Chapter 1 1: The Triumph & The Freeze
The room was filled with soft moans and deep groans as the young man thrust his hips hard and fast into the red-haired young woman beneath him.
"Baby... yes, faster..." The woman's cry of pleasure increased with every thrust until she fell apart.
Baby groaned as he spilt his release into the condom, breathing hard.
In the next second, he pulled away, ripping off the condom in a quick motion and dressing himself up hastily.
The woman sat up, "Baby, you always do this... can't we cuddle for once?" She asked, eyeing him suggestively.
"Gotta run, Candy. I've got a match, can't stay, you know the drill," he winked at her as he fixed up the last button of his shirt.
Candy sighed, "Then, good luck."
"I'm the luck, sweetie. See you later," Baby winked and hurried out of Candy's dormitory room, rushing straight to the boys' vip dormitory to get ready for his match.
___
The clock read 1:12 left in the third period. The score was tied 3-3, and the energy in the arena felt less like air and more like concrete. Baby, his face slick with sweat under the warm, reddish stadium lights, coiled at the top of the defensive circle.
His rival, wearing the blue of the opposing team, had just finished a brutal shift.
Exhaustion was etched on Baby's face, though his intense blue eyes never left the puck.
The opposing defenseman dumped the puck weakly toward the boards. That was the window.
Baby exploded.
He beat the defensive forward to the loose puck, using a burst of speed that seemed to drain the last bit of sound from the crowd. He angled wide, driving straight up the wall, carrying the puck on the edge of his stick blade. He was a red blur against the white ice.
He surged over the centre red line, crossing the invisible dividing line between safety and offence. He drove straight for the defender, executing a lightning-quick toe-drag that made the defenseman lunge and miss. The path was open.
In a move that defined his arrogance and skill, Baby didn't waste a shot. He didn't even look at the net. He carried the puck right to the attacking blue line, and with a final, smooth push, he forged into the offensive zone, beating the last defenseman who couldn't pivot fast enough to cover.
Now, it was just him and the goalie.
Baby didn't shoot high or pick a corner. He held the puck an extra beat, drawing the goalie out just enough, then flicked a perfect, low shot. The vulcanised rubber puck slid like a whisper, skimming the bottom of the ice and rattling off the inside of the post—a ping! Swallowed by a roar—before nestling deep in the net.
The siren blared, stopping the clock at 0:58.
Goal. Game-Winner.
The arena erupted. The sound was a physical thing, and the lights, normally diffused, felt focused entirely on the Captain in red. He raised his stick high, not in humility, but in proud defiance.
The crowd started chanting: "BA-BY! BA-BY! BA-BY!"
He ignored the celebratory chaos of his own teammates, who were piling up near the net. Instead, Baby skated directly toward the penalty box side of the ice. He located his rival instantly—the blue-light player leaning on his stick, head down, utterly defeated.
Baby stopped a few feet away, straightened his posture, and posed: chest out, chin high, accepting the adoration of the crowd that was now at its fever pitch. It was a victory lap meant only for one person's eyes.
With the chanting still echoing through the rafters, he nodded once, a gesture of absolute finality, then turned and skated off the ice. The heavy, insulated door to the tunnel swung open for him, and Baby walked straight into the private silence of the locker room, having delivered another win, another star-making moment, exactly as expected.
He was ready to leave the school and head to the club where he played a different type of game. A game that involved the hearts of desperate, willing girls.
However, the moment Baby stepped into the locker room, his euphoric feeling was soon stumped by the presence of none other than his sworn rival from the neighbouring college: The captain of Eastvale Academy.
Tall, broad shoulders, disturbing steel-grey eyes, sharp jaws, short dark hair, and an annoyingly handsome resting devil face.
Saint Kross, the only person who had ties to the number of wins and losses with Baby, and so far, Baby's one true enemy, not just on the ice, politically, too. Their parents were sworn rivals in politics, never supporting the same goal.
Baby was used to being worshipped, respected, and even feared, but somehow, Saint had proved to be the only person who didn't bow to him.
Saint's calm pride and subtle arrogance had a way of grating Baby's nerves in a way no one, and nothing could ever do.
He was everything Baby wasn't: calm, clean records, and his parents even loved him.
Slowly, Baby walked over to the icy king and lifted his head to stare him right in the eyes.
"You have trespassed, Saint. And how happy I am that you did..." he stepped closer, a slow smirk spreading across his lips as he did.
"You know the rules, only teammates allowed in the locker room..." he chuckled, his hand tightening around his stick as he tried to hold himself back from testing his punching skills on Saint's unsmiling face.
'You think you're all high and mighty, you have just walked into your demise.' Baby's malicious thought echoed in his head.
The penalty for an outsider who entered a team's locker room was unforgiving, not to mention a rival! He believed this was his opportunity to crush the perfect Saint Kross.
"I'll be merciful, leave now before I call you in and you lose the right to ever setting your foot on the ice again –"
"Ah, I see you have met your co-captain, Baby," Coach Nickel, an average man in his mid-thirties. He wore grey sweatpants and a white top as he walked into the locker room, an unopened bottle of water in his hand.
Baby froze, blood draining from his face, "What?!" He bellowed and immediately snapped his face toward Nickel, "This is a prank, right, coach?" He asked, his hands balling into hard fists.
Nickel walked over to Baby and gently patted his shoulder, "Some decisions have been made, Baby." He spoke in a resigned tone, nodding at Baby, "You will be working with Saint from now on." He informed.
"Hello, Baby," Saint's smooth and deep baritone suddenly sounded behind a raging Baby.