Xander couldn't believe what was happening. Was Luke accusing him out of anger, or was there something deeper behind his words? The thought of his own teammates turning on him pinned him down, suffocating him under a weight he hadn't known he carried. He drew in a shaky breath, willing himself to find the right words. Then, with a steady voice that betrayed the storm brewing inside him, he finally spoke:
"Why should I believe what you're saying? Don't you think I'd know if I were changing teams? I'm not. And how could something like that even be possible?"
His words echoed in the locker room, but they weren't met with answers. Instead, all eyes shifted downward—toward his hand. Xander followed their gaze, and when he saw what they were looking at, his heart sank.
The jersey he had exchanged with Rochester's player was still there, clutched loosely in his fingers. For a moment, the room seemed to tilt around him. He froze, unsure of what to do. A bitter smile tugged at his lips, though it lacked any warmth.
How could he explain to them that this wasn't what it looked like? That it was a simple exchange of jerseys—a tradition of sportsmanship, nothing more? To them, it wasn't a friendly gesture; it was proof. Proof of betrayal.
The silence in the room thickened until it felt almost unbearable. Then, breaking through the tension like a knife, one of the defenders let out a loud laugh.
The sound was sharp and grating, and it pulled every gaze in the room toward him. The defender leaned casually against a locker, his arms crossed, his tone dripping with mockery.
"It might actually be better if Xander left," he said, the corners of his mouth curling into a cruel smirk. "He's the worst player on the team, anyway. What does he even bring to us?"
The words hit Xander like a slap.
Before he could process them, someone else chimed in. "That's true," another player said, his voice carrying a hint of cruel humor. "If he kicked the ball, it'd probably hit the wall—or, better yet, one of the fans in the face!"
The locker room erupted into laughter. It wasn't the light, teasing kind of laughter teammates might share. This was different. It was sharp, cutting, meant to wound. Xander stood frozen in place, the weight of their mockery crashing over him like a tidal wave.
He looked around the room, hoping—praying—for someone to come to his defense. But no one did. The players busied themselves with changing out of their uniforms, as if he weren't even there. The laughter slowly died down, replaced by the sound of zippers and the rustling of bags.
But not Luke.
Luke stood near the edge of the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw set in a hard line. His frustration was evident in every stiff movement.
Xander's stomach churned. A part of him wanted to scream, to demand an explanation for this sudden hostility. But another part—the quieter, more insecure part—told him to stay silent. What if saying something only made it worse?
For a fleeting moment, a dangerous thought crossed his mind: Maybe moving to Rochester wouldn't be so bad. At least there, he wouldn't have to deal with this. But he quickly pushed the thought away. No. It wouldn't be better. Even if Rochester wanted him—and that was still a big if—what were the chances he'd actually succeed there?
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the sharp creak of the door swinging open. Every head turned toward it, the room falling into an uneasy silence once more.
The coach stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He scanned the room briefly before his gaze settled on Xander.
"Xander," the coach said, his voice firm and deliberate. "To my office. Now."
A heavy silence followed his words. The usual bustling activity of the locker room came to a standstill. Players who had been joking moments ago now stared openly at Xander. Their eyes burned into him, each one a silent judgment.
Xander swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten. Why are they all looking at me now? he thought bitterly. Wasn't it enough that we lost?
Without a word, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. The stares followed him as he made his way to the door. He didn't look back. He didn't need to; he could feel the suffocating weight of their gaze pressing into his back.
The hallway outside was dimly lit and eerily quiet. The sound of his footsteps echoed off the walls as he walked toward the coach's office. With every step, his mind raced.
Why was this happening? Why now?
For years, he'd been stuck in LukeChester, unable to move forward. No other team had shown the slightest interest in him—until now. Rochester, one of the best teams in the league, had expressed interest. But it didn't make sense. Why would they want him, the player ranked worst in the league? Was it some kind of mistake?
He reached the coach's office and hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open.
The office was small but meticulously organized. A single, plush chair sat behind a large wooden desk. The coach was seated there, his hands clasped in front of him. He didn't offer Xander a seat.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. "You're leaving the team," the coach said bluntly. "We've signed you to Rochester. The money is good—it'll help us bring in a new, better player."
Money
The words hit Xander like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He felt a bitter laugh rise in his throat but swallowed it back. So that was it. They were selling him—not because they believed in him, but because Rochester's offer was too tempting to refuse.
"I don't want to leave LukeChester," Xander said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "This is my team."
The coach's expression didn't change. "That's exactly why you need to leave," he said sharply. "We need someone better."
Xander's fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "If I go to Rochester," he said, his voice shaking, "I won't even play. I'll just be warming the bench."
The coach leaned forward, his gaze hard and unyielding. "It's better to warm the bench than to cost us games."
The words cut deeper than Xander had expected. He stood in silence, his mind racing. How had it come to this? After ten years with LukeChester, this was how they were going to treat him?
His shoulders slumped under the weight of the crushing reality. Without another word, he turned and left the office.
Each step he took down the hallway felt heavier than the last. The thought of returning to the locker room made his stomach churn. He couldn't face them—not after this.
As he reached the hallway leading to the exit, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, the screen lighting up with a notification. The payment for the match had come through.
Normally, seeing that deposit would have brought a sense of relief, maybe even a small smile. But not today. Today, it felt hollow, like a consolation prize for losing everything that mattered.
Xander clenched his phone tightly, his jaw tightening as a single thought echoed in his mind:
He needed to prove them all wrong.
But how?