Half an hour passed unnoticed.
Eventually, Eris glanced at the wall clock. "We should go."
Tyler nodded. "Yeah."
They walked back toward the door.
Eris turned briefly. "I'll visit again."
Hanna nodded eagerly. "Please do."
The hallway outside felt brighter after the dusty calm of the room.
As they headed toward the stairs, Tyler broke the silence. "I want to ask something."
Eris looked at him. "What?"
"What exactly does the literature club do? Are you all just… bookworms?"
Eris stopped walking and turned toward him. "That's not fair."
He raised his hands defensively. "I'm asking."
She resumed walking. "We read, discuss themes, write, debate interpretations. Sometimes we analyze films. Sometimes we write our own pieces. It's not just reading."
He listened attentively. "That actually sounds interesting."
"Of course it does," she said smugly.
They reached the ground floor.
"Thanks," Eris said suddenly.
"For what?"
"For coming with me."
He shrugged. "Why can't I join a book club?"
"Literature club," she corrected.
She adjusted her bag. "You should still check out the soccer club. Noah will be waiting."
"I will."
"I'm going to the sports hall," she added.
"Badminton?" Tyler asked.
"Yes."
He smirked. "Do you even know how to move a racket?"
She punched his shoulder lightly again. "I know it well."
Tyler laughed. "Well, if you're going to badminton, you've got company."
She followed his gaze down the hallway and frowned. "With whom?"
"With her."
Eris looked again.
Clara and Sofia were walking toward them from the opposite side, talking quietly.
Eris blinked. "How did you know?"
Tyler made a small circular motion with his hand, vague and dismissive. A casual gesture that suggested intuition more than explanation.
"Magic," he said.
She giggled. "You're really stupid."
Clara and Sofia noticed them and slowed.
Sofia leaned closer to Clara. "They look close."
Clara nodded. "They do."
They approached.
Clara spoke first. "Are you heading to the sports hall?"
Eris nodded. "Just me. Are you two going there too?"
"Yes," Sofia said. "I'm showing her around."
"I'm checking out the badminton club," Clara added.
Eris looked at Tyler in disbelief. "No way. How did you guess that?"
Clara turned toward Tyler, curious. "Guess what?"
Eris explained. "He said I wouldn't be going alone. And here you are."
Clara's brows lifted. "How did you know?"
Tyler shrugged. "Just a random guess."
Before Clara could say more, Tyler stepped back. "Noah will be waiting. I should go."
Eris nodded. "See you."
As Tyler walked away toward the field, Clara watched his retreating figure.
Eris glanced once more in his direction, then looked back at Clara. "Let's go."
Clara smiled faintly. "Let's."
The whistle cut through the air like a blade.
"Faster! Don't drag your feet!"
Coach Ryan Cole stood near the Bleachers of the soccer field, one hand gripping the whistle, the other resting firmly on his hip. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, tracking every uneven step, every laboured breath. The sun sat high, not cruel yet, but unforgiving enough to make every mistake feel heavier.
A long line of first-year students ran across the field, some keeping pace, others already struggling. Their shoes tore unevenly through the grass, breaths coming out in rough bursts. Sweat clung to foreheads. A few boys near the back had already started spacing out, shoulders slumping as they fought the urge to slow down.
"This is insane," one first-year muttered between breaths.
"You signed up," another snapped back, barely managing to keep his rhythm.
"I signed up to kick a ball, not die!"
A second-year running smoothly alongside them laughed. "This is kicking the ball. Just… internally."
Groans followed.
Coach Ryan's whistle shrieked again. "If you're here to jog, go join the morning walkers! This is a tryout!"
Near the sideline, the captain of the soccer team watched silently.
Alfred Davison, Class 3-B, fourteen years old, stood with his arms crossed, weight shifted slightly onto one leg. His gaze moved calmly across the field. His uniform hung loosely on him, worn the way clothes only get when they're used regularly, not kept for show.
"Half of them won't last," Alfred said without emotion.
Coach Ryan didn't turn. "That's fine."
Alfred glanced sideways at him. "You're not even pretending to care?"
Coach Ryan shrugged. "Those who last matter. The rest save us time."
Alfred nodded once. "Still. A few have decent stride."
"That one," Coach Ryan said, nodding toward a boy near the front. "Bad breathing, but good balance."
"He's panicking," Alfred replied. "You can tell by his arms."
Coach Ryan smirked faintly. "So you're watching details too."
"That's my job."
To the right side of the field, a small group of second-year students lounged on the bleachers. They had already finished their drills and now sat with legs stretched out, bags tossed beside them.
"This never changes," one of them said, leaning back. "First-years always think they're ready."
"They're not," another replied. "We weren't either."
Elijah sat among them, relaxed, hands clasped behind his head, eyes half-closed. "Coach likes fear," he said lazily. "He thinks it builds character."
"Does it?" someone asked.
"No," Elijah replied. "It builds endurance. And resentment."
Laughter followed.
Elijah's gaze drifted toward the school building out of habit.
Then it stopped drifting.
His posture shifted slightly as he sat up.
"Captain," Elijah said, nudging Alfred with his foot.
Alfred glanced over. "What?"
"Didn't I tell you about that first-year?" Elijah said, pointing subtly. "The one who played with us during vacation."
Alfred followed his line of sight.
Tyler was walking toward the field.
His bag hung from one shoulder, steps measured and calm. His eyes scanned the field naturally, not with curiosity, but with recognition.
"He's here," Elijah added.
Coach Ryan squinted. "That kid?"
Alfred studied him more carefully now. "Pretty calm."
One of the second-years on the bleachers leaned forward. "Wait. I know him."
Another snapped his fingers. "Yeah. That's the guy."
"From that vacation game," a third said. "his movements are good."
"He didn't panic under pressure," someone added. "Moved like he'd been playing for years."
Coach Ryan raised an eyebrow. "That so?"
Tyler reached the edge of the field just as Elijah stood up and waved.
"Tyler!"
Tyler looked up, spotted him, and changed direction toward the bleachers.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Elijah said as Tyler stopped in front of them.
Tyler smiled faintly. "I wanted to check things out."
Alfred stepped forward, extending a hand. "Alfred Davison. Captain. Class 3-B."
Tyler accepted the handshake. "Tyler. Class 1-A."
Coach Ryan's whistle cut through the field again, sharp but shorter this time.
"Alright," he called out. "That's enough. Take a short break. Hydrate."
The runners slowed almost immediately.
Some bent over with their hands on their knees. Others dropped straight onto the grass without shame, chests rising and falling fast. A few staggered toward the benches like survivors returning from a battlefield.
"I swear," one first-year said, collapsing beside another, "I thought soccer tryouts meant touching a ball."
His friend laughed weakly. "Same. This feels like military training."
"No," a third muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "In the military, they probably let you rest."
They laughed, breathless and tired.
One of the first-years leaned back on his elbows and nodded toward the sideline. "Hey… do you know that guy?"
"Which one?"
"The one standing near the seniors."
Another squinted, following his gaze. Tyler stood a little apart, calm among the movement, listening as Alfred spoke to him while Coach Ryan glanced over occasionally.
"I saw him during lunch," the first-year said. "He's the one who messed with that second-year senior."
The second boy's eyes widened. "Wait. You mean with Sunny?"
"Yeah. That one."
"No way," a third chimed in, sitting up straighter. "He messed with Sunny? On the first day?"
"He did," the first said, nodding emphatically. "That senior was bullying my classmate. This guy just walked through and embarrassed him."
Someone whistled low. "That's daring."
"More like stupid," another said. "Sunny doesn't forget things."
"So what's his name?" someone asked.
"He's Tyler."
The voice came from behind them.
They turned just in time to see Noah stagger over, breathing hard, hands on his thighs. Sweat dripped down his face, and his uniform clung uncomfortably to his back.
Noah straightened with effort. "Physical activity is not for me."
A couple of them laughed.
"You know him?" one asked.
Noah nodded, still catching his breath. "Yeah. He's my friend."
Their attention shifted back to Tyler instinctively.
"Looks like he knows the seniors pretty well," someone said. "They're talking to him like he's already in."
"So is he just getting into the soccer club directly?" another asked. "Isn't that unfair for us?"
Noah frowned, pushing himself upright. "Unfair?"
"Yeah," the boy said. "We're running laps like idiots, and he's chatting."
Noah followed their gaze, watching Tyler listen quietly, nodding once at something Alfred said.
"If you actually watch him play," Noah said firmly, "you won't say that."
The group looked back at him.
"He's that good?" someone asked sceptically.
Noah didn't hesitate. "You'll become a fan."
That earned a few doubtful laughs.
"Oh yeah?" one said. "Then we'll see."
"Yeah," another added. "Let's see what this Tyler can do."
They pushed themselves up, moving slowly toward the side of the field, eyes fixed on the calm first-year standing among second-years and the captain.
Elijah folded his arms. "So? Interested in joining?"
Tyler's gaze drifted back to the field. The first-years were bent over now, hands on knees, gasping for breath. A few second-years walked among them, correcting posture, offering water, barking short instructions.
"I want to watch first," Tyler said. "See how you play."
One of the second-years scoffed. "You think you're some kind of big shot?"
Tyler turned to him slowly, expression unchanged. "No."
"Then why act like you're choosing us?"
Elijah bristled. "Watch your mouth."
Tyler lifted a hand slightly, stopping him. "I'm not saying I won't join," he said evenly. "I just want to understand the level. That's all."
Coach Ryan studied him closely now. "Confident."
Alfred looked at his watch and said to Tyler. "Fair enough, we do 40 minutes game."
Alfred turned toward the field. "We'll play the first half. You watch."
Alfred's mouth curved into a small smile. "And in second, you join us we want to see if Elijah's been exaggerating."
"I wasn't exaggerating," Elijah said immediately.
"Yes, you were," Alfred replied without missing a beat.
Tyler nodded once. "That works."
Coach Ryan raised the whistle. "Alright! Break's over! Team, form up!"
Players moved into position quickly, energy shifting. Tyler stepped back toward the side line, eyes fixed on the field.
The grass stretched wide in front of him.
The players began taking their positions.
Second-years moved first, casual but purposeful, slipping into familiar spots without discussion. Third-years followed, slower but heavier in presence, their movements efficient, measured. Alfred tugged at the hem of his jersey once before turning toward his side of the field, already issuing quiet instructions with hand gestures instead of words.
Elijah jogged to the opposite half, rolling his shoulders, bouncing lightly on his feet as if shaking off stiffness. He glanced toward Alfred and grinned.
"Don't hold back," he called out.
Near the bleachers, Tyler stood with his bag at his feet, arms loosely crossed. His eyes followed the players, not the ball. He watched spacing. Timing. The way some players checked their shoulders before receiving a pass, and others didn't.
Footsteps approached him unevenly.
Tyler sensed it before hearing it.
Noah staggered into view and stopped a little too close, breathing hard.
Tyler stepped back half a pace instinctively. "Easy," he said. "Why are you sweating like you ran across the city?"
Noah bent forward, hands on his knees. "Because… I did."
Tyler waited.
Noah straightened slowly. "Today I learned something important."
"What?" Tyler asked.
Noah wiped his face with his sleeve. "Physical activity is not for me."
Tyler laughed. "It's not too late to realize that."
"I'm serious," Noah said. "Drama club has chairs. And scripts. And air."
Tyler tilted his head. "So you already decided to join?"
Noah's face lit up immediately. "It was amazing."
"Already?" Tyler said. "You just met them."
"They were rehearsing," Noah continued, ignoring him. "One guy was crying dramatically, and another forgot his lines and just started apologizing in character. It was beautiful chaos."
Tyler smiled faintly. "then why are you here?"
Noah nodded proudly. "I promised you I'd come."
"We didn't promise anything," Tyler replied.
Noah pointed at him. "That still counts."
Tyler opened his mouth to argue, then stopped.
Coach Ryan's whistle cut through the noise again.
"All players ready!" he shouted. "First half. Play!"
The ball rolled.