Chapter 136: The Sabotaged Schedule

Cassian's POV

I was coming back from my morning jog when I received a call from Milo.

"Cassian, where are you?" Milo said, his voice sounding entirely too loud through the phone speaker.

"The schedule for the town's New Year Holiday Showcase just came out. Reed registered us weeks ago. We're playing."

"I'm not interested, Milo," I muttered, my breath coming out in cold white clouds as I walked down my street. My mind was still completely heavy from the truth.

"Wait, hear me out," Milo said quickly. "Every local academy, including Crestwood and Rackers, is playing in the town's annual Holiday Showcase. Let's just play. It will show these younger kids that their future is bright, and it will be fun as hell."

I let out a long, exhausted breath. "Fine. I'll head over."

When I arrived at the town arena, the main lobby was already a total mess of players, parents, and sponsors The Crestwood roster checked in at the front desk, but within minutes, Reed walked back to our huddle with a look of pure confusion on his face.

"The digital arena schedule has been altered," Reed said, tapping his fingers against his clipboard. "We weren't meant to play with them. Crestwood and Rackers have been assigned the same ice slot."

Arguments broke out with the event officials immediately. Reed and other coaching staff demanded a change, raising their voices as they gestured toward the glass barrier.

The tournament managers just shook their heads, refusing to do anything because the booking system showed everything was completely "correct."

The brutal Rackers roster arrived moments later, their bags slamming against the floorboards. The crowd in the lobby began whispering loudly, people pointing at the screens as the other team players smirked

Realizing it was a foul play My eyes drifted toward the side exit. Silas was standing there, leaning against a vending machine, laughing quietly as he watched the chaos. Since he and Barrett still technically played for Crestwood, he should have been just as angry as the rest of us. Instead, he looked totally amused. When he saw me look over, he let out a slow grin and made a sarcastic comment.

"Of course the Crestwood big boys can beat my old team," Silas said, pushing himself off the wall and looking at his Rackers buddies. "Let's go, boys."

My temper flared hard. I stepped directly into his path, my body blocking him. "If you really want to play against them badly and support them, why not fight back when you were removed from the team?" I hissed, my voice low and flat.

Silas just laughed, a cold sound that did not reach his eyes. "Have a good game, Thorne."

We moved into the locker room to change, the air thick with tension. Asher was sitting on the bench next to me, his hands shaking as he laced his skates. He looked pale and stressed out. He wasn't talking at all, his eyes completely fixed on the skates as he stared down.

"Hey, Asher, you okay?" Theo asked, stepping closer with a worried look on his face.

Asher forced a quick, shaky smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. Just tired."

I frowned. Asher never looked this nervous before a game. He reached into my bag, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a long drink.

Reed stepped into the center of the room, giving a sharp, sassy pre-game speech about putting these rivals in their place, trying to force some energy into the roster.

We all stood up, the metal blades of our skates clacking loudly as everyone skated out onto the ice. Even with the cheering crowd, I still felt like something was completely off.

The showcase game started, and the first period was an absolute disaster. Asher became unusually weak on the ice. His shoulders slouched, his skates slipped, and he could barely follow the puck. Crestwood struggled badly, while the Rackers played with pure, brutal force. I realized something felt wrong with our lines, but I did not know why.

During a heated argument near our goal line, a toxic Rackers player saw Asher faltering. The Rackers player caught his skate on a Crestwood stick, crashed to the ice, and immediately pointed at Asher, shouting that he'd been attacked.

The crowd erupted into furious shouts.

The referees blew their whistles, halting the play. The officials escorted both teams off the ice while the crowd argued loudly from the stands.

The athletic organization running the event called a meeting right by the penalty box. They presented anonymous digital photos showing players breaking conduct rules, warning both teams that another single incident would end their tournament status on the spot.

During the announcements, the Rackers captain stood near the bench, openly mocking Crestwood. He dropped a cruel insult about our leadership, but Kieran ignored him, keeping his eyes on the ice. The captain laughed and insulted us a second time, calling us weak cowards. Kieran finally snapped. He launched his weight forward and punched the Rackers captain right across the mouth.

A massive team fight broke out on the ice, gloves flying and bodies crashing together until the arena security guards tore them apart.

We were forced back into the locker room for the halftime break, everyone screaming and throwing their gear. During the confusing rush, I walked down the narrow back corridor to grab a spare towel. As I turned the corner, I spotted a Rackers player sliding out of the private locker room assigned to Crestwood.

I grabbed his jersey, slamming him against the brick wall. "What the hell were you doing in our room?"

He shoved my arm away and bolted down the hallway before I could stop him.

When I walked back into our room, Reed was standing by his bag, his face red with anger. His annotated strategy book had completely disappeared.

Everyone was totally pissed, swearing and slamming lockers. I refused to talk to avoid someone blaming me for the loss. Moreover, it wasn't a real game, so I didn't know why everyone was taking it so serious.

But the second half was a complete slaughter. The Rackers seemed to know every single Crestwood play before we even made it on the ice, and they won the match easily.

After the final whistle, I stood near the loading dock in the freezing snow, my chest heaving. A couple of Rackers players walked past me, carrying their gear bags to a car.

"Crestwood never stood a chance," one of them laughed, lighting a cigarette. "Silas and Barrett seem to know everything happening inside Crestwood.

The words hit me like a physical blow as they drove away. If that was true, then Silas wasn't just another troublemaker. He knew something the rest of us didn't. And if I wanted answers about Oliver, I was going to have to face him.