Chapter 132 Chapter 132

Chapter 132 Chapter 132
The moment I stepped through the arena doors, I knew this wasn't just another game.
The energy hit me before the noise did.
Students in school colours crowded the concourse, weaving through families and alumni who had travelled from different parts of the state just to witness the regional semifinal. Blue-and-silver banners hung proudly from the railings on one side of the arena, while Crescent Academy's green flags occupied the opposite end. Somewhere nearby, volunteers handed out game programs as children darted between adults, pretending to play hockey with rolled-up posters.
For the first time since joining the journalism club, I wasn't the only student carrying a camera around my neck.
Several local reporters stood near the media entrance, chatting while checking their equipment. A television crew adjusted their lights close to the rink entrance, and farther down the hallway, I spotted a row of scouts quietly comparing notes before the game had even begun.
My fingers instinctively tightened around my notebook.
This wasn't just a semifinal.
This was where futures quietly began.
"You're doing it again."
Sofia nudged my shoulder.
I blinked.
"Doing what?"
"Thinking too hard."
A smile tugged at my lips.
"You know me too well."
"I know that look." She adjusted the strap of her bag before leaning closer. "You're already writing the article in your head."
"...Maybe."
"I knew it."
Before I could defend myself, Mrs. Brooks approached us carrying a stack of printed lineup sheets.
"There you are."
She handed one to me.
"Official starting lines."
I glanced down, scanning the names.
Western Helms.
Crescent Academy.
Every player listed beneath their respective positions.
One name immediately caught my attention.
Captain — Noah Whitmore.
Even seeing it written on paper carried a certain weight.
Mrs. Brooks noticed where my eyes had settled.
"You met him yesterday."
"I did."
"And?"
I folded the sheet neatly before slipping it inside my notebook.
"I expected someone louder."
A knowing smile crossed her face.
"The dangerous ones usually aren't."
Before I could respond, another reporter called her name.
She excused herself with a quick nod.
"Trust your instincts today, Aria."
Then she disappeared into the growing crowd.
Sofia watched her leave before looking back at me.
"You think Western Helms can do it?"
I looked through the glass overlooking the ice where arena staff made their final preparations.
"I honestly don't know."
It was the first time all season that answer hadn't bothered me.
Because deep down...
I knew Crescent Academy wasn't a team you predicted.
They were a team you earned the right to beat.
Inside the Western Helms locker room, nobody spoke.
Not because they were frightened.
Because every player had retreated into his own routine.
\~~~
Lucas sat quietly wrapping fresh tape around the blade of his stick, his tongue poking slightly from the corner of his mouth in concentration.
Jake rolled his shoulders before checking the straps on his gloves for what felt like the tenth time.
Evan bounced his knee impatiently, glancing at the clock every few seconds.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It was familiar.
Ryder finished fastening his helmet before standing.
He slowly looked around the room.
One season. Countless practices. Endless bus rides. Victories and Losses. Arguments and forgiveness.
Everything had led here.
Lucas finally broke the silence.
"So..."
Everyone looked at him.
"If I accidentally score on our own goal today..."
He shrugged dramatically.
"...let's all agree it never happened."
For half a second...
Nobody reacted.
Then Jake snorted.
Evan rolled his eyes.
Ryder let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
"I'd bench you myself."
Lucas pointed at him.
"See? That's the support I was looking for."
The room relaxed just a little then the door opened.
Coach Bennett stepped inside.
"You ready?"
"Yes, Coach."
His gaze settled on Ryder.
"You've got them."
Ryder answered without hesitation.
"I know."
Coach Bennett nodded once.
"I'll see you on the bench."
He stepped aside and pulled the door open.
"Let's play."
These boys already knew who they were.
~~

Mike watched from halfway up the stands.
The seat beneath him still felt strange.
For years, game days had meant tightening skates.
Now...
They meant watching someone else do it.
Beside him, Mr. Harris rested both hands on the railing overlooking the rink.
"They look good."
Mike smiled faintly.
"They always do."
His eyes found Ryder skating toward the tunnel with the rest of the team.
For just a second...his chest tightened.
"I should be down there."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Mr. Harris didn't rush to answer. Instead, he kept watching the ice.
"I know."
Silence settled between them.
"I miss it," Mike admitted quietly.
"The noise."
"The pressure."
"The feeling right before the puck drops."
His voice cracked ever so slightly.
"I even miss practice."
Mr. Harris finally turned toward him.
"You'll always miss it."
Mike swallowed.
"But missing something doesn't mean you've lost everything."
He looked back at the ice.
"Your story isn't finished, son."
Mike lowered his head. He believed that might actually be true.
"Ladies and gentlemen..."
The announcer's voice echoed throughout the arena.
"Welcome to today's Regional Semifinal!"
Cheers exploded from every corner of the building.
Students leapt to their feet, waving banners high above their heads.
Drums thundered from the Western Helms section.
Across the arena, Crescent supporters answered with chants of their own.
Sofia clapped her hands excitedly.
"Oh, this is going to be good."
The lights brightened over the rink.
"Please welcome..."
"...Crescent Academy!"
Green jerseys emerged from the tunnel in perfect order.
Noah Whitmore skated near the front—not leading because he demanded attention, but because the rest of the team naturally moved with him.
Calm, disciplined and together.
A ripple of applause followed them onto the ice.
"And now..."
The announcer paused just long enough for the anticipation to build.
"...Western Helms Academy!"
The arena erupted.
Blue jerseys burst through the opposite tunnel.
The sound around me became almost deafening.
I found Ryder immediately.
He raised his stick briefly toward the Western Helms supporters before gliding toward center ice.
Across the red line...
Noah did the same.
The referee skated between them, the puck resting in his palm.
Both captains lowered themselves into position.
Their sticks hovered over the ice.
One represented everything Western Helms had fought through.
The other represented everything standing in their way.
The referee glanced at them.
"You both set?"
Two quiet nods.
The arena held its breath.
My fingers tightened around my camera.
I didn't even realize I'd stopped breathing.
The referee released the puck.
It struck the ice with a sharp crack.
The semifinal had begun.