The morning felt lighter than usual.
Oakridge had a rare free period, and most students used it to sleep, gossip, or scroll through their phones. But on the indoor court, the Wolves were already alive with energy.
Riyan, Kade, Liam, and Troy were warming up—passing the ball fast, joking loudly, trash-talking each other like it was a ritual.
Aarvin sat on the bleachers, tying his laces, watching them with a faint smile.
And today… someone new was with them.
John.
He still looked a bit awkward around the group—hands in pockets, quiet, trying to understand the team's chaotic humor—but he wasn't standing alone anymore. He kept glancing at Aarvin, who gave him a small nod every now and then.
It helped.
"Bro, relax," Kade said, tossing John a basketball.
"You're basically part of the squad now."
John caught it effortlessly. "I'm… trying."
Riyan chuckled. "Trying? Man, you handled those idiots yesterday like a pro. You're in."
Aarvin shook his head. "They'll stop calling you 'new guy' in a week."
John smirked. "That'll be an improvement."
The vibe was light, warm—like the group had found a new rhythm.
And then Liam, being Liam, grinned at John with a spark of mischief.
"Hey… you fight pretty well, right?"
John raised a brow. "Why?"
Troy jumped in. "Riyan also fights well."
Riyan narrowed his eyes.
"What are you idiots planning?"
Liam extended his arms dramatically.
"A friendly spar!"
The court went silent for a beat.
Then Riyan scoffed. "Seriously?"
But the excitement in his eyes betrayed him.
John glanced at Aarvin.
"You okay with this?"
Aarvin nodded. "Just don't break each other."
Riyan smirked. "That's the fun part."
The Wolves formed a loose circle in the center of the court as John stepped forward.
Riyan cracked his knuckles.
"Alright, new guy… let's see what you've got."
John rolled his shoulders.
"Just don't cry afterward."
Kade shouted, "OH IT'S ON!"
The air shifted.
Lighthearted moments faded into electric tension.
Two fighters.
Two energies.
Two storms quietly sizing each other up.
Liam clapped once.
"Okay, boys—friendly. No breaking bones, no killing."
Troy added, "And no throwing each other outside the court like last time, Riyan."
Riyan blinked innocently.
"That was an accident."
Aarvin groaned. "This is a bad idea."
But it was already too late.
The spar began.
Riyan moved first—fast, confident, fierce.
John dodged with surprising calmness, almost analytical in the way he watched every motion.
Blow. Block. Step back.
The Wolves cheered.
The intensity rose.
Riyan's grin widened.
"You're good. Really good."
John smirked.
"I was thinking the same."
Then Riyan's expression shifted—slightly darker, sharper.
He pushed harder.
Faster.
Stronger.
The Wolves stopped cheering.
Aarvin stood halfway.
Something was off.
Riyan wasn't playing anymore.
His movements grew too sharp, too fierce—like something inside him was slipping.
A punch came inches too close to John's jaw.
John barely dodged.
"What the—? Hey, this is supposed to be—"
Riyan didn't stop.
His footwork tightened, muscles coiled, breath shaky.
Kade whispered, "Bro… he's losing control."
Liam swallowed. "Again?"
Aarvin stepped forward.
"Riyan! Enough—you're pushing it too far—"
But before he could reach them, a cold voice cut through the court:
"Riyan."
Everyone froze.
Even Riyan.
Because standing by the doorway—hands in pockets, expression unreadable—was Adrien.
The Wolves sucked in a breath.
Troy whispered, "Oh damn… he's here."
Adrien walked toward them slowly, gaze sharp and unblinking.
"That's enough," he said again, stepping between the two fighters without hesitation.
His presence alone was enough to drop the entire temperature of the court.
Riyan clenched his jaw.
"…I was in control."
Adrien's eyes flicked to him—like he could see straight through the lie.
"No. You weren't."
Silence.
John looked between them, confused.
"What just happened?"
Aarvin let out a breath.
"Long story."
Adrien finally looked at John. "That spar is over. For today."
John nodded immediately.
"Understood."
The Wolves slowly relaxed, tension bleeding out of the air.
But Adrien's gaze shifted once more—toward Aarvin.
Just a brief glance.
A knowing glance.
As if he was silently checking:
Are you stable today?
Are you grounding yourself?
Are you still fighting the right battles?
Aarvin held the stare.
Calmly.
Steadily.
And Adrien looked away first.
The storm had passed.
But the echoes of it… were far from gone.