By the time Friday rolled around, Sable still hadn't shown up at school. Her desk sat empty, an absence that grew heavier with each passing day. Nobody dared mention it out loud—at least not in class. Their teacher, normally quick to scold missing assignments or skipped lessons, brushed past her absence as if it was nothing. That silence alone told Raxian everything he needed to know. The staff were aware, but they weren't going to stir the pot.
The air in the classroom felt tighter ever since that night. Raxian's crew felt it most of all. Marcus kept cracking weaker-than-usual jokes just to break the silence; Jake was unusually restless, drumming his pen against his notebook instead of running his mouth. Even Tess—always the organizer—sat stiffly, watching the clock more than the board.
It didn't take long before they pieced it together: what happened to Sable wasn't random. Someone had wanted her out of the picture. And with the first League tournament of the year looming right after the weekend, the motive was obvious. Take her out, and prevent her from ending up on the school's leaderboard.
---
Sable herself refused to cooperate. She had shut everyone out the second she went home, leaving them only fragments of what happened. That's when the crew took it on themselves to dig. Bruce, Jake, Marcus, and Tess worked the visible angles—asking questions, cross-checking alibis, and stirring rumors until something gave. Logan, hood up as usual, stuck close to Ava, who was operating quieter than the rest. Ava didn't waste her breath on casual chatter; instead, she slipped through the halls like smoke, approaching people no one else thought twice about. By the end of the week, she had what they needed.
Ava dropped the lead at lunch, almost casually. "Three guys. Not from our class. Not even good players, just grunts doing someone else's dirty work."
When Bruce pressed her for more, she only tilted her head and added, "Let's just say our source was…persuaded. Don't ask how."
---
That afternoon, the crew lay in wait. The three culprits strolled out of the gates together, laughing like nothing was wrong. Raxian and his crew closed in on them at the corner of the block, shadows stretching long under the late sun.
At first, the guys played dumb, all wide-eyed innocence and mock confusion. "We don't even know who you're talking about," one said, forcing a laugh. "You've got the wrong people."
But Bruce's voice cut sharp: "You think we're stupid? We know you kept her from playing."
The denials cracked under pressure. Marcus boxed them in with questions until their lies started tangling on themselves. Jake, usually all excessive charm, dropped his grin and let his weight fill the silence—an intimidation trick that worked better than shouting. Ava circled like a shark, reminding them that names could spread fast in this school if they weren't careful.
Finally, one of the boys caved. "Alright! We were told to keep her out. Just for the tournament, that's all."
Raxian's jaw tightened. That was all they needed to hear.
---
Now that they had cornered the culprits, the group had to decide what to do. Reporting them to the principal seemed like the most logical first step—at least, that's what Marcus suggested, his voice sharp but measured as always. "This isn't something we can just brush off. They crossed a line. If we don't report it, they'll just keep pulling this kind of stunt again."
The guys, pathetic as they were, immediately started pleading. Faces pale, voices shaky, they swore up and down that it was just a prank, that they didn't mean for things to go that far, that they never thought Sable would disappear entirely. They begged Raxian's gang not to drag them into trouble.
Bruce, usually laid-back and easygoing, was the one who lost his patience first. His usual calm eyes sharpened as he stepped forward, forcing the cowards to shrink back. "Save it," he snapped, more blunt than he had ever sounded around them. "You should've thought about that before you touched her. Before you left her there like that." His fists clenched at his sides, the image of that day burned into his memory. He was the one who found Sable after all—half-conscious, shaken, humiliated. He knew just how bad it had been, even if she refused to admit it.
The rest of the group stayed silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. Tess crossed her arms, her face unreadable but her stance firm. Logan adjusted his headphones, gaze cold and unblinking, while Ava watched the culprits with something darker than curiosity in her eyes. The guys squirmed, realizing they weren't dealing with just one person, but a crew that wasn't afraid to hold them accountable.
The question wasn't whether these bastards deserved punishment—that was obvious. The real question was how far Raxian's gang was willing to go.
---
They ended up reporting the bastards, and the punishment came down swift and harsh. Detentions, suspensions, reputations in tatters—it was more than those cowards had bargained for when they thought they could get away with it. Even though Sable would've objected—would've told them to just let it go—the group decided it was the right choice. For her sake. For her protection.
---
Later that evening, Raxian messaged her. It wasn't like they'd been in touch since he'd confronted her about the incident. She hadn't responded to his offer about "joining his gang," either. Still, he chose to send it anyway:
We handled it. Interrogated the bastards, made sure they got what they deserved. Justice—done in your name.
When Sable saw the message, she just stared at her phone, glaring at the screen like it had betrayed her.
Really… you actually went that far, huh?
Her chest tightened. She didn't know how to feel about it. Anger? Gratitude? Shame? It was messy. Too messy. This was the first time anyone had ever stood up for her, really stood up for her—not just passing words, not just shallow pity. They had acted.
Well… almost the first time.
---
Her mind drifted back years, to a different life. To the stage lights she never stood under, the matches she played in secret. She had been ten years old, impossibly small, impossibly young, yet somehow sitting behind a screen as part of a pro team. Their self-proclaimed top assassin, an Akali main who could dismantle guys twice her age. Her dad had allowed it, reluctantly at first, but the team—older, rough around the edges—had embraced her.
They shielded her. Protected her image. Nobody beyond that tight circle ever knew her face, her name, her real age. To the outside world, she was just an anonymous prodigy. To them, she was their kid. Their responsibility.
---
She remembered especially the midlaner. Sixteen at the time, a Yone main with sharp instincts and a sharper tongue. He'd looked out for her constantly, guiding her through plays, backing her up when she tilted, defending her in scrims when the others teased. She had bonded with him more than anyone else.
---
And now, staring at Raxian's text, that old ache twisted in her chest. Back then, she'd been protected because she was too young, too vulnerable, too hidden to defend herself. But this? Raxian's gang didn't do it because she was fragile. They did it because she was worth protecting.
And that thought… that was harder to accept than she expected.
---
That's when she typed it out. No sarcasm, no guard, no mask — just a line stripped bare. Thank you. She couldn't even believe she'd written it, but her thumbs didn't hesitate this time. It wasn't just him she was addressing, but the whole crew who had done what she couldn't bring herself to.
Thanks for fighting for me.
It was unbelievably honest, the kind of thing she would usually delete before hitting send. But this time she let it go. The message delivered, leaving her staring at the screen, heart twisting at the vulnerability she'd just allowed. I didn't do anything to deserve it… but you still stepped in. And honestly… being cared for like that… feels nice.
---
Raxian hadn't expected that. Not from her. He sat with the message for a long moment, the weight of it pulling him quiet. Sable wasn't the type to hand out gratitude like candy — she was sharp, stubborn, always two steps ahead of anyone who tried to get close. And yet here she was, admitting something raw.
He leaned back against his bedframe, phone still glowing in his hand. It was short, almost abrupt, but the sincerity in her words hit harder than any long paragraph could have. For once, she wasn't his rival, or the elusive student who kept her distance — she was just… Sable.
And for some reason, that honesty meant more to him than he could put into words.
---
The tournament day crept up faster than Raxian expected. Normally, he'd be grinding nonstop the week before, nerves sharp, instincts honed, making sure he was at the peak of his game. But this time? He couldn't bring himself to care the same way. The announcements had gone out, the bracket was posted — and yet the hype just wasn't there. Not in him, not even in Jake. His so-called rival wasn't spamming the group chat with memes and taunts, wasn't strutting around campus talking trash like usual. It was like all of them had been carrying the weight of what happened with Sable.
---
And then she walked back into school.
It was almost disorienting, how she carried herself as if nothing had touched her. Cool, composed, unshaken — the same sharp aura that had made her seem untouchable from day one. But there was something different this time. She didn't breeze past everyone like they didn't exist, didn't wall herself off behind her silence. Her clothes were a little different, layered in a way that wasn't her usual style — a blazer buttoned higher, sleeves tugged down, as if to cover what marks might still remain. The look didn't soften her presence, though; if anything, it sharpened it, as though she'd chosen concealment as part of her armor.
As she passed their row in the classroom, she gave the smallest nod. Barely a flicker of acknowledgement — but enough. Bruce caught it, and for the first time all week, he smiled.
---
When the bell rang and they spilled into the hallway, it happened. She didn't disappear into the crowd or cut out early. Instead, she walked straight toward them, her footsteps deliberate, her eyes steady. The crew tensed without meaning to, a ripple of surprise moving through them.
"I heard about what you did," she said, her voice calm, clipped, but carrying more weight than any long speech.
For a second no one answered — not Jake, not Tess, not even Raxian. And then she added, almost reluctantly, "Thank you."
It was simple, but it landed like a strike. They'd seen her cold, distant, untouchable — but this was different. This was her letting down the armor, if only for a breath.
Jake's mouth opened like he wanted to joke, but even he couldn't bring himself to. Tess nodded back. Bruce, grinning wider than he should have, clapped a hand on Marcus's shoulder like he couldn't contain the relief.
And Raxian? He just watched her, his arms crossed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. The tournament, the hype, the grind — none of it mattered in that moment. What mattered was that Sable had come back, and that wall she always kept up had cracked, just enough for them to see inside.
---
After the encounter in the hallway, none of them really knew how to approach Sable anymore. She was acknowledging them now, sure — but what did that actually mean? Could they keep building on this? Would she even want that? The air around her still carried that razor-edged distance, and none of them wanted to be the one to push too hard.
Jake, though, couldn't stand the tension. He tried to play it cool — a little more cautious than his usual loud self — but he still drifted toward her desk once the break ended. He leaned against it like he'd done a hundred times before with the others, testing the waters.
"...So," he started, scratching the back of his neck. "We're all kinda wondering. You back for good, or just checking in?"
Sable glanced up at him, and for a moment Jake thought she'd shut him down cold. But instead, she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, studying him with that cool, steady look that made people squirm. Then she shrugged.
"Your so-called leader—" she tilted her chin toward Raxian's desk in front of hers "—asked me to join your little gang. And if that offer's still standing…" her voice dipped for the first time, almost uncertain, "...I'd like that."
Marcus nearly choked on the sip of water he'd been taking. Tess's head snapped up. Bruce blinked, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard her right.
Jake's eyes went wide, then narrowed with suspicion before lighting up in triumph. "Aha!" he burst out, pointing a finger between her and Raxian. "I knew something was going on between you two. Called it!"
"Buzz it, Jake," Tess muttered, swatting at his arm, but her own curiosity flickered beneath the surface.
All eyes turned to Raxian. He sat there, arms folded, expression carved into something unreadable. No denial, no confirmation. Just silence — as if his answer wasn't for anyone else in the room but her.
Sable didn't look away from him. For once, she wasn't untouchable — and that small shift was louder than anything she could've said.
---
Tournament day meant the afternoon classes were cancelled, leaving the whole school buzzing with anticipation. After lunch, everyone would gather in the arena — the wide, open hall fitted with massive monitors, rows of audience seats, and glossy stage platforms reserved only for big match days like this. Most of the year, the place sat silent and untouched, locked behind heavy doors like a monument. But today, it would come alive.
Until then, though, there was still lunch.
---
To everyone's surprise, Jake had waved Sable over on their way out of class. And even more surprising — she had actually accepted. He looked like he was about to burst out bragging rights, practically skipping ahead to lead the way, already launching into his "legendary grand tour" commentary.
---
The cafeteria wasn't anything special if you'd been going there for years — just long rows of tables, constant chatter, clatter of trays, and the smell of fried food lingering in the air. But to newcomers, it carried its own kind of chaos and hierarchy. Groups had their unofficial tables, invisible borders drawn by habit and status. Some divides were the usual ones — athletes clustering near the windows, always in the middle of some debate about practice or gear; the art kids camping out in the far corner with sketchbooks scattered between trays, doodling champions instead of paying attention to their food.
But here, interests weren't the only thing shaping the layout. Performance in League mattered just as much — maybe more. Sitting near the center wasn't just about popularity; it was about prestige. The higher your rank, the closer you were to the spotlight. Emerald players and star duelists claimed the most visible tables, while lower ranks drifted to the outer edges, mixing with whoever would take them in. Nobody said it out loud, but everyone knew: where you sat was as much a marker of skill as it was of social standing.
Raxian's crew had claimed one of the prime spots in the middle — not too flashy, not too hidden. It was the perfect balance, a table with reach. People noticed you here. People listened.
---
Sable didn't look overwhelmed, but it was clearly new to her. She usually brought her own lunch, eating up on the rooftop where no one would bother her. Today, she had a small box with her still, neatly packed like always. But instead of unpacking it in the noise, she kept it closed, setting it down beside her seat. "I'll just leave it for my dad later," she said casually when Jake teased her about it. "He'll eat it."
For the first time, she actually sat with them. Not standing on the outskirts, not brushing them off, but sliding into the open space between Tess and Bruce like she belonged there. And the strangest thing? She didn't seem uncomfortable about it.
Jake, of course, made a whole production of showing her around the cafeteria — as if the fluorescent lights, lunch lines, clunky vending machines, and endless rows of tables were some kind of tour-worthy spectacle. Sable gave him that flat, deadpan stare of hers the whole time, but she didn't shut him down. Which for Sable, honestly, was progress.
And while everyone else was talking, joking, and laughing, Raxian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, quietly watching the scene unfold.
---
After lunch the crowd funneled toward the arena, a part of the campus that felt like it belonged to another world. Most of the year it sat abandoned, but on tournament days it came alive — monitors lit across the walls, rows of seating rising up like a miniature stadium, the air buzzing with nerves and anticipation.
Anyone who wanted to compete had to sign up at the front desk. A long table was set up with assistants, laptops open, where players entered their details: main account name, peak rank, preferred role, comfort champion. You never played on your main here; the school issued temporary custom accounts with clean slates, a way to keep things fair and focus on skill, not just ladder grind.
---
Raxian almost walked past. For once, he couldn't be bothered — not after the dirty stunt those idiots had pulled to shove Sable out of the lineup earlier in the week. He didn't want to deal with the posturing, the whispers, the inevitable questions.
But then Sable caught his sleeve. The others were already heading toward the stands, laughing and jostling each other, when she quietly pulled him aside. Her eyes were steady, sharper than he expected."You should sign up," she said. "I want to see what you go for… against me."
It sounded absurd. Her — still bandaged, still not fully healed — throwing herself into this? And him — out of practice, his timing dulled — what was the point? He opened his mouth to dismiss it, but there was something in the way she said it, almost daring him. He couldn't shake it.
So he signed.
---
Match slots filled quickly: ten players per round, teams randomized. The names shuffled across the giant screen in the arena until the rosters finalized. To his surprise, Raxian and Sable landed in the very last match of the day — not as opponents, but side by side.
Their picks came up on the big screen. Sable locked in Akali without hesitation — top lane, her assassin of choice. No wavering, no second-guessing.
Raxian's cursor flicked across the screen, but he already knew where it would land. Ekko. Mid lane. He didn't need to think about it. Of course he'd pick Ekko, his all time main. The boy with time on his side, always looking for the angle, always ready to turn the fight back in his favor.
Two assassins. Two blades of chaos. On the same side this time.
---
When Jake noticed Sable and Raxian lock in their champions, he almost laughed. He'd seen it coming a mile away. Raxian wasn't chasing him anymore — he'd found someone new to clash with. Rivalry upgraded. For a second, Jake thought he should feel bitter about that, like he'd lost his spot in Raxian's orbit. But truth be told? He didn't. Watching the two of them fight side by side was priceless. If anything, it made for the kind of drama he lived for — the kind worth hyping up, worth remembering.
What blindsided Jake didn't even register to Fayne until the picks flashed on the giant monitors. She sat with Leah and Mira in the stands, half-expecting Raxian to troll or Sable to back out last second. But no — Akali. Ekko. Side by side.
Her chest tightened. Sable's return had been surprising enough — she'd walked back into school as if nothing had happened, unshaken, untouched. And then, without warning, she'd slipped into Raxian's crew, joking with Jake, walking with them in the cafeteria like she'd always been there. Fayne had barely processed that shift when this new one hit: Sable and Raxian, not just on the same stage, but on the same team.
It felt unreal. Fayne couldn't shake the thought that she'd missed something important, that the new girl wasn't just stirring things up — she was rewriting them.
---
And in that match, the entire school finally saw it. What Sable was really about.
Her return hadn't been quiet — she made sure of it on stage. The girl lived up to every rumor that had trailed her since her first days at the school, and then some. A prodigy, through and through. No wasted movements, no ego-chasing plays. Just cold, surgical precision.
She wasn't styling. She didn't need to. When she teleported mid to link with Raxian, the two of them dove that poor Syndra like it had been rehearsed a hundred times. Minutes later, they roamed bot together, collapsing on the lover duo Xayah and Rakan with flawless timing, scooping up kills and momentum. Jungle objectives fell into their hands like clockwork.
Raxian's Ekko had never looked sharper — every engage timed with her shurikens, every ultimate lining up perfectly with her pressure. If Raxian was the school's crown, Sable was the blade beside it — undeniable, untouchable. Together? They were something else entirely.
The enemy nexus shattered in under fifteen minutes, before the losing team could even dream of a surrender vote. And when it did, the arena erupted. The entire crowd stood, clapping, shouting, some even laughing in disbelief at the sheer brutality of it.
In less than a game's time, Sable's name wasn't just respected again. It was cemented.
---
When the roar of the crowd finally faded and the arena began to empty, Sable didn't move. The stage lights were dimmer now, just casting long shadows across the rows of seats. She stood near center stage, arms crossed loosely, her gaze drifting over the silent monitors where victory screens had flashed only minutes ago.
---
It brought her back — to her younger days. Back when competition was raw, when every match felt like it mattered more than anything else. She remembered how alive she'd felt then, chasing perfection not for anyone's applause, but because it was all she knew how to do.
She didn't notice Raxian in the doorway. Usually she caught things like that — a shift of movement, a presence hanging in the air — but this evening her mind was elsewhere.
He leaned against the frame, silent. Watching.
---
When she'd first arrived, the way everyone buzzed about her had gotten under his skin. The so-called prodigy, the untouchable rookie. She'd walked in with a shadow of hype so big it nearly swallowed the rest of them. He'd hated it, if only because no one had seen him for what he was yet.
---
But now… after their duels, their sync, their win today — after knowing AkarisLite was Sable — he couldn't deny it anymore. She wasn't hype. She wasn't rumor. She was the real thing. And he admired that. Fiercely.
---
At last, Sable turned, sensing she wasn't alone. Her eyes caught his — the glint of medals still hanging from both of their necks. For a heartbeat, the silence between them carried all the weight of the match, of the rivalry, of something unspoken neither of them wanted to name yet.
She gave a simple nod. No words, no grand gesture. Then she walked past him, her footsteps echoing on the hollow floor.
Raxian pushed off the doorframe and followed without question.