The gym thumped with Saturday energy—sneakers squeaking, whistles echoing, bleachers roaring. Oakridge vs. Ridgehall. A rivalry everyone loved… and feared.
Aarvin tightened his shoe straps, the weight in his chest heavier than the ball in his hands. Not fear—expectation.
Liam nudged him. "Relax, bro. Just play."
John cracked his knuckles. "I wanna see what you can really do out there."
Aarvin took a slow breath and stepped onto the court.
*The Match Begins*
Ridgehall came in fast—tall, sharp, annoyingly confident. Every Oakridge slip earned a smirk or a jab.
"Storm Boy! Lost your spark already?"
"Aww, careful, he might start crying like last year."
Aarvin ignored them—or tried. His game was solid—clean steals, solid D, sharp passes—but the scoreboard kept tilting against Oakridge.
"They're everywhere," Liam muttered. "Bro… we're drowning."
John stayed calm, jaw ticking each time Ridgehall mocked. When a player bumped Aarvin and laughed, "Gonna call your big brother Riyan for help?" John stepped forward, fury rising.
Aarvin pulled him back. "John. Let it go."
Ridgehall had already won that round—through words alone.
*The Fall*
By the final whistle Oakridge was down. Ridgehall cheered like kings; Oakridge didn't. Aarvin wiped sweat from his face, irritation simmering.
A Ridgehall player walked up and shoved his shoulder. "Where's that Storm Pack attitude now?"
Aarvin didn't react. John did. He grabbed the guy's jersey and pushed back. "Try that again."
The player sneered. "Or what, transfer boy?" and swung.
*The First Punch*
John ducked, then fired a clean punch that cracked the air. Two Ridgehall boys lunged at him. One aimed at John's back—he never reached him. Aarvin stepped in—fast, sharp—and punched the attacker square in the chest, knocking him back.
A gasp rippled through the gym. Chaos detonated.
*Two Battles, One War*
John vs. two players—controlled, calculated, trained. Every punch precise, every dodge smooth.
Aarvin vs. the starter—instinct, raw, dangerous. He tackled the kid to the ground, punching once, twice, three times. Players from both sides tried to pull him away. He didn't stop. Something inside him snapped open—something he didn't know existed. And it felt good.
Someone whispered, horrified: "…He fights like Riyan."
*The Voice That Stopped Him*
"AARVIN! STOP!" Nairi, backpack still on her shoulder, eyes wide.
Aarvin froze. John grabbed his shoulder. "That's enough, man. He's finished."
Aarvin pulled back, breath ragged, knuckles trembling. The Ridgehall boy on the floor looked terrified.
*The Aftermath*
Ridgehall's captain spat, "You're dead next time. All of you." They carried their injured teammates off, muttering threats.
Oakridge players stared at Aarvin—part awe, part fear. John stood beside him, silent, loyal, unshaken.
Nairi stepped closer, voice trembling. "What happened to you?"
Aarvin didn't know how to answer. Deep down… he knew something had changed. He wasn't the same boy who walked into the gym. He was something new—stronger, darker.
As the Storm Pack walked out—bruised, limping, but together—one thing was clear: this wasn't the end. It was the beginning of a much bigger storm.
* To be continued…