Chapter 121 121: D-Day
The locker room was quieter than usual.
Not silent—never silent—but the kind of quiet that carried weight. The kind that settled into bones and made every sound feel louder than it was.
The steady tap of skates against the floor.
The rustle of jerseys.
The low murmur of teammates speaking in hushed tones.
Today wasn't just another game.
It was the game.
Baby sat on the bench, elbows resting on his knees as he tightened the straps of his gloves, his gaze fixed on the floor like he could see the entire match playing out there already.
Win.
Lose.
Everything riding on a single night.
A shadow fell over him.
"You're thinking too loud."
Baby huffed softly, not looking up. "Didn't know that was a thing."
Saint stepped closer, nudging Baby's knee with his own before crouching in front of him.
"It is when you're doing it like that," he said, voice low.
Baby finally lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
And just like that… the noise faded.
Always did.
"You nervous?" Saint asked.
Baby tilted his head slightly. "You?"
Saint smirked faintly. "I asked first."
"Then no," Baby replied, lips curving just a little. "Not nervous."
Saint studied him for a second longer.
"Liar."
Baby chuckled under his breath.
"Okay… maybe a little."
Saint reached out without thinking, his fingers brushing against Baby's wrist before settling there—steady, grounding.
"You're not losing today."
Baby raised a brow. "That confidence… is that for me or for you?"
"For us," Saint corrected quietly.
That word lingered.
Us.
Baby's chest tightened—not in fear, not in doubt… just something deeper.
Something heavier.
"Come here," Saint murmured.
Baby didn't argue.
He leaned forward, and Saint pulled him in, one hand sliding behind his neck, the other pressing lightly against his back. Not tight enough to draw attention. Just enough to say:
I'm here.
Baby exhaled against his shoulder.
"You better not mess up today, Kross," he muttered.
Saint huffed a quiet laugh.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you." Baby pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. "Because if we lose, I'm blaming you."
Saint's lips curved.
"Bold of you to assume I'd let that happen."
Baby held his gaze.
There was something in Saint's eyes.
Something… unreadable.
It flickered too fast to catch.
"Hey," Baby said softly.
Saint blinked.
"Yeah?"
"After today…" Baby hesitated, then smiled. "Let's take a break. Just us. No training. No Sloane. No pressure."
Saint's expression shifted.
Softened.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah… we can do that."
But his voice wasn't as steady as it should have been.
Baby didn't notice.
Or maybe he did…
And chose not to look too closely.
Across the room, Cam watched them quietly, arms folded.
"Disgusting," he muttered under his breath.
Wong snorted beside him. "You're jealous." He had blackmailed Cam into telling him about the recent tension he sensed between their captains.
"I'm concerned," Cam corrected.
"For your love life?" Wong asked.
"For theirs," Cam said, eyes narrowing slightly.
Something felt off.
He just couldn't place it.
"Alright!" the coach's voice cut through the room. "Five minutes!"
The energy shifted instantly.
Helmets grabbed. Gloves pulled tight. Focus sharpened.
Baby stood, rolling his shoulders once before glancing at Saint.
"Ready?"
Saint picked up his helmet.
"Always."
Their hands brushed for half a second as they moved.
Brief.
Hidden.
But enough.
As they walked toward the tunnel, the roar of the crowd grew louder with every step.
Lights. Noise. Pressure.
Everything waiting for them on the other side.
Baby inhaled deeply.
Saint walked beside him.
Close.
Too close to lose.
And they both hoped it wasn't the last time it would feel like this.
Green Vine was a worthy opponent, but they were more than ready to take them on.
The moment they stepped onto the ice—
The world exploded.
Roars crashed from every corner of the arena, a tidal wave of sound that swallowed everything whole. Lights burned bright overhead, flashing across banners, faces, cameras—every second captured, every move watched.
This wasn’t just a match.
This was legacy.
Baby pushed off first, blades slicing clean into the ice, the cold rushing up his spine like a wake-up call. The noise faded—not completely, never completely—but enough.
Enough to focus.
Enough to feel.
He rolled his shoulders once, gripping his stick tighter as he glanced across the rink—
—and found Saint already looking at him.
Locked in.
Like always.
A small smirk tugged at Baby’s lips.
Saint didn’t smile back.
But his eyes said enough.
Let’s win.
The whistle blew.
And everything snapped into motion.
The puck hit the ice.
Saint moved first—fast, sharp, cutting through the opposing team like he’d memorized their patterns before they even formed. A clean intercept. A quick pivot.
Pass.
Baby caught it mid-glide.
Effortless.
He didn’t hesitate—he never did.
One defender came at him from the left.
Too slow.
Baby feinted right, dragged the puck back between his skates, spun—
Gone.
Another tried to close the gap.
Saint was already there.
Blocking. Opening space.
Always there.
Baby shot him a look.
Saint nodded once.
That was all it took.
Pass.
Return.
Cut.
They moved like a conversation no one else could hear.
“Jesus—” one of the opposing players muttered, trying—and failing—to keep up. “Are they synced or something?”
Baby drove forward, heart pounding—not from pressure, not from fear—
From this.
From the rush.
From Saint beside him.
From the way everything just… clicked.
He flicked the puck across—
Saint caught it without looking.
Didn’t even need to.
He shot.
GOAL.
The net snapped.
The crowd erupted.
Baby didn’t even realize he was laughing until Saint skated past him, their gloves knocking together in a sharp, fleeting tap.
“Too easy,” Baby muttered under his breath.
Saint leaned in just slightly as he passed.
“Focus.”
But there was a ghost of something in his tone.
Something almost… fond.
The game restarted.
Harder now.
Faster.
Green Vine pushed back, aggressive, desperate to break the rhythm.
But it was already too late.
They were in sync.
Too deep in it.
THC would have no choice but to roll them a red carpet entry after the game.
Baby stole the puck clean off a defender, twisting away just before impact.
Saint moved into position before Baby even looked.
Pass.
Saint redirected it instantly.
Back to Baby.
The goalie shifted.
Too early.
Too predictable.
Baby smirked.
“Got you.”
He shot.
GOAL.
The arena shook.
“DANVERS AGAIN!”
“THIS DUO IS UNSTOPPABLE!”
On the sidelines, Sloane watched with narrowed eyes, arms folded tightly.
Perfect.
This was exactly what she wanted.
Cam leaned forward from the bench, shaking his head slowly.
“Yeah… this is insane.”
Wong whistled. “They’re not even trying anymore.”
“No,” Cam muttered, eyes fixed on the ice. “They are.”
That’s what made it worse.
Back on the rink—
Saint wiped sweat from his brow, chest rising and falling as he glanced at Baby again.
Baby was glowing.
Not literally.
But close enough.
Alive.
Free.
Untouchable.
Saint’s chest tightened.
Just for a second.
The whistle blew again.
Final minutes.
Everything on the line.
Green Vine made one last push.
Desperate.
Sloppy.
They lunged forward, trying to break through—
Saint intercepted.
Again.
Always him.
He didn’t pass immediately this time.
He skated.
Fast.
Cutting straight through the center.
Two defenders moved to block him.
Good.
That’s what he wanted.
Baby moved.
Perfect timing.
Perfect angle.
Saint passed—
Blind.
Trusting.
Baby was already there.
The puck met his stick like it belonged there.
One second.
One breath.
One final shot.
GOAL.
The buzzer rang.
The crowd exploded into chaos.
Cheers. Shouts. Cameras flashing like lightning across the ice.
Victory.
Baby skidded to a stop, breathing hard, adrenaline flooding his veins as he looked around—
At the crowd.
At the scoreboard.
At him.
Saint was already walking toward him.
Slow.
Steady.
Eyes locked.
For a moment—just a moment—
Everything else disappeared.
“You did good,” Saint said quietly when he got close.
Baby scoffed lightly. “We did.”
Saint’s lips twitched.
“Yeah.”
Their hands brushed again.
Longer this time.
Warmer.
And somewhere in the crowd—
Unnoticed.
Unseen.
A figure watched.
Still.
Patient.
Kora.
Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
On the ice, Baby and Saint were crowded with other THC players, celebrating their victory.
But for Baby, there was one more victory to conquer for the day.
Their parents.
They were going to come out to their parents today, and he was more anxious about it than he was about the match.