[v2] Chapter 28: First Day of Football

Saturday, April 27

Location: Football Field

Operation: Practice

12:05

I was still wondering who sat at the bottom of the list.

Granted, it had only been three hours. There was no real way I could know for sure who it was yet—but anticipation has a way of chewing through logic. If things aligned with even a sliver of sense, I wouldn’t be this paranoid.

But they didn’t. So I was.

It was Saturday, which meant Mage Football practice. The field was already alive by the time I arrived, humming with the chaotic energy of weekend drills.

And there were muscles.

A lot of muscles.

A terrifying number of very, very muscular men filled the space, most of them shirtless. Which felt... unnecessary. There weren’t even any girls around to flex for. It was just guys, posing, showing off their abs, admiring each other like a Greek sculpture exhibition that somehow got dropped into a testosterone blender.

Among them was Malachi, unsurprisingly already blending in with the roster of overachievers.

As more players trickled in, someone stepped out from the shadows near the storage shed. He was a stubby man with shock-white hair and a trimmed mustache, the kind that said I yell at children for sport. His blue polo shirt was tucked neatly into black cargo pants, the kind that screamed both professionalism and midlife crisis. He wore a black cap and shoes to match. Around his neck hung a lanyard with a whistle, which he now raised and blew into like he was summoning a demon.

The whistle’s shrill screech sliced through the air. Instantly, the entire field froze.

"Alright, everybody, huddle up!" he barked. "I just wanna set some parameters first, okay?"

The team moved in near-perfect unison, a wave of obedient athletes condensing into a tighter circle. I hesitated—mostly because I wasn’t quite ready for this level of...intensity.

"Now, I want you to look at your neighbor," he ordered, scanning the crowd like a hawk.

I paused, inwardly praying he wouldn’t catch my hesitation.

"Neighbor!" he repeated, louder this time.

His eyes were moving my way. I turned slowly, reluctantly, to face the guy next to me—an absolute unit of a jock with a ten-pack, shoulders like tree trunks, and a jawline that looked like it could cut diamonds.

"Say ‘Neighbor!’"

"Neighbor!" the group shouted in unison.

"You’re playing with a real player!"

"You’re playing with a real player!"

"And if you’re too much of a well-fed disappointment to match my level..."

"And if you’re too much of a well-fed disappointment to match my level..."

"You better leave right now, because I will be hard on you!"

A heavy silence fell like a dropped weight. No one dared to move.

The man gave a dark chuckle. "That goes for all of you, too. I’m Coach Wallaby, your offensive coach. And if you don’t have the energy, the discipline, and the will to serve this team..." he paused, letting the silence stretch, "then the only thing you’re qualified to serve... is lunch. With the lunch ladies. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" the team echoed.

"Yes, sir," I mumbled under my breath, hoping he hadn’t heard.

His gaze fell on me—or above me. I prayed it was above me.

"Alright. Get your gear on. Let’s move."

The drills began. Tackling, mostly. Relentless, grueling tackling. I knew if I wanted to get my stats up, I had to use my Perk sparingly but effectively. With each hit, I activated it for a split-second—just long enough to enhance my reflexes or durability—then let it fade.

It worked well, mostly. But Malachi and that super-jock were starting to catch on. I could feel it.

“Prove to me those abs aren’t from steroids!” Coach Wallaby roared across the field.

I threw a glance over my shoulder—and saw the jock bearing down on me. Like a freight train.

The hit came hard, slamming into my right side with enough force to rattle my bones. I was launched into the air, colliding with the padded floor in a bone-crunching thud. But with my Perk pulsing through me, I stumbled, rolled, and got back to my feet.

Practice went on for another hour. By the time it ended, most of us looked like we’d been chewed up and spat out by a blender.

We huddled again near Coach Wallaby.

“Alright, good job, Andre. I like that behavior,” the coach said. “I expected that performance from you.”

"No problem, sir," the jock replied smugly, arms akimbo and face oozing arrogance. “Just trying to be the best.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to see my brain.

“That’s the mentality, team,” Coach Wallaby bellowed. “Try to be the best! Because with one mind, one goal, and one accord—that’s when the team moves! Lincoln said a house divided against itself cannot stand.”

He began to pace.

“And you know what? A team with half the people willing to give their best is stronger than one with double the people who won’t even try.”

I tilted my head, unconvinced. Wallaby’s eyes found me instantly.

"Find that hard to believe, don’t you?" he asked, moving toward me.

“No, I can assure you—he was just imagining things,” Andre cut in smoothly, placing a hand on my chest like some kind of moral compass.

Malachi and I exchanged matching looks of exasperation.

Coach Wallaby smirked.

"Imagining, huh? Let’s keep it real." He turned. "Take five. We go again after that."

The group scattered toward the bleachers. I tried to locate Malachi, but before I could, a hand tapped my shoulder.

I yelped.

“Whoa, chill,” Tisiah said, raising his hands. “It’s me.”

“Yeah... I can see that now,” I panted. “Were you late?”

“I hid until that tackling drill ended. Those things give me trauma.”

I furrowed my brows but let it go.

Malachi strolled up, annoyed. “Took you long enough. I should’ve gotten first.”

“It’s not your fault there’s a super soldier on this team,” I replied.

“You have a literal P—”

“Shhh!” Tisiah and I said in unison.

Malachi cleared his throat. “With what you’ve got, you should be dominating the field.”

“Blame the jock,” I muttered. “He bumped into me. My speed vanished after that.”

“That sucks,” Tisiah said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, letting him knock you around like that? Kinda hurts your rep,” Malachi added.

Tisiah and I shot him a synchronized death glare.

“Hop off, Tisiah,” Malachi huffed. “Any new findings?”

“It’s the weekend,” Tisiah grumbled.

“Well... we did get something new. From Greg.”

“Who’s Greg?” Malachi asked.

“His brother,” Tisiah replied, ruffling my hair like I was six years old. Demeaning didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Oh. That’s a new development,” Malachi muttered, unimpressed.

“But after I told Greg what you said, he brought up a point. You’re still critical in all of this. Even if it doesn’t look that serious from your angle.”

“What do you mean?” Tisiah asked.

“Malachi’s top of the MP system,” I said. “If someone shadows him, watches what he does, they’ll learn how to exploit the MP system. With enough time, TSA could replicate it—maybe even improve it. If that happens, the MSTO gets outclassed, and fast.”

Malachi rubbed his temples. “So explain how this is less serious for me?”

“Because you’re not the one who might die,” Tisiah said bluntly.

Malachi raised his hand to backhand him. I jumped in between. “Please! Can we just focus on saving me?”

They stared each other down, then sighed and nodded reluctantly.

“It sounds bad, sure,” I said, “but we all benefit from this. Imagine the MP you’ll earn from solving the case.”

“Oh, right,” Malachi said. “I need to go to the library Monday. Gotta buy my weapons.”

“The library?” Tisiah and I said in unison.

“Check your emails,” Malachi explained. “They’re encrypted. No one will know. The YMPS opens this Monday.”

“When?”

“16:00.”

“American Patriot Time, please,” Tisiah added dryly.

“Four o’clock.”

“Then we need to find who’s at the bottom of the list,” Tisiah said. “Track them. See what they buy.”

“Why?”

“It might show us something valuable,” he said.

I turned to Malachi, who just shrugged and gave a grin.

“Also, what does YMPS even stand for?” Tisiah asked.

“Youth Mage Points Store,” I answered.

“How do you know?”

“From the email,” I replied, narrowing my eyes.

“Nah,” Malachi said. “I just guessed.”

I sighed. “I take back everything good I ever said about you.”

But now, I had even more reasons to figure out who was at the bottom of that list.

And I wasn’t leaving until I did.