All the way towards the stadium, Hiro’s boots echoed against the cobblestones. The loud clacking drew the attention of passersby along the busy streets each time his foot stepped. Faces turned, curious, and Hiro couldn’t help but feel a flush of embarrassment at being the center of so much attention. His mind wandered, already thinking of improvements he could make to the facilities of the Stadium. Maybe he could ask Tarth and Sand to add proper changing rooms and perhaps even build some showers. Anything to avoid the embarrassment he was being punished right now.

He glanced up from the ground, momentarily locking with one of the black-robed moral inquisitors nearby. The presence of the Inquisitor sent a shiver down his spine, and he quickly averted his eyes. His striped uniform, which stood out greatly, did little to ease his discomfort. As the crowd thickened, nearing the esplanade between city and walls, Hiro fidgeted, adjusting his shirt and wiping away imaginary dust.

Without warning, a pair of powerful arms wrapped around his neck from behind, squeezing tightly before shaking him from side to side.

“There he is! Hiro!” Vini’s booming voice rang out as he turned the aggressive hug into a friendly arm around Hiro’s shoulders. “I’ve been practicing that dribble with my foot, but I still can’t get it!”

“You seem nervous,” Sand remarked, appearing at Hiro’s side with an affable grin. “Relax. Worst that’ll happen is they break our noses or a couple of bones. Nothing the old healer can’t fix.”

Sand and Vini wore the same uniform as Hiro, though they had normal shoes on, their boots tied by the laces and hanging over their necks. Both of them raised their hands in greeting as Rufus approached, a huge smile on his face. Rufus, too, had his boots hanging around his neck, endorsing the thought of what to do next time.

The group moved towards the stadium’s entrance, the clattering of Hiro’s boots against the stone continuing to draw attention. He tried to ease the noise by dragging his feet, but the effort only made it worse.

“Everyone’s staring because of the racket. That’s why,” Sand said, amused by Hiro’s attempts to quiet the clinking.

“I always wrap my hooves in cloth. That works,” Rufus added with a chuckle, glancing down at Hiro’s boots.

As they reached the entrance, a group of two young women, followed by an older one, waved from the crowd. “Vini! Don’t get hit today!” one of the younger girls called out, her voice light and teasing.

Vini responded immediately, peeling off his shirt in a sudden, exaggerated movement. He flexed, showing off his well-toned muscles. “Been working hard!” he shouted. “These won’t break so easily, ladies!”

The two girls giggled, their faces turning red as they whispered to each other. The older woman, however, rolled her eyes in exasperation and sighed. “Put your shirt back on before the Black Robes reprimand you again!”

Leaving Vini behind to soak in the attention, Hiro followed the rest further into the crowd. He soon spotted Tarth, his head and shoulders, standing out above the rest. Standing next to Serin and Mira, they waited behind a group of players in purple shirts and white pants all huddled around a man dressed in plain clothes, their attention fixated on him.

“Those are our rivals,” Sand muttered under his breath, nudging Hiro. “Winners of Frieren tavern’s inner league. It’s gotten so popular that they had to hold a whole competition. Team ‘A’ won.” He paused, nodding toward the group. “Most of them are rangers from the countryside. Good guys, mostly, but watch out for the one they call ‘Ruin.’ He’s… aggressive.”

The purple-clad group shifted slightly, allowing the man in the center to step out. His face was twisted in displeasure, and he looked as though he had just been hounded. He was as tall as Sand, but lean, with short hair and sharp facial features. A long scar ran over his left eye, leaving it white and lifeless. The scarred man glanced at the Best Ham players with a frown. “I’ll think about it,” he muttered towards the purple team before heading toward the public entrance.

One of the Frieren players pointed at Hiro’s group. “It’s fine! These are easy, but we’ll need you for the other two! Don’t delay your answer, Reth!”

Ignoring the disrespect, Best Ham gathered together. Testa arrived with Mira while Desp bounded over like an excited puppy, Vini skipping along behind him. Pitaco, the last to arrive, dragged his feet almost as if the ground didn’t want him to reach.

“Where’s Arso?” Serin asked.

Pitaco shrugged dramatically, clicking his tongue in frustration. “Am I his father? How should I know?”

Tarth turned to Rufus and asked, “Who’s this Reth?”

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Rufus’s huge shoulders shrugged while his head moved to the sides, an attempt to stretch his powerful neck. “A rangers from the hills. One of the best. He’d never played, but the second he mentioned interest in joining a team, the whole tavern went mad trying to recruit him. You know how Frie is. She only cares about scrolls and chests, and even she offered him a lot of money to do so.”

Inside the locker room, Testa stood looking unusually nervous. “I need an ale,” he muttered. His head jerked before he clapped to draw the team’s attention. “Come on, people. Focus! We’re in the game now! We know this team already.”

Testa scratched his hair, noticing Hiro’s raised eyebrow. After a small cough, he continued. “Sand, Rufus, Tarth, and Pitaco—Guardians. Serin, Cavalier. Mira, extra guard. Vini and Desp as side Vanguards, Hiro at center.

“The Frie team is as follows: Agor, their Cav is out, working the outskirts. Bid advantage to us, but don’t be fooled. They still have Caspian on goals and Ruin as a vanguard. The others, they’re not keen on active spells, but we expect passives—strength, speed, all that. You know them. Tough people. Caspian uses the under field block spells. Expect columns against shots. Don’t even think of trying ‘hands down.’ Focus on long shots, and watch those rebounds. Mira, Ruin’s may summon his hound for sure. You take care of the beast. We got reports he still can’t use the new spell he’s been practicing, so follow him at all costs but in distance. Serin and Tarth, monitor her for additional protection. Don’t let Ruin or anyone else near her while she handles the hound. Sand, Pitaco—feed it up to Hiro whenever possible. If there’s no clear pass, Sand, you’ll ‘run up’ with Vini and Hiro as support. Got it?”

Testa clapped his hands again, the sound echoing sharply around the room as Mrs. Krissef stepped forward, focused on drawing runes. Dorino, today working only as a team control referee, began tossing suppressors across the room.

“Protection for Mira, Desp, and Hiro, if you please,” Testa instructed, his voice a little more urgent now.

“I know,” Mrs. Krissef snapped, clearly irritated but continuing her task.

Unfazed by the healer’s shortness, Testa kept his focus on the team. “Tarth, Rufus—better speed today, alright? Vini... Wait! Where’s Arso?” His voice pitched suddenly. “Pitaco, where is Arso?”

“I have no idea!” Pitaco’s exasperation increased. “Stop asking!”

Mrs. Krissef moved toward Hiro, brush in hand, but Hiro raised a hand to stop her. “I need to hear Serin’s orders. I’ll use the one on my ear,” he said, his tone firm.

Mrs. Krissef hesitated, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “You sure, kid?”

Hiro nodded, resolute. She shrugged in response. “Fine. Patch you up later, then. The worse they beat you, the more I earn. Just make sure you don’t cry too much. I can’t draw well with whining in my ears.”

Nearby, Dorino tossed a suppressor across the room, landing it near Hiro’s legs. “Don’t break this one,” the referee warned before walking off.

Testa rubbed his head in frustration, eyes darting around as the team made their way toward the field. “Where the hell is Arso?” he muttered, louder this time, running a hand through his hair. “Damn, damn! Mira, come here! I need you to take the castle, defense on goals and keep your eyes on the hound. Can you do both?”

“I-I suppose,” Mira mumbled, a flicker of uncertainty in her voice. “But my summon... you know how she is.”

“Summon her now,” Testa ordered, sharp but reassuring. “I’ll promise her a dinner of whatever she likes for every ball she stops and every shot she sends away from our goals!”

Out on the field, the opposing team had already gathered, their energy palpable as they huddled near the corner of the pitch. Several players shouted up at Reth, who was seated alone in the stands. Their voices were full of encouraging banter and pitiful begging. But Reth, unfazed by their excitement, merely turned his head away, clearly uninterested.

Around the field’s perimeter, referees stood half-concealed behind the walls, their eyes scanning the players. Their flags rose and fell in rhythmic motion, responding to the commands of the four officials positioned at each corner of the field. These referees, standing atop raised platforms just below the magical disks, signaled with military precision. The scene had the formalities of a grand event, but the atmosphere lacked the energy of a full crowd. With only a few dozen spectators scattered sparsely throughout the stands, the stadium felt hollow, especially considering no one seemed to care much about the upcoming match at all.

On the sidelines, Hiro was already warming up, trotting back and forth with smooth, rhythmic steps, lifting his knees high to get his muscles ready. Despair spotted him from across the field and quickly mimicked Hiro’s movements in a comically exaggerated fashion. His legs kicked up awkwardly, his arms flailing with over-the-top energy.

“Nice dance!” Despair called out with a grin. “Is this a ‘Kapa o Pango’ or a ‘Ka Mate’? Don’t ask me. I do not know what I’m talking about!”

The whistle pierced the air, as the field marshall signalled for the teams to take their positions. Both sides moved quickly, players scattering across the field to their initial locations. Hiro, as practised just once with Serin, jogged to the centre, positioning himself just to the lateral side of the inner ring.

His attention soon fixated on the figure standing directly across from him. The player on the other side of the fairi’s ring was of a broad and menacing frame, a grin etching on his face as he cracked his knuckles loudly. Hiro’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as a boulder growing larger with each breath.

Ninety degrees from him and facing the opponent’s goals, Serin stood, positioned face to face against the other runner. Both were ready to grab the ball first and toss it to their teammate at the sides. The ball waited in the centre of the circle, enjoying the calm before a storm.

Hiro hoped, silently and fervently, that Serin wouldn’t reach the ball first. In doing so, she’d immediately pass it, turning him into the target of blood thirsty purple maniacs. He took a deep breath, trying to brush his fears away. Trying to gather the courage he needed to succeed. As his breathing eased the weight on his guts, his focus returned, so did his commitment. Then, as the referee blew, his thoughts turned into just one: the desire that Serin would reach the ball first.