“Which ink do I leave?” Dorino, with a small brush waiting to paint over the suppressor, snapped his finger in front of Hiro’s face. “Hey, boy! I don’t have all day.”
“Because of the language barrier, I really need the two. Please, I beg you, please. If not, I can’t play.”
The referee clicked his tongue. “All right, all right. Neck and ear, isn’t it? But just this time, official games are only one spell, understand?” He drew over the suppressor grudgingly and stood up with a grimace of pain. “Bite me. I’m too old for this.”
The day had grown oppressively hot, with the sun blazing overhead, its blinding light casting sharp shadows across the stands. A few figures moved about the field, each holding peculiar watering cans that sprayed water into the sand. In the distance, Dorino hastened, his focus fixed on the runes guarding a stadium devoid of spectators.
“We’re gonna give it our all, blood and sweat, like old times, eh boy?” said a bent old man who didn’t seem to know exactly where he was or who he was talking to. Glancing at him to decide if he was real or just a vision, Hiro trotted off towards the middle of the field. His knee, thanks to Rina’s magic, didn’t hurt at all, although his legs were warning him too much running would have severe consequences later.
The team they faced in a practice match had not arrived yet and the few remaining members of Testa’s team waited on the playing field without doing much effort to warm up. Only Serin did, while Tarth, off to the side, was talking to a man with little horns coming out of his blonde hair. Strong arms and broad shoulders formed a quite formidable physique from the waist up, and with hairy legs and hooves instead of feet, a tremendously unnatural form from the waist down.
“His name is Rufus. He’s a faun.”
Hiro spooked at Mira’s student appearance. “Ah, good afternoon,” he said. “Are you playing as well?”
“I’m not sure I can be of any help, but I will do my best.” As usual, she avoided eye contact, her attention instead fixed on the ground. Her shoes move though the sand, leaving traces with their stood. Hiro checked his sneakers, also laced and old, but lacking the means for proper grip.
“We are not enough,” she continued. “S-So, um, Testa has set up a six against a six match with, uh, two fifties. Would you like me to, um, explain more details about our team?”
Hiro turned to where the elder man stood, hunched over and lost in thought. Since entering the camp, he had been wondering how a man of such frailty was going to survive. “Who is he? He must be a powerful caster, right?”
Mira let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “I-I don’t know. We were short, and Testa picked him up off the street. Anyway, you know Serin, right? She’s human and has a Perma-Ink that buffs her muscles. It makes her fast and strong. She’s our Cavalier… I mean, captain. The Steward is Arso. He’s, uh…well… Arso is Arso. His wind spell makes a shield to stop the ball, but it only works half the time, though his reach is pretty good, so he doesn’t need to leave the castle.”
“What’s Perma-ink?” Hiro said.
“A Jinx turning permanent.” Mira said, finger moving towards the faun. “Rufus can’t cast well, so we usually just give him a protection spell. A-And Tarth wears one to speed up his body. He can’t cast at all.”
“So, apart from Arso, who does magic? You are a caster, aren’t you? Do you use your eyes?”
The questions burrowed Mira’s gaze deeper into the sand. “My eyes, yes. But they are not ink. It’s just a family…curse. I am fine with basic buffs, and some healing. My expertise is summoning spirits, but…but the one I can manage well is…uh, she doesn’t like the game.”
“Well, start telling her she has to play,” Testa yelled from behind, his feed dragging through the humidified sand. “Because you are joining Sand’s team today. That’s why I signed up the crazy geezer.”
“Eh? Why?” Mira raised her fists over the chest while her cheeks puffed out, pressuring tight lips to hold the air inside.
“Come on, come on.” Testa said. “They don’t have a steward. Told him if the cat stops, the ball is enough. And Vini promised me you’ll get a box of sweet buns as compensation.”
At a distance, Mira’s stamping was interrupted by a brown-haired man who gave her a tremendous squeeze, making her stagger. Following the whistle of the referee, Hiro moved to the centre, not really sure if that was the place he had to be. There, Serin was waiting while chatting with a muscular middle-aged man.
“Block and push only, Serin. No punching or kicking,” he said. “We don’t have a healer and we have to work, you tell Rufus and Tarth.”
Dorino joined the middle ring, his hand spinning a gold coin into the air. “Who chooses?”
“Let Sand do it,’ Serin said with a scornful tone. “We have to be polite to old people.”
“Nah, nah. ‘Fairy’s nap’, like an official match,” Sand mumbled, teeth pulling the knot of the red handkerchief on his arm. “Come on! Go on and tell your guardians to take it easy. This new kiddo’s got it.”
Serin’s teeth chattered repeatedly from behind a smirk. “Your cheap tricks won’t save you from a humiliating defeat. But let’s do it your way. Hiro needs to learn.”
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Sand put hands to rest over his hips and whispered. “She always wins the nap, that’s why.”
“Excuse me,” Hiro mumbled. His awkward giggle joined an even more awkward trot to find Serin, who was already leaving. “Serin, what am I supposed to do? Testa didn’t explain this.”
“That man is worthless,” Serin said. “Ref will put the ball in the middle and you stand on the edge of the ring, in your ‘pond’. After the whistle, you rush and try to catch the ball before him, easy. I guess he’ll get there first. He wants to ’held ball’ against you to test your strength. He did the same thing to me the first time. If that happens, just do your best to grab and pull without punching or kicking. And watch his feet!”
Serin rushed towards the defending lines, and Hiro fidgeted. “Held ball? pond? What are you talking about?” A bellow of frustration left his lungs as he followed the ref finger towards a big white dot over the ring, directly facing the opposing side, where Sand was already standing. “Is fine, is fine. Just grab and pull, grab… and pull. You can do it!”
The referee’s whistle pierced the air, and Hiro and Sand launched into an explosive sprint. Sand reached the ball first, sliding on his knees with such force they must have been scraped raw. He paused, waiting, as Hiro hesitated. “Come on, come,” Sand taunted.
From behind, Serin’s calling echoed while diagonally across the field. The man who had embraced Mira earlier advanced at full speed.
“Don’t want to? Fine.” Sand said. “I thought you were the decisive type.” His muscles strained against his shirt as he brushed sand off the ball. Hiro swallowed. “Do you know why they call me Sand?”
In a flash, a cloud of dirt hit Hiro’s face, stinging his eyes. Then, Sand’s shoulder slammed into his, sending him back first into the ground. The impact, less brutal than the first time he had played, still left him aching. Relieved that no punch followed, Hiro quickly wiped his eyes, Sand’s laughter reaching from afar.
He forced himself upright and began another sprint. Sand, with a powerful throw, hurled the ball towards the edge of the field. Hiro joined Serin in the chase, but she, faster by far, reached their opponent first. With a jump forward, she slammed a shoulder on the opponent’s side. The man absorbed the impact effortlessly, shoving her head down and sending her body rolling across the ground. With the ball holder slowed, Hiro tried to copy Serin’s move. He charged, but his target dodged easily, leaving him flying face-first into the dirt.
Rufus galloped forward with the power of a two-legged stallion before abruptly halting his stride. “Vini! Here!” Sand called from the other side. In response, Vini tossed the ball sideways, and Sand caught it with a jump. Meanwhile, Hiro, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, staggered to his feet and resumed his run to defend. He watched helplessly as Rufus, charging at Vini like an enraged bull, missed his target. Vini, having dodged with an exaggerated yet effective manoeuvre, sprang away, letting out a high-pitched cry to mock the faun. On the opposite side, Sand kicked the ball and sent it hurtling toward the lateral goal. The ball veered towards the narrow gap between the post and the corner, but from Hiro’s point of view, it was clear: it was going in.
Just as the ball was about to cross the goal line, the ground beneath stirred, creating a cloud of dust. The ball, as if caught by some unseen force, abruptly halted its motion and shot back in the opposite direction. At the centre of the goals, standing firm within his defensive zone, Arso had raised a clawed hand to call the spell he had just cast. The ball, reaching Sand’s feet, was kicked again, just to hit the enormous body of Tarth, who reached to cover the target.
The ball bounced towards Serin, and she began a run to the opposite goals. She called out to Hiro, who quickly joined her. Two burly opponents closed in, one bearing down on each of them. Serin tossed the ball into the air and deftly dodged the first brute’s charge, while Hiro evaded his own with a swift sidestep. As the man hit the ground, he reached out, tripping Hiro, who tumbled once more into the dirt. Yet, despite the fall, he kept hold of the ball, raising it just in time for Serin to snatch it without breaking stride. She set her sights on the goal and unleashed a powerful kick toward the side netting.
Just as the ball seemed destined to score, a brownish blur shot out from the centre, snatching it midair. To Hiro’s astonishment, a small, wiry cat-like humanoid examined the sphere in its hands before carelessly launching it into its own goal. It then turned and ranted furiously at Mira.
“No goals from the kitten!” Vini’s voice boomed from above. He extended a hand to Hiro, who accepted it warily. As he stood, Vini gave him a friendly shake on the shoulder, a gesture that, to the unaccustomed Hiro, felt uncomfortable.
“Those legs need some juice, yu-hu-hu!” Vini remarked before storming off with a wild yell. Hiro grunted and launched himself into a chase after him. Sensing the pursuit, Vini quickened his pace, weaving in and out. With effortless skill, Vini received the ball, sidestepped Serin, and blew a mocking kiss toward Hiro, a gesture equally inadequate and infuriating.
Hiro pushed his legs harder, but the effort took its toll. The side stitch arrived as sharp as a blade. Unable to continue, he bent over, hands resting on his knees, as he struggled to regain control.
Close to the goals, Sand grappled Rufus, their limbs entangled in a powerful lock. Meanwhile, Vini faced a ball repelled by Arso’s spell power. With a swift, Vini struck with a forceful kick, sending the ball toward the goal on the other side of the castle. Arso raised his hand, but his magic flared too late. The ball spun over the net, and a triumphant cry escaped Vini’s lips as he leaped into the air. Overjoy escalated as he performed a playful aeroplane dance before jumping onto Sand’s shoulders in exaggerated celebration.
A reassuring pat reached Hiro’s back. “Come on,” Serin said, pointing to a blackboard popping out from one of the lateral walls. “Five minutes to half!”
At the board, a lethargic boy erased a chalked glyph, replacing it with another Hiro assumed it meant a change from zero to one. The boy then altered other markings on the side, though Hiro, less certain, guessed it showed the remaining time.
The march pressed on, relentless. Serin, now fully engaged, grappled with a hulking defender. Meanwhile, Hiro hugged the ball, his every muscle straining. The defender closed in, showing no signs of fatigue. To the sight, Hiro’s legs trembled, lungs hurting with every breath. Desperately, he flung the ball toward the old man, praying the massive opponent would give chase to the ball instead of charging at him. The ball rolled before the elder, who seemed oblivious to its presence.
“Grab the ball!” Hiro said.
“The ball? Where is it? Give it to me!” the old man said, clearly befuddled.
Hiro slapped his forehead, exhaling in exasperation as the ball returned to Arso’s goal. The caster’s magic flared repeatedly, finally unable to prevent a second goal and another over-exaggerated celebration from Vini.
When Dorino’s whistle cut through the air, signalling halftime, Hiro collapsed, gasping for breath as exhaustion overtook him.