"So, Matty, I actually wanted to talk to you about today's P.E. ,and what happened on the football pitch,"
Laila transitioned. The air of romantic banter, thick enough to cut with a dull knife, was immediately severed by the sudden gravity in her voice. The super moon above seemed to chill, its silver glow turning clinical.
"Do you want to talk about how I almost ended up with one foot, courtesy of the great Lionel?" Matthias quipped. He gestured dramatically toward his injured ankle, which was currently throbbing in a rhythmic, angry percussion. "I'm thinking of suing for emotional and orthopedic damages."
Laila let out a smooth, clear chuckle, covering her mouth with a delicate hand. The sound was like wind chimes in a storm—briefly settling the chaos in his chest. He'd made her laugh again. Despite the pivot toward seriousness, the magnetic pull between them remained taut.
"To hell with Isha's nonsensical tips, he's definitely refunding my Porridge " Matthias thought to himself silently .
"Of course not. I'm not here to gloat over your pain,"
she reassured him, her eyes softening. "Though you did rough up the class bully pretty good. Watching Lionel eat turf was the highlight of my week. No, I want to talk about your move. The maneuver you displayed during the foul shoot,the Templar Feint."
"Temp-whatchamacallit?"
Matthias asked. He blinked, genuinely confused. He had expected her to criticize his form or perhaps warn him about Lionel's vengeful nature, not lecture him on medieval-sounding athletics.
"It's called the Templar Feint,"
Laila said, her voice dropping an octave. "A deceptive maneuver displayed by the most skilled members of a group known as the Templar Welfare. You said you read it from old archives. How exactly did you know about them?"
Matthias leaned back on the hard stone chair and sighed, the light mood draining away like water through sand.
"It's no big deal, honestly. It's a move I learned from my mom when she taught me how to play baseball when I was eight. I just… adopted the move and infused it into my football skills. It felt natural, you know?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "She'd often study old, leather-bound journals—a sketch of martial movements and poses. I thought it was just a yoga or a generic martial arts book. I read them more often than my textbooks, though the words were complicated and half of it was symbols. But the basic concepts? They helped me see the pitch differently."
"Like the deceptive maneuver you displayed today?" Laila pressed. She leaned forward, her presence suddenly overwhelming.
"Of course. It's one of my signature moves; I call it 'The Score.' It's unpredictable, difficult to track, and almost impossible to counter because the center of gravity is a lie. Is there… something you're interested in, Laila?"
Matthias asked. A sudden surge of nervous anxiety washed over him, a cold prickle at the base of his spine that had nothing to do with the night air.
"Umm, Matty,"
she said, her gaze unwavering, pinning him to the spot. "What if your mom wasn't just a professional baseball player? What if she was a member of the Templar Welfare, and that book was her 'Journal of Old Shadows' —a tactical guide for something much bigger than sports?"
"Are you serious?" Matthias let out a sharp, defensive laugh. "My mom would never be part of some occultic organization! She was a pro baseball player, working in the city, managing a team of hotheads! She liked structure, not… whatever conspiracy theory you're spinning."
He felt a pang of disappointment. Was this the catch? Was his dream date actually a recruitment pitch for a cult?
"Sorry, Matty. I didn't mean to phrase it that way,"
she apologized instantly. She bowed her head slightly—a precise, controlled action that struck Matthias as deeply formal and strangely ancient.
"Whoa, it's okay. I'm not mad; I'm just surprised. Are you… Asian?"
Matthias asked, trying to steer the ship back toward lighter waters. "Your bowing gesture is like something out of those Japanese dramas my sister binges. I kinda like it. It's classy."
Laila smiled softly, brushing a rogue strand of hair back from her face.
"Thank you. That's my family's way of showing reverence. And my grandmama was a Templar Veteran, which is why I recognized your Feint instantly. It's in our blood, Matty. Whether you admit it or not, it seems it's in yours, too."
"You're serious? Your family is connected to this… Welfare group?"
Laila immediately put a gentle finger on his lips, quieting him. Matthias froze. The world stopped spinning. The texture of her skin against his lips was a sensory overload—soft, warm, and smelling faintly of vanilla and old paper. He couldn't feel his heart beating anymore; it had migrated to his throat. The heavens, he thought in a dizzy, euphoric rush, have truly over-delivered tonight.
Laila scanned the square, her eyes sharp and predatory. She checked the distant light from the caretaker's lodge and the faint, intermittent yapping of his dog, Nero.
"Please be quiet. This is not a public disclosure," she whispered. "Members of the Templar are being secretly hunted down for their esoteric knowledge. Before my grandmama passed away, she handed her mantle of veteran scholar to me. She told me to guard the secret like my life depended on it. I have access to all the Confraternity's archives as her successor. I carry the mantle of Associate Scholar, one of the highest ranks in the now-disbanded organization."
Matthias gulped.
"But isn't the Templar Welfare some kind of occultic group? A demonic organization drawing power from… well, the Devil? I've seen the threads on the late-night forums, Laila. They say you guys sacrifice goats and manipulate global markets."
"Who fed you all that? That's the opposite of what the Confraternity stood for,"
Laila replied, looking genuinely hurt. She gently took Matthias's hand, lacing her fingers with his. A pleasant shiver—the kind that makes you feel alive—ran through him. She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Can I trust you, Matty? Truly? Because if I'm wrong about you, I'm in a lot of trouble."
Matthias was lost for words. He could only manage a quick, desperate nod, holding himself together to avoid bursting into a thousand pieces of pure adrenaline.
"All right. Say this to no one. It's our little secret. Here." She placed a small, neatly folded piece of aged paper into his hands and closed his fingers around it, sealing the pact with a firm squeeze. "If you truly believe what I say, meet me at this address tomorrow. Same time. I have to go; it's past nine, and the Caretaker Nezu will be snooping around soon. See ya, Matty. Good night."
She released his hand and sprinted into the darkness before he could even stammer a goodbye. Matthias stood there, a dazed grin plastered on his face, clutching the paper like a winning lottery ticket,as he waved lightly at the darkness.
"You bloody idiot! The Caretaker's here! Run!"
Isha materialized from behind the alley, grabbed Matthias's shoulder with enough force to nearly dislocate it, and dragged him toward the corner of the building.
"Move! Old Nero must've picked up our scent!"
They bolted. Matthias limped briskly, his injured ankle screaming in protest as they evaded the looming figure of the caretaker. They could hear the man's echoed, annoyed grumbling and the high-pitched yapping of his dog Nero as they ducked behind the dormitory walls, shielded by the glow of the magnificent super moon.
"Hey, buddy, that was the most amazing thing I've ever seen,"
Isha panted, his eyes wide. "You really scored a date with Lakewood's prettiest chick and top model ! You've scored infinity plus one! I'm so telling the boys about this . You're a legend, buddy!"
"Oh, no, you wouldn't dare!" Matthias warned, though the smile remained. "My ankle hurts like hell, but today is officially the best day of my life. Apart from the fact that Lionel almost crippled me today, this is perfect. I am never washing this hands!"
They laughed sheepishly, their voices bouncing off the stone walls as they reached the hallway.
*At the dorm*
"No chance in hell did he hang out with Lakewood's model,"
Beni scoffed later that night. The dorm room was cramped, filled with the scent of stale snacks and teenage skepticism. Beni and Xavier sat on their bunks, staring at Matthias with expressions of pure disbelief.
"Look at you,"
Xavier retorted, gesturing to Matthias's lean frame. "You're all bones and pity flesh. A girl like Laila wouldn't look your way in a thousand years, Matt. Quit the chattering."
Matthias just sat on the edge of his bed, massaging his ankle and wearing a smile like a circus clown that had just hit the jackpot.
"Oi, don't keep quiet on us! That smiling is making me sick," Beni said, throwing a pillow.
"I'm telling you guys,"
Isha cut in, acting as the ultimate hype-man. "This fella really made out with Laila Gilbert at the Founder's Square. I was there, observing from the shadows. She even held his hands!"
"And we're supposed to believe you?" Beni rolled his eyes. "You're his henchman. You'd swear he won the Nobel Prize if he asked you to."
Matthias reached for the note in his pocket but stopped. 'Our little secret'. He couldn't show them the note, but he needed them to shut up.
"Fine then, you monkeys," Isha declared. He pulled a smartphone from his night jacket—a forbidden relic in the strict confines of the school. Beni and Xavier gasped. "I have proof."
Isha scrolled through his gallery and held the screen up. It was grainy, shot from a distance under the moonlight, but unmistakable: Matthias and Laila, their hands laced together, the intimacy of the moment captured in pixels.
"Impossible!" Beni screamed.
"Must be edited, Photoshopped!" Xavier protested. "A ruse to trick us!"
"Why would I go that far for you unintelligent imbeciles?"
Isha sighed. "You see the truth and you still doubt. Are you looking down on Matt just because he isn't a meathead like Lionel, or that he can't score a hot chick like Laila?"
"The real question is if he could score any chick at all. I bet even ugly Dulcinea would turn him down," Beni fumbled, folding his arms defensively.
"Why you!" Isha darted at him. The room exploded into a playful wrestle. Xavier joined in, but Isha was a lanky bundle of raw muscle. He pinned them both down with ease, pulling strongly at Xavier.
"That's for raiding my porridge tonight, you cave troll!"
"Let's have a bet then, tough guy," Xavier panted, cracking his knuckles as he escaped Isha's grip. "I bet my entire term's pocket money."
"I'm in," Beni added. "Until I see video evidence or see it with my own eyes, I'm not believing it, hmp!."
"Fine,"
Isha smirked. "I bet my pocket money, my PSG jersey and foreign spikes. If I lose, y'all can have it all. But if I win? You surrender your term pennies, write me an apology letter, and you'll be my gofers for the rest of the term. Deal?"
"Done deal," Xavier said. The three of them struck a pinky-finger pact, a sacred bond in the halls of Lakewood.
Matthias remained silent through the chaos, the note burning a hole in his pocket. He was thinking of the address, the mystery of his mother, and the look in Laila's eyes.
"We gotta go, losers,"
Beni waved. "The porter will be patrolling soon. See ya in class tomorrow!"
They bolted to their rooms. Isha turned to Matthias, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the bet.
"What a bunch of idiots. I pity their sorry pocket money. Isn't that right, Matt? Matt?"
But Matthias didn't answer. He was fast asleep, his head resting against the cold wall, exhausted by a day that had changed everything. Tomorrow, the secret would begin. Isha sighed, killing the lights and tucking himself to bed .