Chapter 246 Championship Lights & Shattered Crowns
Chapter 246 Championship Lights & Shattered Crowns
The arena roared as the teams took the ice.
The final against the Ironclad Ravens had been building for weeks—two powerhouse teams, one championship.
The air was electric, packed stands shaking with every chant. Saint and Baby skated out side by side, the rest of their teammates falling into formation behind them. Across the ice, the Ravens looked sharp, disciplined, and hungry.
The puck dropped.
From the first shift, the game was physical and fast.
The Ravens came out aggressive, dumping the puck deep and finishing every check.
Baby absorbed a heavy hit along the boards early, shook it off, and immediately threaded a clean pass to Saint, who fired a quick wrist shot that forced a sharp glove save from the Ravens' goalie.
"They're trying to slow us down," Saint called as they circled back to the bench for a line change. "Don't let them."
Baby only nodded, eyes already locked on the ice again.
By the end of the first period, the score was locked at 0–0. Both teams had chances. Both goalies stood tall.
The physical toll was already showing—jerseys tugged, sticks slashing, tempers simmering under the surface.
In the second period, the Ravens struck first.
A broken play in the neutral zone turned into a 2-on-1.
Their captain sniped one top corner, and the arena erupted in mixed reactions—cheers from the Ravens' side, groans from theirs. 1–0.
Baby slammed his stick against the boards as he came off the ice. Saint skated up beside him, gloved hand briefly brushing Baby's back.
"We answer," Saint said simply.
They did.
Three minutes later, Baby forced a turnover at the blue line, spun away from a defender, and fed Saint in the slot.
Saint didn't hesitate.
The one-timer ripped past the goalie's blocker. 1–1.
The bench exploded. The crowd surged back to life.
The rest of the second period became a war of attrition. Hits landed harder. Battles in the corners grew meaner.
At one point, a Raven defenseman took a run at Baby after the whistle. Saint was there instantly, shoving the player back as the officials stepped in. No penalties were called, but the message was clear—neither side was backing down.
Going into the third period, the score remained tied.
Coach's words in the intermission were short. Focus. Discipline. Finish.
The final twenty minutes were pure intensity.
The Ravens pressed hard in the first five minutes, hemming them in their own zone. Their goalie made two highlight-reel saves, including a desperate pad stop on a tip play that had the entire arena holding its breath.
Baby blocked a shot with his skate and grimaced but stayed on the ice.
Then the momentum shifted.
Saint won a crucial faceoff in the offensive zone. The puck kicked back to the point, was one-timed toward the net, and Baby—driving hard to the crease—got a piece of it with his stick. The redirection fluttered past the goalie's glove.
2–1.
The celebration was raw, exhausted, and full of fire.
Baby was immediately mobbed by teammates while Saint skated in, forehead briefly pressing against Baby's helmet in a silent, fierce acknowledgment.
The Ravens pushed back with everything they had.
With under three minutes left, they pulled their goalie. The extra attacker created chaos. A bouncing puck in the slot nearly tied it, but their defense cleared it at the last second.
When the final horn sounded, the scoreboard still read 2–1.
They had done it.
The arena exploded. Sticks and gloves flew into the air.
Saint found Baby in the chaos, pulling him into a hard, breathless embrace as their teammates swarmed them.
Above the noise, the weight of everything—the pressure, the secrets, the fights off the ice—lifted, if only for a moment.
They had won.
___
The Skyfall Empire lived up to every syllable of its name. Suspended high above the city skyline, its glass ceiling captured the sprawling constellation of lights beneath it, casting a cinematic, amber glow over the grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hummed with quiet brilliance, reflecting off the floor-to-ceiling windows where politicians, elite athletes, and corporate titans mingled in a sea of tailored tuxedos and cascading silk gowns.
At the center of the room, standing beside a colossal ice sculpture carved into the shape of the THC hockey emblem, Sloane held court.
She looked effortlessly immaculate in a sharp, midnight-blue velvet pantsuit that commanded the space around her. Her hand rested possessively, yet naturally, at the small of Jae’s back. Jae, wearing a backless emerald dress that made heads turn from across the hall, smiled as Sloane introduced her to a cluster of international sponsors.
"Gentlemen, this is Jae," Sloane’s voice was smooth, carrying that effortless authority that always made people lean in a fraction closer. "The architectural genius behind our recent private developments. If you ever need a garage built that can survive an earthquake and still look like a modern art gallery, she’s the only person I trust."
Jae offered a polite, charming nod, though her eyes darted briefly toward Sloane with a fond, knowing look. Sloane met her gaze, a rare, genuine softness flickering across her usually impenetrable expression before she turned her attention back to the corporate heavyweights.
A few yards away, the flashbulbs were practically firing in a continuous rhythm.
Saint and Baby stood side by side, the undisputed focal point of the media corner. Saint wore a classic black tuxedo with the jacket unbuttoned, his arm wrapped firmly around Baby’s waist. Baby was breathtaking in a shimmering silver-and-white jacket that caught every beam of light, his sharp features illuminated by the camera lights.
Their friends stood just beyond the press barrier, grinning like proud parents.
"Look at them," Cam muttered, though he couldn't hide the fond smile tugging at his lips as he leaned stood between Wong and Cassian. "Two seconds away from turning a corporate gala into a Vogue cover shoot."
"Let them have it," Cassian murmured, wrapping an arm around Cam's shoulders. "They earned every bit of it after the season they just dragged us through."
"We've come a long way with them, haven't we?" Wing kissed Cam’s head.
"We have." Cam smiled, willing his tears back.
Oliver stood nearby with Takeshi tucked safely against his side, while Kai and Rode watched quietly from a high-top table, sharing a glass of champagne.
The atmosphere shifted when the CEO’s chime echoed through the hall, signaling the start of the formal address. Sloane stepped up to the raised stage, tapping the microphone once. The room immediately quieted.
"Good evening," Sloane began, her gaze sweeping over the crowd before landing affectionately on Saint and Baby. "Tonight, we celebrate a victory. Not just the championship trophy that now belongs to THC, but the resilience of a team that refused to break under pressure. To honor that, and to reward the blood, sweat, and tears poured onto the ice this season, I am officially announcing a six-month, fully funded vacation for every single member of this roster and their partners. Go rest. Go live. The company has it covered."
The ballroom erupted into deafening applause. Saint pulled Baby into a tight, celebratory hug, burying his face in the crook of his neck as the cameras clicked away.
As the night deepened and the crowd dissolved back into dancing and champagne, the shadows near the eastern terrace grew heavier.
Georgia Miller stepped out from the arched doorway, her face carved from stone and bitter desperation. Beside her, Anna trailed close behind, her expression a mix of weary indulgence and venomous loyalty.
They moved like ghosts through the celebration, cutting straight toward Saint and Baby, who had stepped away for a quiet moment near the glass railing.
"Enjoying the spotlight, Saint?" Georgia’s voice cut through the ambient music like a razor.
Saint didn't flinch. He slowly turned, keeping Baby half-shielded behind him. Georgia stood there, chest heaving with suppressed fury, while Anna leaned against a marble pillar, crossing her arms with a cold smirk.
"Georgia," Saint said, his tone dangerously flat. "You're trespassing in a room full of people who would love nothing more than to throw you out."
Georgia took a sharp step closer, her eyes narrowing into slits. "You think a little trophy and a corporate pat on the back saves you? Listen to me very carefully, boy. You are going to pack your bags, you are going to leave Baby tonight, and you are going to announce a public separation. If you don't..." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "I’ll make sure everyone here, and every camera streaming this gala, finds out what you really are. I’ll ruin your life, your career, and everything you’ve built."
Saint didn't look scared. Instead, a slow, terrifyingly calm smirk spread across his lips.
He didn't yell. He didn't argue. He simply looked past Georgia’s shoulder and spotted Kai standing by the bar.
"Kai," Saint called out, his voice carrying clearly over the murmurs of the room. "Do me a favor. Grab that wireless mic from the DJ booth and bring it here."
Georgia frowned, her eyes darting nervously. "What are you playing at? Don't think you can play games with—"
"Quiet, Georgia," a soft, steady voice interrupted.
Kora stepped out from behind a marble pillar, her posture tall and unyielding. She looked straight into her mother’s stunned face.
A faint, sad smile touched Kora's lips as she whispered, loud enough for both Georgia and Anna to hear.
"Sorry, Mama... but I'm not with you this time."
Georgia’s breath hitched. Her jaw dropped open in absolute disbelief. "What... what did you just say to me?" she stammered, her composure shattering for a split second as she stared at her daughter. "Have you lost your mind? Look at what they've done to you—"
"Relax, Georgia," Anna chimed in, stepping forward with an unbothered wave of her hand, trying to salvage the crumbling panic. She chuckled dryly, adjusting her diamond necklace. "Stop sweating over the girl. What could he possibly do? Even if he opens his mouth, they can't touch us. We still hold the cards. The fantasy garage is still legally tied to Rode's name—they can't touch our assets or move an inch without blowing up their own circle."
Anna leaned back against the pillar, a smug, untouchable confidence settling back into her features. Georgia visibly exhaled, letting the reassurance wash over her. They believed they held all the strings. They believed the safety nets they had woven were unbreakable.
"And you," Georgia hmared at Kora, "Don't be like your spineless father. I'm giving you a fortune –"
"Saint is the fortune?" Kora chuckled, shaking her head, "Thanks, Mama. I'll make my own fortune myself–"
She was silenced with a slap.
"I see I spoilt you too much," Georgia spat.
Anna smirked, "I always told you, mold her like I molded my dear Rode. Too weak."
Saint was holding Baby back from causing a scene. He was enraged, but he also knew they were done for.
"You brought this upon yourself, Georgia." Kora said and stepped back into the shadows, not showing pain.
Neither of them noticed the slight, knowing glint in Kora’s eyes as she left.