The rain had stopped, but the field still bore its traces. The damp grass, the scattered puddles, the faint scent of wet earth lingering in the air. A few soccer club members lingered, their cleats pressing lightly into the softened ground as they kicked stray balls around, stretching lazily after their break. But their presence was barely acknowledged by those who truly owned the space.
Near the edge of the field, a small group of seven stood together, their presence commanding attention. A short distance from them, yet still unmistakably part of their circle, the two-block-haired guy sat slightly aside, watching with quiet focus. This was Zach's group.
Then, they arrived.
Jordan and his group stepped onto the damp training ground, their strides unwavering. They didn't walk in a formation, but something about the way they moved together gave the impression of a tightly-knit unit. No hesitation, no faltering steps—just a steady, confident advance.
Marcus, broad-shouldered and solid, walked like a beast in his own right. Not in a mindless, aggressive way, but like someone who knew his presence mattered. His every step felt deliberate, his sharp gaze flicking toward the figures ahead.
Liam walked slightly behind Jordan, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his sharp eyes darting across Zach's group, silently measuring them. Theo, the shortest but with an energy that crackled beneath the surface, moved in sync with the others, his usual smirk replaced with a serious focus. Riley's calm, thoughtful expression never wavered, but his fingers twitched slightly—just enough for anyone perceptive to catch.
There was no turning back now.
Their presence was immediately noticed. The tall, flowy-haired guy straightened slightly. The blond guy's gaze flickered with recognition, a hint of something unreadable flashing across his face before it settled into cold indifference. Zach himself didn't move at first, but there was something calculating in his gaze.
A beat of silence.
Then, a voice. Calm. Direct. Just enough weight behind it to push for an answer.
"Are you here to join the soccer club?"
It was Zach who spoke first.
Jordan didn't answer immediately. His expression remained unreadable, his hands casually in his pockets. When he finally spoke, his tone was relaxed—but there was something deliberate about it, something unshaken.
"No, we're not here for that. We do like soccer, but we're not players."
A pause. Then, just as easily, he added,
"I'm here for something else... but I don't know how to ask it."
A shift in the air. The blond guy scoffed slightly, clicking his tongue before speaking.
"You're not some group like the ones from this morning, right?"
That single sentence was laced with suspicion. The unspoken weight behind it was clear—this morning's events, Daniel's involvement, the unspoken rules of Crestwood.
Jordan didn't flinch. He exhaled, speaking in a tone that almost felt too casual for the tension.
"I can't say we're not a group... but I can say one thing—"
His gaze didn't waver.
"We're stronger than those guys from this morning. But we're not here to fight."
For the first time, Zach's group visibly stiffened. It wasn't out of fear—but it was enough to shift the atmosphere.
A figure that had been silent until now finally moved.
The tall, flowy-haired guy took a step forward. Then another. His presence felt heavier now. And without hesitation—he grabbed Jordan by the collar.
A second stretched too long. The tension became something tangible.
"You better stay away from Daniel." His voice was low, almost a murmur—but there was zero hesitation in his grip. "Or you're breaking your bones here and now."
Still—Jordan smirked.
Not a mocking smirk. Not arrogance. Just a simple, unshaken response. Like someone who had already made up his mind and wasn't about to be swayed.
"Nice intro." His voice was still casual, almost amused. "I thought Zach was the leader here—that's why I came to him." His gaze flicked between them. "Shouldn't you at least introduce yourself? Looking at you all... your group doesn't have a leader, right? You're all like leaders."
The grip on his collar tightened.
That was when Marcus moved.
His steps were slow but deliberate, his broad frame practically radiating presence. He didn't even have to raise his voice for it to cut through.
"Hoi."
One word. That was all it took.
The tall guy didn't release Jordan, but his gaze shifted toward Marcus.
Marcus's expression was unreadable. But there was something dangerous beneath the surface, something that made it clear he wasn't bluffing.
"It's time for you to let go."
His voice was calm—but there was an edge to it.
"Don't get carried away just because he isn't fighting back."
For a moment, it felt like everything could go sideways.
Then—
The blond guy exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across his face.
"Ethan, just leave them. Let them talk."
The grip on Jordan's collar finally loosened—but not before a sharp glare was sent Marcus's way. Jordan, unbothered, casually dusted off his blazers as if nothing had happened.
Marcus scoffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, that's how it should be." His tone was almost mocking. "Just because you've got numbers, don't act tough. You'll lose your teeth."
The blond guy's expression darkened. His jaw tensed as he let out a sharp click of his tongue.
"Tch... this bastard. Can't believe we have kids like you here." His voice was laced with irritation. "Consider it mercy from your upperclassmen. Don't push your luck."
Theo, who had been watching silently, finally stepped forward, his voice even and controlled.
"Like we said, we're not here to fight. We want to know about Daniel."
Silence.
Then—Zach spoke for the first time since that initial question.
"Shut up."
Theo blinked, taken aback. But Zach's expression was sharp, serious.
"Don't mention his name like that." His voice was low but firm. "If you do, you'll be dragged into worse."
His gaze flicked around, scanning the surroundings. "There are ears everywhere. If they hear you, you'll be in deep shit."
Theo exhaled, but before he could say anything, Jordan placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"Alright. We can forget about that for now." His eyes met Zach's. "Can we talk somewhere private?"
A beat of silence. Then—
A voice. Calm, steady.
It was the guy with the two-block haircut, speaking for the first time.
"Guys, I'll talk to them. You all keep practicing."
Zach exhaled, giving him a glance before speaking.
"Harrison and Steve are on roll for scouting freshmen, right? We have time until they get back. Might as well hear them out."
Ethan turned to the others. "We've got something to take care of. Warm up and wait—we'll be back soon."
With that, the other players scattered, leaving only those who needed to be there.
The blond guy shifted his gaze to Zach for a second, then nodded. "Alright. Storage room. Follow us."
No one wasted time. The two groups moved together, silent but aware of the weight in the air.
Jordan followed, his hand still resting on Theo's shoulder. Behind them, the others trailed closely, whispering among themselves.
The dim light flickered, barely cutting through the thick air of rubber and sweat. Racks of sports equipment lined the walls, shadows stretching over the floor like something waiting to lunge.
As the last of them stepped inside, the broad-shouldered guy with short dark hair reached behind him and clicked the lock shut.
Click.
The sound was subtle but deliberate—a simple way to keep unwanted interruptions out.
Jordan's group exchanged quick glances. They weren't locked in, but they understood. This wasn't just a casual conversation.
Jordan didn't break eye contact as he stepped forward. His voice was calm, but his stance spoke louder—he wasn't here to back down.
"Since we're all standing here, let's make things clear. I'm Jordan." He gave a slight nod to the guys beside him. "Marcus. Theo. Riley. Liam."
Each name landed with weight, their presence filling the space in a way that wasn't loud but undeniable.
Across from them, Zach finally moved.
His gaze flickered—not in fear, not in anger. Just quiet calculation.
Then, he finally spoke.
"What do you want to know?"
Jordan didn't hesitate.
"Before anything, shouldn't you be introducing yourselves?"
The blond guy, scoffed. His arms crossed, his jaw tight.
"Let's skip the formalities. Just get to the point."
Jordan tilted his head slightly, like he was analyzing him. "Really? We're just gonna act like strangers?"
A beat of silence.
Then—
A low chuckle.
A lean guy with an easy smirk shifted his stance, hands in his pockets. His presence wasn't tense like the others.
"Come on, guys." his voice carried an undercurrent of amusement. "We should at least introduce ourselves." His eyes flicked toward Jordan's group. "I mean, we can't just pretend we don't know who we used to be, right?"
The silence stretched.
So he went ahead anyway.
"Julian." He said it like it was nothing, like this was just another conversation.
He gestured loosely at the blond guy next to him. "Ryan." Then, almost offhandedly, "Ethan."
His fingers pointed toward the two-block-haired guy, the one standing still, unreadable. "Rowan."
A glance at the broad-shouldered guy by the door. "Logan."
His eyes moved to the two at the back. The taller one stood with arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking between them. "Owen." Beside him, a leaner figure with longer strands falling over his eyes barely reacted. "Adrian."
For a second, it almost felt like an introduction among friends—just names, no hostility. But then—
Julian's smirk faded slightly. His tone dropped, something sharper slipping in as his gaze locked onto Jordan.
"Now... tell us why you're really here."
Jordan didn't hesitate. His voice was steady, but his eyes were sharper now.
"You're Daniel's friends, right?"
Silence.
Zach's group stiffened—not just physically, but something deeper. A flicker of something buried—surprise, unease, or something darker.
Jordan's voice dropped just slightly. "So you were."
He let the silence breathe before stepping forward—just an inch.
"We knew Daniel had a group when he became the leader of Black Legion."
Another pause.
Then his eyes hardened.
"But looking at you now... something's changed."
The tension was suffocating.
And then—
A shift.
Marcus' weight adjusted, his fingers flexing slightly, his stance lowering by an inch—a fighter's instinct reacting to something unspoken.
"Tch."
His sharp eyes locked onto Logan, the broad-shouldered guy who had been silent until now.
"So?" Marcus' voice carried a mocking edge, his smirk barely there. "You guys just gonna sit there and sulk?"
Ryan's teeth clicked. "Watch your mouth, kid."
Logan exhaled sharply through his nose—then moved first.
The fight exploded.
A sharp swing, Marcus sidestepped—his footwork quick—countered with a precise strike to the ribs.
Logan absorbed the impact, barely reacting before using his weight and power to force Marcus back.
Marcus staggered but didn't break, his movements razor-sharp. He wasn't just fast—he knew exactly what he was doing.
Logan lunged—this time feinting high before dipping low—a takedown attempt.
But Marcus was faster.
His elbow snapped forward—colliding with Logan's jaw.
The room shifted.
Logan stumbled, his eyes widening—not in pain, but realization.
This wasn't some reckless freshman.
This was dangerous.
Then it happened.
Before Marcus could even adjust—
A blur of movement.
Rowan.
Marcus barely registered it before—
A fist slammed into his stomach.
The air punched out of his lungs, his body jerking forward on instinct, his breath stolen.
Rowan stood in front of him now. Expression unreadable.
Not angry. Not eager.
Just calm.
Calm and brutal.
Marcus clenched his teeth, forcing himself to straighten, trying to strike back—
Rowan shut him down.
A smooth sidestep. A shift in weight. A second strike—a calculated blow to Marcus' side, targeting balance, not power.
Marcus staggered—not because he was weaker, but because Rowan was too damn precise.
For the first time... the fight felt one-sided.
Jordan's group tensed, ready to move—
But Rowan didn't follow up.
He just stood there, looking at Marcus like...
Like he was offended that a freshman had put up a fight.
Marcus wiped his mouth, his eyes still burning.
Rowan hadn't changed expression.
Jordan shifted slightly—he had been about to speak.
Then—
CRACK.
Lightning tore through the sky like something splitting apart.
A breath—
BOOM.
The thunder followed, shaking the walls, rolling through the ground beneath them. The air shuddered from the weight of it.
Then came the rain.
A storm—fierce and relentless. It slammed against the windows, drowning out every sound, filling the silence that no one wanted to break.
Jordan lowered his gaze, whatever he was about to say lost in the downpour.
Adrian exhaled through his nose, tilting the curtain open with two fingers. Outside, chaos. The soccer team bolted across the flooded field, their movements frantic, the storm swallowing their voices. Water rushed in streams against the pavement. The city beyond was a blur of streaking lights and falling rain.
Inside, the room was a stark contrast.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The weight of the moment sat there, pressing down.
Against the wall, Ethan sat motionless.
A shadow in the corner.
His gaze was distant—but there was something in his eyes. Something that hadn't been there before.
Something that had been waiting.
The past.
Zach finally spoke.
His voice was quiet. Final.
"You want to know?"
Jordan's jaw tightened slightly. Then, he nodded.
Zach ran a hand through his hair, fingers slowing at the back of his neck.
He exhaled.
"Listen up."
The past was about to unfold.