Chapter Text
The locker room carried the familiar scent of freshly sharpened skates, rubber mats, damp gear, and the cool air drifting through the half-open window. From the speakers hanging in the corner, a rock playlist played softly, its music constantly drowned out by the clatter of sticks leaning against benches and the metallic rattle of protective gear.
The morning was only just beginning to wake up, but the university team had been on its feet for quite some time already. Someone tossed a towel across the room. Someone else muttered a curse under his breath while searching for his missing glove.
Laughter blended with casual conversations about last night’s NBA game, exams, and the party that had gone on far later than it should have.
Amid all the commotion, one person remained perfectly composed.
Chris Redfield sat in his usual spot with his head slightly lowered, methodically fastening one strap of his protective gear after another. Every movement came from habit. No rush. No unnecessary motions. He was always the first to arrive for practice, and usually the last to leave the rink.
The captain’s patch on his navy jersey spoke for itself. He never had to raise his voice. He never had to remind anyone about discipline. One look from him was enough. That was why the team respected him. And, at times, feared him just a little.
Piers Nivans, sitting beside him, stretched lazily.
“Looking like you’re heading off to war instead of practice.”
Chris didn’t even look up.
“Practice can be lost, too.”
“And that’s exactly why nobody invites you to karaoke.”
A few of the guys burst into laughter.
Chris let out a quiet sigh.
“Got your mouthguard?”
“I do.”
“Skates sharpened?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop talking.”
Piers merely shook his head, amused.
“Told you. Zero sense of humor.”
“I have a sense of humor.”
“Funny. Haven’t seen it in two years.”
Chris gave him a cool glance.
“That’s because you weren’t looking.”
This time, even he caught a few smiles. For the briefest second, the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly before settling back into its usual neutral expression.
The locker room door opened with its familiar creak.
The conversations died away. Coach Reynolds stepped inside, a folder containing the day’s practice plan tucked beneath his arm. Someone else stood behind him.
A tall blond man wearing a dark university hoodie and a sports bag slung over one shoulder.
He didn’t look nervous.
Quite the opposite.
He stood straight, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his expression calm, as though he’d been through situations like this dozens of times before.
His pale blue eyes slowly swept across the room. They lingered on no one in particular. He was simply taking everything in.
Chris did exactly the same. One glance. That was all it took. New guy.
The coach cleared his throat.
“All right, gentlemen. Quiet for a moment.”
The last whispers faded.
“This is Leon Kennedy.”
Several players nodded.
Someone casually called out, hey.
Leon answered with a polite smile.
“He transferred here from another university. If you’ve been following the college league, you’ve probably heard his name.”
A few quiet murmurs spread through the locker room.
“He was one of the best players on his previous team. Outstanding forward. Great vision on the ice. Fast. Efficient. I’m expecting him to fit into our system quickly.”
Silence settled over the room for a moment.
Leon, however, didn’t look like a man embarrassed by praise.
“It’s good to meet you all.”
His voice was calm. Neither overly confident nor burdened with false modesty.
“I hope we’ll play well together.”
Chris watched him without a word. A new player. A big name. High expectations.
That combination was never an easy one.
“Chris.”
The coach turned toward his captain.
“Make sure Leon gets everything he needs.”
Chris rose to his feet. He stood slightly taller than Leon and was noticeably broader. Years of relentless training had left their mark on his physique.
He stepped forward.
“Chris Redfield.”
Leon extended his hand.
“Leon Kennedy.”
Their handshake was firm. Neither man was trying to prove anything. Yet neither intended to give an inch. For a brief moment, they looked each other straight in the eye.
Chris was the first to let go.
“Your locker’s over there.”
He gestured toward an empty spot near the end of the room.
“Your gear should already be waiting.”
“Thanks.”
Leon headed in that direction. A few of the guys immediately struck up a conversation with him, introducing themselves one after another. He answered them easily, connecting with them as naturally as breathing. He wasn’t trying to be the center of attention. He simply wasn’t the sort of person who seemed uncomfortable anywhere.
Chris returned to his seat.
“What do you think?” Piers asked quietly.
“Nothing.”
“Sure.”
Chris fastened the final strap of his shoulder pads.
“We’ll see on the ice.”
To him, statistics were only numbers. Names didn’t win games. Neither did expert opinions.
The only thing that mattered was what a player could do once the puck touched the ice. Everything else was just noise.
A few minutes later, the entire team was ready. Skates struck the rubber flooring in steady rhythm. Sticks rested across shoulders. Helmets settled onto heads.
Coach Reynolds looked at each player in turn.
“Today we’re starting with high-intensity skating and small-area games. I want to see speed. I want to see communication. And I want to see whether you know how to think as a team.”
His gaze settled on Leon.
“That goes for you too.”
Leon nodded.
“Understood.”
They headed toward the door. The captain walked first. The rest of the team followed behind him.
Leon brought up the rear. For a brief moment, his eyes settled on Chris’s broad back.
The captain never looked back once. He didn’t seem like a man interested in getting to know new people. He looked like someone who expected only one thing.
For everyone to earn their place.
The doors leading from the tunnel onto the ice opened with a soft hiss. Cold air immediately washed over the players’ faces, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of freshly resurfaced ice. A delicate mist hovered above the rink, sliced apart by the blades of the first skaters who had stepped onto the ice for warmups.
Chris Redfield was the first onto the ice.
He pushed hard away from the boards and cut across the rink in one smooth motion. His skating was confident, efficient, and stripped of every unnecessary movement. Every stride had purpose. Every turn looked as though it came by instinct.
The rest of the players followed behind him.
Leon Kennedy stepped onto the ice a moment later. It took only a few strides for him to draw attention. He moved differently. Lighter. Faster.
His control over his center of gravity was exceptional, and the puck seemed glued to the blade of his stick.
Several players exchanged glances.
“Not bad…” someone muttered under his breath.
Chris heard the remark but said nothing. He watched. Simply watched.
Coach Reynolds blew his whistle.
“Warmup! Two minutes! Then we move on to passing drills!”
The players spread out across the ice. Pucks began hopping from stick to stick. The metallic scrape of skate blades echoed through the empty stands.
Claire Redfield sat in one of the higher rows.
She leaned her elbows against the railing, sipping hot coffee from a paper cup. She watched her brother with a faint smile. She knew him far too well. Even an ordinary practice was something he treated like the championship final.
“Some things never change…” she murmured to herself.
Her attention shifted to the new player.
Leon. The coach had mentioned him even before the season had started. Talent. Speed. A natural goal scorer’s instinct. It certainly sounded impressive.
A few minutes later, Reynolds blew his whistle again.
“All right! Small-area game! Three-on-three! I want movement without the puck and teamwork! I don’t care about individual showboating!”
Several players nodded.
Chris lined up with two teammates on the left side. Leon ended up on the opposing unit.
The whistle sounded.
Play began.
The puck found Leon almost instantly.
He received it softly. One deke. Then another. He slipped past the first defender. Then the second.
Instead of passing to his unmarked teammate, he forced his way between two defensemen. The puck ricocheted off their sticks. He kept control. One more deke. A shot.
The post rang loudly.
“Keep moving! Reset!” the coach shouted.
Chris said nothing.
The drill started again.
Leon once more.
The same pattern.
His teammate waited wide open on the left.
No pass.
Another was completely uncovered.
Leon didn’t even look at him.
He tried to do it all himself.
This time, he lost the puck.
“Damn it…” one of his wingers hissed.
Chris frowned. Not because Leon had made a mistake. Everyone made mistakes. The problem was that he hadn’t even tried to trust his teammates.
The coach noticed it too.
“Kennedy!”
Leon turned his head.
“What did I just say?”
“Team play.”
“Exactly.”
“Got it.”
Another whistle.
The drill restarted for a third time.
Leon received the pass. Chris immediately skated toward him. He didn’t pressure him aggressively. He wanted to see. To find out whether the new player had learned anything.
He hadn’t.
Leon lowered his shoulder again, accelerated, and tried to beat everyone by himself. Chris cut off his lane. Leon shifted the other way, slipping past him by inches. Another deke. Another solo rush.
“Pass it!” one of his teammates shouted.
Leon never even lifted his head.
Chris clenched his jaw. There was no anger in his eyes. Only disappointment.
The captain couldn’t stand selfishness on the ice. Talent mattered. Skill mattered too. But the team always came before the individual.
The next rush.
Leon recovered the puck once again. Chris saw everything. The open player on the right. Another waiting along the boards. The perfect chance to move the puck.
Leon chose the hardest option.
Alone.
“Seriously?” Piers muttered.
Chris moved.
This time without hesitation.
Leon tried to cut through the middle of the ice. Their paths crossed almost perfectly.
Chris drove his shoulder into him. It looked like an ordinary battle for position. Hard. Physical.
But the hit carried enough force.
Leon lost his balance.
His skates flew out from under him.
He slammed onto his back with a heavy crash.
The puck skipped several yards away.
Silence fell across the ice.
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“Chris…”
She knew that move. It looked accidental. It was anything but.
For a second, Leon remained flat on the ice, staring up at the arena ceiling.
Then he slowly sat up.
His eyes found Chris.
The captain had stopped several yards away.
“Get up.”
His voice was calm.
Almost cold.
Leon got to his feet.
“That was a solid hit.”
“This is hockey.”
“Right.”
Chris took one step closer.
“You know what else is hockey?”
Leon didn’t answer.
“Passing.”
Several players looked away. Piers let out a quiet sigh.
This was going to end badly.