Derrick
For the longest time, school felt like an endless loop of boredom—day after day, the same dull routine. Actually, scratch that. It wasn't just school… my whole life felt painfully boring, like everything was stuck on repeat.
But then I joined football.
And suddenly, everything shifted. The field became the one place where I felt alive. Every sprint, every kick, every roar from my teammates lit something inside me that I didn't even know was there. I finally had a reason to push my body, to test my limits, and to break out of that dull haze I'd been living in.
And the best part? Those teammates I met—the ones I used to call strangers—slowly became the people I now call my friends.
I didn't just become captain, I earned it through years of grinding, pushing, breaking, and rebuilding myself. Every drop of sweat, every bruised muscle, every late-night practice when everyone else had already gone home… it all led here. I poured everything I had into this sport. And somehow, all that stubborn determination… it finally paid off.
But no one tells you how heavy being captain feels. The guys come to me for everything now that I'm at the front, be it for Money, favors, guidance… if there's a burden to carry, they hand it to me without a second thought. And I give what I can. I give even when I'm tired, even when I'm stretched thin.
Not because I expect anything back. Not because I want them to owe me. I don't need the praise or the credit.
I just want one thing in return, not for me, but for us.
I want them to step onto that field and play with every ounce of heart they've got. I want to see them fight, push, believe. If they can give that… then every sacrifice, every quiet struggle of mine becomes worth it.
That's all I've ever wanted.
And now, on top of everything I'm already carrying, I've got people sticking their noses where they don't belong, messing with my Ace, stirring drama around his love life like it's some game they get to play. I have to personally deal with this shit.
"Put those two in your car," I said, slow enough that everyone heard every syllable. "This one's comin' with me." I've still got the one who looks like their leader pinned in a tight hold — not choking him, not hurting him, just keeping him exactly where I need him so he can't run his mouth or start up more trouble.
He squirms, trying to play tough I lean in just enough so he hears me clearly, my grip firm around his shoulders.
"I'm not here to fight you," I tell him low. "I just need you to listen. Because you and your guys crossed a line"
"I said let me go, you dickhead!" he snaps, twisting under my arm, fury in his voice but fear flickering just behind it
"ohhh how'd you know my name?" I just grin down at him — big, sharp, unbothered — and guide him toward the open car door. Not shoving, not hurting, just steering him with enough authority that he knows the choice isn't really his right now.
He stumbles into the seat, glaring up at me.
"If you get out," I say, leaning in close enough for only him to hear, "I'll break your leg."
It's pure menace in my voice, but nothing behind it — just a bluff, a warning meant to freeze him long enough to stop him from moving. I'd never actually do it, and he knows it… but he also knows I'm not here to play around.
He swallows hard, jaw tight, eyes darting like he's trying to decide whether to push back or stay put.
"Relax," I add, shutting the door gently instead of slamming it. "If you don't make this harder than it needs to be, nobody's getting hurt. Not today."
Because it's not about violence.
It's about control, clarity, and shutting down the nonsense before it gets out of hand.