Chapter 133 Offseason Whispers

Chapter 133 Offseason Whispers

The peaceful quiet of our summer break ends as the team returns to the facility for early training camp preparations. The hallways are alive again with the sounds of equipment bags sliding across the floor, players laughing, and skate sharpeners humming in the back rooms. It feels good to be back, surrounded by the familiar energy of the arena.

I walk into the media room with a warm cup of coffee in my hand, feeling rested and focused. I set my bag down on my usual desk, ready to organize my camera gear for the morning shoot.

Sitting at the extra desk near the window is a young guy I have never seen before. He has three expensive cameras laid out across the entire surface, taking up half of James's workspace as well. He looks up from his laptop screen as I walk in, nodding once without much warmth.

"Morning," he says, leaning back in his chair. "You must be Liam. I'm Julian. The front office hired me as a freelance contributor for the preseason media push."

"Nice to meet you, Julian," I say, keeping my voice friendly as I take a seat. "Welcome to the team. If you need help finding your way around the ice floor, just let me know."

Julian chuckles, turning his attention back to his computer screen. "Thanks, but I've covered plenty of pro sports teams before. I know how to get the shots."

I sip my coffee, choosing not to take offense at his tone. I know how competitive freelance photographers can be when stepping into a new facility, so I just focus on prepping my lenses for the morning practice session.

A few minutes later, James steps into the room carrying two big light stands. He stops when he sees Julian's gear spread out over his side of the long desk.

"Hey, man," James says politely, setting his stands in the corner. "Do you mind pulling your camera bodies closer to your side? I need to edit the morning roster photos here."

Julian moves one lens an inch to the left, not looking up. "There's plenty of space, man. Don't worry about it."

James looks over at me, raising his eyebrows in mild annoyance, but he sits down quietly and starts boot-up on his monitor without making a scene.

At ten o'clock, Coach Vance calls the media team down to the main rink floor for the official promotional shoot. The players are already on the ice in their fresh home jerseys, skating slow laps to warm up their legs.

I walk out to the corner glass, taking my favorite spot near the low barrier cutout. Over the past two years, I tested dozens of lighting angles and camera positions to find the exact spot where the arena spotlights bounce off the ice, creating a clear, sharp frame around the players without any glare. It took me months of trial and error to perfect this setup.

Julian follows me down the pathway, looking around the rink with a quick glance. He sees me setting my secondary tripod at a specific low angle near the cutout and immediately steps right beside me, setting his own camera on the adjacent frame.

"This is a decent spot," Julian says, looking through his camera viewfinder. "The light hits okay here."

"It's the best angle on the rink," I tell him softly. "If you drop your camera about three inches lower, you'll catch the reflection off the front board without getting the harsh ceiling glare."

Julian adjusts his height slightly, looking through the lens again. His eyes widen as he sees how clear the shot looks. "Yeah, not bad," he murmurs, though he does not say thank you.

We spend the next hour taking photos of the squad during their passing drills. Klaus glides past my corner, catching my eye through the glass cutout and offering me a quiet, warm smile before snapping a sharp pass down the ice. I press my shutter, capturing the power and focus in his posture as the ice sprays off his skates.

When the practice session ends, we all head back up to the media room to load our fresh files into the main team drive for Coach Vance to review.

Ten minutes later, the door to the media room opens, and Vance walks in holding a tablet. He looks pleased as he steps toward my desk.

"Liam, these corner shots from the morning drills look fantastic," Vance says, tapping his screen. "The low angle with the light reflection gives the players an incredible look. We want to use this frame for the main season ticket posters."

Before I can answer, Julian stands up from his chair, stepping into the middle of the room with a confident smile on his face.

"Thanks, Coach," Julian says smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I set that angle up during the first drill. I realized early on that dropping the lens three inches lower would cut out the glare from the roof lights. Glad you like the idea."

I freeze in my chair, staring at Julian in complete disbelief. My throat tightens as a wave of quiet anger washes through my chest. He is standing right there, taking credit for a camera setup I spent months perfecting, pretending it was his own sudden brilliant idea.

"Excuse me?" I say, my voice trembling slightly as I turn my head to look at him.

"What?" Julian asks, acting completely innocent. "I'm just explaining how I framed the shot, Liam. No need to get defensive."

Before I can even process the disrespect, James slams his coffee mug down onto his desk with a loud clatter that echoes through the room.

"Shut your mouth, Julian," James says sharply, his face turning hard as he stands up to face the new guy. "You stepped into this building two hours ago. Liam designed that exact corner lighting setup last season during the postseason run. He spent weeks testing those angles while you were still shooting local college games."

Julian steps back, his confident smile fading as he looks at James. "Hey, I was just saying—"

"I don't care what you were saying," Vance cuts in, his voice cold and commanding as he steps closer to Julian.

Vance looks down at his tablet, then directly into Julian's eyes with an unshakable sternness. "Liam is the Lead Media Specialist for this organization. Every lighting template, every angle layout, and every visual standard we use in this arena was built by him. If you are going to work in my building, you will respect his work, and you will never try to claim his ideas as your own again."

Julian's face turns bright red. He opens his mouth to say something, but seeing the sharp, stern look on Vance's face and the cold glare from James, he snaps his mouth shut and sits back down in his chair, looking down at his keyboard in complete silence.

Vance turns back to me, his sharp features softening into a warm, respectful look. He reaches out, placing a firm, supportive hand on my shoulder.