Kaine clicked his tongue the moment their eyes met.
Ezra didn't bother hiding his own disdain either. His smirk was more of a sneer now—tight-lipped, half-suppressed, like he'd been waiting to see Damien on a field just for the chance to look down on him properly.
And now?
Now they didn't need to fake anything anymore.
No more pretending to be friends. No more tolerating him out of politeness or pretense. No more circles built on false camaraderie.
Damien's smirk twitched, but it didn't fade.
Let them click their tongues. Let them stare.
He didn't care.
He didn't need them to like him. He didn't even need them to respect him.
He just needed them to see.
"Alright," one of the taller boys from 4-C called out, jogging to the center. "We're running seven-on-seven. Who's taking captain for A?"
Lionel from 4-A raised his hand. "I'll take it."
The other class picked their guy—some tall midfielder Damien didn't know by name. Probably one of Celia's usual orbiters.
