you're saying you want to use me as a tool to achieve your revenge," Belt said bluntly.
Maël grinned. "No, I'm saying I want you to use me as a tool to achieve yours. Because I've seen the way you play, Belt. You're not here to make friends. You're not here for fame or money. You're here because you want to conquer something. And that hunger—that rage—that's exactly what this team needs."
He pulled his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Vincent was betrayed by greed. I was betrayed by my own weakness. But you? You're too cold, too logical, too ruthless to ever be betrayed. You don't trust the system. You don't trust authority. You barely trust your own teammates. And that makes you the most dangerous player on this team."
Belt tilted his head slightly, processing the words like data points in an equation. Then, slowly, a faint smile appeared on his face. It wasn't a warm smile. It wasn't friendly. It was the smile of a predator recognizing another predator.
"You're smarter than I gave you credit for, Captain," Belt said quietly.
Maël smirked. "And you're less of a loner than you pretend to be, Number 13."
The two of them stood there for a moment, locked in a silent battle of wills. Then Maël held out his hand.
"So here's the deal," Maël said. "I'll stop living in Vincent's shadow if you stop pretending you don't need anyone. We push each other. We challenge each other. We make each other better. And together, we destroy every team standing between us and the Nationals. Deal?"
Belt stared at the hand for a long moment. Every logical part of his brain told him not to trust this. Don't make alliances. Don't rely on others. Don't let emotion cloud your judgment.
But another part of him—a quieter, deeper part—whispered something different.
You can't conquer a kingdom alone.
Belt reached out and gripped Maël's hand. The handshake was firm, almost crushing. It wasn't the handshake of friends. It was the handshake of rivals who had decided to temporarily point their weapons in the same direction.
"Deal," Belt said simply.
The rest of the team erupted into noise. Bobby let out a loud whoop and slammed his hands on the table. Morgking stood up and roared with laughter, his deep voice echoing through the cafeteria. Snick and Nans exchanged excited looks, and even Vance, the quiet one, allowed himself a small smile.
"Finally!" Bobby shouted, grinning from ear to ear. "I thought you two were going to stare at each other until we all died of old age!"
Maël turned to face the rest of the team, his expression shifting back to his usual serious intensity.
"Listen up," he barked, his voice cutting through the noise. "This is the moment everything changes. Up until now, we've been coasting. We've been good, but not great. We've been strong, but not unstoppable. That ends today."
He pointed at Belt. "This kid just told me the hard truth I needed to hear. And now I'm going to tell you the same thing. If you want to survive in this league, you need to stop playing like individuals. You need to start playing like a pack of wolves. No more egos. No more excuses. No more holding back."
His eyes swept across the table, locking onto each player one by one.
"Our first match is in two weeks. And I'm not just talking about winning. I'm talking about domination. I want the other team to look at us and feel fear. I want them to know that stepping onto the field against Krow City is stepping into a war zone."
He slammed his fist on the table, making the trays rattle.
"We're not just going to the Regionals. We're going to the Nationals. And when we get there, we're going to meet the Absolute Emperor himself. Vincent Stringler. And we're going to show him that the team he left behind didn't just survive—we evolved."
The energy in the room was electric. Belt could feel it crackling in the air like static before a lightning storm. This wasn't just a pep talk. This was a declaration of war.
Maël turned back to Belt one last time.
"You ready to start the hunt, Tiger?"
Belt's cold blue eyes gleamed with a dangerous light.
"I was born ready, Captain."