You used to be our best forward

The month had passed quicker than I expected.

Not that I had been doing much.

I had, of course, played my matches. Most of them. Enough to keep the sponsors from breathing down my neck.

Enough to keep my name relevant in the headlines—though most of those still revolved around my so-called antics instead of my actual skills.

But I hadn't found her.

The mystery woman with the sharp green eyes and the dismissive tone. The woman who had turned me down without hesitation, who hadn't even considered me worthy of flirting with.

At first, I had convinced myself that I didn't care.

And then, after a few more nights of dismissing every random woman who tried to catch my attention, I realized—maybe I did care.

And I hated that.

So, today, I did something I almost never did.

I woke up early.

And I went to training.

Not late. Not hungover. Not dragging my feet with a lazy excuse about how superstars didn't need warm-ups.

I went to train.

The stadium was already alive with movement by the time I arrived. The crisp morning air carried the scent of freshly cut grass and sweat, the distant hum of the city barely audible past the echoing sounds of cleats against the turf.

Most of my teammates were already there, stretching, warming up, exchanging casual conversation as they prepared for the grueling hours ahead.

Their conversation came to a halt when they saw me.

I didn't miss the sharp glances, the murmurs.

"Oh, look who actually showed up today."

"Damn, someone check the calendar—is hell freezing over?"

I smirked, rolling my shoulders as I stepped onto the field. "I know. You all must be honored by my presence."

Silence. Then—

"Oh, you've got some damn nerve, Vesper."

Ah. There it was.

Tasha Montgomery, our defender and self-proclaimed enforcer, crossed her arms over her chest, her sharp brown eyes narrowed into something between frustration and thinly veiled murder.

"I swear," she continued, "if you try to joke your way out of this, I'm going to—"

"Let me guess," I cut in smoothly. "Kick my ass?"

"Yes," she deadpanned.

I grinned. "Well, good thing I'm faster than you."

A few of the others snickered. But the tension was still there.

"Fast enough to dodge training and games, apparently," Mia Park muttered, tying her cleats with far more force than necessary. She was one of our wingers, her jet-black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, her sharp gaze refusing to meet mine.

"I told you, I had—"

"Don't even say it," Tasha snapped. "Because if I hear another excuse, I'm going to—"

"What?" I teased, smirking. "Bench me?"

Tasha did not find it funny.

Neither did half the team, judging by the glares I was getting.

"We worked our asses off last month," Sofia Alvarez, one of our midfielders, chimed in. She was usually the level-headed one, but right now, she looked about one sentence away from throwing a ball at my face. "And you? You were—what? Partying?"

I let out a slow breath. "I was—"

"Not there," she snapped. "That's what you were."

More silence.

I didn't do well with guilt.

Or accountability.

Or team lectures.

So instead, I rolled my shoulders, letting my expression shift into something easygoing. "Well, I'm here now."

Mia scoffed. "Oh, yeah. That totally makes up for it."

"Are you planning to miss the next one, or do we have to check with your social calendar?" Tasha bit out.

I sighed dramatically, planting my hands on my hips. "You do realize I'm one of the best players on this team, right?"

"You were," Mia corrected.

I raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

She lifted her chin, unbothered by my reaction. "You used to be our best forward. But these days? You're just another distraction. And honestly?" Her gaze flicked over me, unimpressed. "You're not worth the trouble."

Well.

That stung.

Even more so because I could hear some of the others murmuring in agreement.

I wasn't used to that.

People loved me. They talked about me. They wanted me on the field, because I was better.

But they were acting like I was just another liability.

Like I was replaceable.

I forced out a chuckle, but it felt thin, even to me. "Alright, alright. Message received. I get it. I've been slacking. I'll make it up to you."

Tasha scoffed. "Oh, yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that?"

I gestured around dramatically. "By winning, obviously."

She stared at me. "We already win without you."

Ouch.

Before I could retort, the coach's sharp whistle cut through the tension, signaling the start of practice.

Saved by the bell.

---

Training was brutal.

And I needed it.

I could feel the strain in my muscles, the sharp burn of exhaustion clawing at my lungs as we ran drills, practiced formations, worked on endurance and precision.

Passing exercises.

Sprint drills.

Possession games.

Shots on goal.

The kind of grueling work that had once felt like second nature to me.

And yet, today, I could feel how much I had been slacking.

Tasha was relentless in defense, forcing me to fight for every inch of space. Mia wasn't making it easy either, cutting off my passes like she was on a personal mission to ruin my day.

Even Sofia, normally one of the more patient ones, wasn't holding back.

It was a message.

They weren't going to go easy on me just because I had finally decided to show up.

Fine.

That was fine.

Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was proving people wrong.

By the end of it, my body ached. Sweat dripped down my back, my breathing was heavy, my legs screamed in protest with every step.

But for the first time in a long time, I felt clear-headed.

Like I actually cared again.

I was gulping down water when I heard my name being called.

Sharp. Direct.

And annoyingly familiar.

"Vesper. Coach's office. Now."

I sighed, rolling my shoulders.

Great.

What now?