As they entered the cafeteria, Travis led Judith toward an open table. He made quick introductions.
"This is Eve, this is Mia, and this is Judith"—before flashing them all his usual grin. Judith gave a timid wave, shrinking slightly under their curious stares.
"Be right back, let me grab something to eat," Travis said, sliding his hands into his pockets. But before he could even join the line, a shadow loomed over him.
Coach Bridget stood there, arms crossed, her eyes sharp enough to pin him in place. The hum of chatter in the cafeteria seemed to fade under her presence.
"Travis, I think you might have forgotten what we decided on. Now get your ass up and go to the field," she said, her voice stern, almost challenging.
A sigh escaped him, though his expression remained calm. He grabbed his bag and followed her, but once they reached the stairwell, he stopped abruptly. Turning to face her, he leaned in slightly, his tone low and serious.
"You know, I don't really like being told what to do. So you better mind the way you speak to me next time… or I'm walking off this team."
For a heartbeat, silence hung in the air. Something invisible pulsed around him—an aura thick with danger, like a predator eyeing its prey. The hallway light seemed dimmer, his presence heavier.
Bridget froze, her throat tightening as a chill danced down her spine. Her instinct screamed at her to step back. Against her will, she found herself nodding. It wasn't obedience—it was survival.
Travis smirked faintly, satisfied. He turned without another word and continued down the stairs, the sound of his footsteps echoing with a strange finality. Bridget followed, her gaze locked on his back, her mind racing.
'Yesterday he was just another cocky rookie… today… what the hell is he?'
When they reached the field, the afternoon sun painted the grass gold. Students were scattered across the track, stretching and chatting. But when Bridget's whistle cut through the air, all eyes turned.
"Alright, team," she barked, her tone back to its usual authority, though a slight edge betrayed her unease.
"We've got a new member. This is Travis. He's exceptional at everything I've seen so far. I expect you to see him as competition, because I doubt any of you can match him."
A ripple of murmurs ran through the group. Some raised eyebrows, some smirked in disbelief.
"Why doesn't he show us then?" a voice rang out, bold and mocking. "If he's so good, let him race our best—Jason."
The crowd turned toward the tree at the edge of the field. Jason leaned against it, tall and built, his dark skin gleaming with sweat from his earlier warm-up. His headphones rested snugly over his ears, music leaking faintly from them. He hadn't moved during the entire exchange—until now.
He finally lifted his gaze, sharp and unreadable, locking eyes with Travis for the first time. The air seemed to thicken with tension.
Ronda stood beside him, arms folded, her expression carefully neutral. Yet her eyes never left Travis. They lingered, curious, as if measuring something in him the others couldn't see.
Travis, oblivious to her attention, simply adjusted his bag on his shoulder and smiled lazily at the challenge.
"Oh, that sounds good. Travis, you fine with this?" Coach Bridget asked, a hint of excitement in her voice.
"Yeah, I'm alright with it," Travis replied smoothly, his tone dripping with confidence.
Jason stood still under the tree, shoulders relaxed, almost too relaxed—as if the world revolved around him. His calm, unreadable stare only added to the mystique.
"This Jason dude's trying to act mysterious," Travis thought, his lips twitching into a grin. "Bet he's on TikTok a lot. Probably thinks he's some anime protagonist. But… what's his relationship with Ronda? I wonder."
[No NTR, by the way, so don't get your stomach turning.]
He was about to find out.
"Jason," Ronda called, her voice carrying across the field.
Jason opened his eyes slowly, as if waking from a pleasant nap. Without a word, he tugged his headphones off and tilted his head toward her.
"They want you to race the new guy," she said plainly, though her eyes flicked toward Travis with a subtle glint of curiosity.
Jason's gaze followed hers, landing squarely on Travis. For a second, neither moved—just two predators sizing each other up.
"Fine," Jason said at last, his voice deep and steady. "Let's see what he can do. Tell him to change; I don't want him complaining after he loses."
His tone wasn't loud, but it carried—sharp enough that those nearby turned their heads. The arrogance in his words stirred whispers across the team.
Ronda's jaw tightened. She hated when Jason spoke like that, as though she were his messenger. Still, she walked toward Coach Bridget, delivering the message with no intention of returning to Jason's side. Her eyes lingered a moment on Travis—then shifted away quickly.
In the locker room, Travis pulled off his shirt, intending to change fast. But the reflection in the mirror stopped him cold.
His body looked unreal—every muscle shredded, every vein prominent, like he'd been sculpted from stone. His abs looked like they'd been carved by an artist, his arms coiled with lean, functional strength. He didn't look like a high school student anymore.
"…What the hell?" he muttered, flexing his hand into a fist. "This body… this is crazy."
It almost scared him. If anyone saw the sudden transformation, there'd be questions he couldn't answer.
With a sharp breath, he threw on his training shorts and shirt, pulling the fabric snug to downplay his build. Still, when he stepped back onto the field, heads turned instantly.
The girls whispered first, their voices hushed but eager.
"Holy crap… look at his arms."
"His legs—damn, those calves!"
"He wasn't built like that yesterday, right? No way."
Even some of the guys raised their brows, trading skeptical looks.
Coach Bridget blinked twice, her whistle slipping from her lips. Yesterday, Travis had been fit, sure—but this? This was another level.
'What is this kid? He looks like he's been training for years… but that's impossible.'
Jason finally pushed off the tree and walked forward. His stride was smooth, confident, like a man who already knew the outcome.
The closer he got, the more the contrast sharpened—Jason with his practiced calm, Travis with his raw, unpredictable aura.
They met at the starting line, silence stretching between them. The team crowded around, the tension buzzing like static in the air.
Coach Bridget cleared her throat. "Alright, it's just a quick 100-meter sprint and back. Get on the track."
Jason rolled his shoulders, shooting Travis a sidelong smirk. "Try not to embarrass yourself."
Travis just chuckled under his breath, eyes forward, a predator's calm settling in.
The crowd leaned closer. Some whispered bets, others just waited for the clash. Even Ronda's arms were folded tighter than usual, her eyes flicking between the two boys, betraying her intrigue.
The field was quiet now.
TO BE CONTINUED