I walked into the Westwood arena on Wednesday morning feeling like a different person. I was sore from the all-night practice session, but it was a good kind of sore. It was the ache of progress. I had the blueprint for
Power Shot (Perfected) fully integrated into my system, and the knowledge of its evolved form,
Power Shot (Pierce), felt like a live wire under my skin.
As I entered the locker room, the atmosphere had shifted. The open hostility and loud whispers from before were gone , replaced by a wary, confused silence. The players who had once dismissed me as a zero now watched me out of the corners of their eyes. They had seen me dismantle Marcus in the gauntlet. They had seen my new, piercing shot. They didn't understand it, and that made them nervous. I was still an outcast, but now I was an outcast with teeth.
I walked straight to Coach Valerius and handed him my datapad. "My report on Momentum, coach."
He took it without looking at it and slid it into his pocket. "On the court," he grunted.
When we were all assembled, the coach's voice cut through the tension. "Yesterday was about individual skill. Today is about the only thing that matters: winning as a team. We're running one full-length, 20-minute scrimmage. Team A versus Team B, same rosters as yesterday. The performance in this game determines the final starting lineup for our first preseason match on Friday. No excuses. No holding back. Show me who you are."
He looked pointedly from me to Jax and back again. "Play as a team. A selfish player is a losing player. I don't care how much talent you have."
We took our positions. Once again, I was lined up as a starter for Team A, directly across from Jax. The fury in his eyes was still there, but it was colder now, more controlled. He wasn't going to make the same mistake of letting his rage make him sloppy. This would be a real test.
The whistle blew, and the game began. It was faster and more brutal than any match I had ever been in.
From the first play, it was clear things were different. I wasn't just a defensive specialist anymore. I had a weapon. In our first offensive push, our captain, Ren, drew two defenders and made a sharp pass to me on the wing. An opponent moved to block me, expecting the weak shot from the tryouts.
I didn't hesitate. I used my new skill.
Power Shot (Pierce) .
ZZZING!
The sharp, cutting sound of the compressed bolt echoed in the arena. The defender brought his shield up, but my shot wasn't about power; it was about penetration. The bolt drilled through his shield like it was paper and forced him to dodge, leaving him completely off-balance. I didn't score, but the message was sent. My shots were now a real threat.
My own teammates saw it. A ripple of surprise went through our side of the court. I wasn't a liability.
The game became a fierce back-and-forth. I was playing Aetherball on a level I had only ever dreamed of. My Aether Sense gave me an almost supernatural awareness of the court, allowing me to feel the ebb and flow of energy, to anticipate plays before they happened. My deep knowledge of the playbook, enhanced by the System, let me see the perfect rotations, the optimal paths . I wasn't the fastest or the strongest, but I was always in the right place at the right time.
Ren and the others started to trust me. They saw my positioning, heard my quiet call-outs, and realized I was seeing the game in a way they weren't. They started passing me the ball. They started moving based on my cues. The skepticism in their eyes was slowly being replaced by synergy.
The score was tight. Team B would score, with Jax unleashing his powerful but now more controlled attacks. Then Team A would answer, often with a play that I had helped set up. With five minutes left, the score was tied 4-4.
Jax was playing with a grim, focused intensity. He was following the coach's orders, playing with his team, but his duel with me continued in the spaces between the plays. Every time I got the ball, he was there, a shadow of fury, trying to shut me down.
The clock ticked down. Thirty seconds left. The score was still tied. It was Team A's ball. This was the final play.
Ren had the ball near the centerline, but he was pinned down by two defenders. He was looking for an out.
I saw it. The 'blue line'. The one perfect path to victory. It was a complex play from the book, one we hadn't even practiced, a high-risk, high-reward gambit.
I didn't shout. I just moved, signaling to my teammates. A hand signal for Ren, a quick gesture to our other forward, a girl named Maya. Ren's eyes widened for a second, recognizing the play call, before he nodded. He trusted me.
I shot towards the far corner, drawing my defender with me. More importantly, I drew the attention of Jax. His obsession with me was his one weakness. He saw me move and instinctively shifted to cut me off, abandoning his defensive zone for a split second.
It was the opening we needed.
Ren fired a hard pass not to me, but to Maya, who was cutting into the space Jax had just left empty. The defense scrambled to cover her. But she didn't shoot. The moment the ball touched her hands, she passed it again, a perfect touch-pass right to me. I was wide open, just for an instant, a direct line to the goal.
The clock showed three seconds.
Jax roared, realizing he'd been baited. He launched himself through the air, a blur of orange light, trying to make the last-second block.
There was no time for a full wind-up. No time to gather massive amounts of energy. There was only time for one, quick, perfectly executed shot.
I planted my feet, my body flowing into the flawless form of The Surgeon. I compressed the Aether. And I fired.
ZZZING!
My Power Shot (Pierce) flew, a thin line of brilliant blue light. It shot past Jax's desperately outstretched hand, missing his fingertips by a centimeter. The goalie brought his shield up, but it was pointless. The piercing bolt drilled through the shield, unimpeded, and buried itself in the back of the goal.
The final buzzer screamed.
The scoreboard lit up.
TEAM A: 5
TEAM B: 4
My teammates erupted in cheers. They swarmed me, slapping my back, shouting my name. For the first time, I wasn't the outcast. I was the one who had scored the winning goal.
Across the court, Jax just floated there, staring, his face an unreadable mask of fury and shock.
I looked to the sideline. Coach Valerius was looking down at a datapad in his hand, his expression grim. He was making the final cuts. Finalizing the names for the official team roster that would be posted after practice. The last roster spot. My spot.