Poor, stupid, beaten Derek—still sporting his black eye and split lip, still grinning like an idiot because he thought Phei was his savior, still completely oblivious to the trap closing around him.
"Derek," Phei called, his voice warm and friendly through the microphone—the kind of warm that ca right before the knife. "You’re with , right? Buddy?"
The auditorium went quiet.
Derek’s grin froze.
Everyone was looking at him now. Two thousand pairs of eyes, waiting to see how the forr mber of the Unholy Trinity would respond to being publicly claid by the boy his friends had tornted for a decade.
Phei watched the calculation happen in real-ti.
Derek thinking: He promised to help . He has dirt on Brett and Anderson. He’s my only way out.
Derek thinking: If I say no, I’m alone. If I say yes, I’m on his team.
Derek thinking: He called buddy. In front of everyone. That ans sothing, right?
God, Phei thought with vicious satisfaction, so people really are too stupid to save—the kind of stupid that co with a lifeti supply of denial and a side of self-inflicted wounds.
Derek’s grin returned—wider now, more confident, the grin of a man who’d just convinced himself the rope around his neck was actually a friendship bracelet.
"Hell yeah!" Derek shouted—voice cracking like cheap porcelain. "Let’s do this!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Surprised. Confused. Interested.
The charity case and the Legacy? Teaming up against the golden boys?
This was better than any drama the academy had produced in years—and Paradise produced drama like it was going out of style.
But Phei wasn’t done.
"I need one more," he said, scanning the crowd again—slow, deliberate, like a predator choosing which limb to bite first. "Anyone brave enough to—"
"I’ll do it."
A boy stood from the substitute section.
Landon? Phei recognized him—talented player, worked hard, never got a real chance because his family na wasn’t prestigious enough.He’s been warming the bench for two years while less skilled Legacy kids took the spots he deserved—
The injustice tasted like ash until soone finally lit the match.
"I’d be honored to join your team," Landon said, chin lifted, voice steady despite the obvious nerves—nerves that made him human, and therefore dangerous.
Phei nodded at him. "Okay, buddy."
Two words. Casual. Almost dismissive.
But Landon’s face lit up like he’d just been knighted—like he’d finally been seen by the only person whose opinion mattered.
While making a harem, Phei thought, why not create loyal shadows too?
He turned to Coach Reyes—let his gaze linger just a mont too long, let his smile soften into sothing almost intimate—the kind of intimate that made professional won forget their clipboards and rember their pulse.
"Coach," he said, and his voice dropped half an octave, beca sothing private even though the microphone carried it everywhere—like a secret whispered in the dark that everyone got to overhear. "I look forward to showing you what I can do."
Reyes’s blush spread from her neck to her cheeks—professionalism taking a sudden, humiliating vacation. She looked away, suddenly very interested in her clipboard—probably wondering if it could hide the way her thighs had just clenched.
The female students noticed.
The male students noticed them noticing.
The temperature in the auditorium seed to rise several degrees—like soone had turned up the heat and forgotten to warn the fire departnt.
Ashworth cleared his throat—the sound of an old man rembering he was supposed to be in charge.
"Then it’s decided." His voice cut through the tension like a knife—though the knife was getting dull. "Tomorrow afternoon. Phei Maxton, Derek Holloway, and Landon Hayes versus the starting five."
A pause. His eyes glead—with sothing that looked suspiciously like bloodlust wrapped in academic curiosity.
"But let’s make this interesting, shall we?"
Sothing in his tone made Phei’s instincts prickle—the prickle of a predator realizing the trap might have teeth on both sides.
"If Mr. Maxton’s performance fails to live up to his... considerable claims—" Ashworth’s thin smile sharpened—like a shark realizing the chum was actually bait. "—he will be suspended for wasting the academy’s ti and causing unnecessary disruption."
On the stage, Marcus smiled—slow, perfect, the smile of a king who knew the peasants were about to learn their place.
In the front row, Danton smiled—vicious, relieved.
Brett and Anderson exchanged looks of vicious satisfaction—like hyenas who’d just realized the lion was limping.
Landon’s eager expression faltered. His smile faded as the implications sank in—like a man who’d just realized the rope was around his neck too.
"And of course," Ashworth continued, almost casually—the casual of a man dropping bombs for fun, "his two teammates will share the sa fate. Suspension. Imdiate. Legacy or not."
The auditorium buzzed with whispers—shocked, delighted, terrified.
Derek’s face went pale—the pale of a man realizing the lifeboat had holes.
Landon looked like he might be sick—or bolt, or both.
Ashworth turned to them with mock concern—the kind of concern that ca with a side of schadenfreude. "If either of you wishes to withdraw, now would be the ti. No sha in reconsidering when the stakes are so... personal."
Danton turned in his seat.
His eyes found Derek—locked onto him with an intensity that spoke of years of friendship, of shared secrets, of leverage that went both ways—
Your last chance, that look said. Co back to us. Abandon him. You know which side wins.
Derek wavered.
His confidence crumbled visibly, like a sandcastle eting the tide—or like a coward eting consequences. His gaze darted between Danton and Phei, between his old allies and his supposed new one, between safety and risk—between the devil he knew and the dragon he’d just poked.
"I..." Derek’s voice cracked—like cheap porcelain under too much pressure. "I withdraw."
The reaction was instantaneous.
"BOOOOOO!"
The sound erupted from dozens of throats—students who’d been chanting Phei’s na monts ago now turning their collective disdain on Derek like a weapon—sharp, rciless, disdain that left scars.
"Pussy!"
"Coward!"
"Fucking traitor!"
"Can’t even stand by his own word!"
Derek flinched like he’d been slapped—repeatedly, by everyone he’d ever wronged. His face went red, then white, then a sickly grey-green as the reality of his situation crashed over him—like a wave he couldn’t swim.
This wasn’t normal.
Main Legacies didn’t get booed. Didn’t get called out. Didn’t face public humiliation from regular students—this humiliation stuck like tar.
But Derek wasn’t really a Main Legacy anymore, was he? He’d been beaten by his own friends. Abandoned by his own circle. And now he’d publicly aligned himself with Phei only to publicly abandon him—
The crowd slled blood.
And they weren’t feeling rciful.
Phei watched it happen with distant satisfaction.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Derek would never recover from this. Even if Renee’s article didn’t destroy him, even if the evidence against Brett and Anderson didn’t drag him down with them—this mont would follow him forever. The mont he’d shown everyone exactly what he was made of.
Nothing.
Ashworth raised his hand for silence.
"Well then. Mr. Hayes, I assu you also wish to—"
"I’ll join."
A new voice. Deep.Confident.
Everyone turned.
Brian stood from his seat among the starting team.
Six-foot-four. Built like a tank—the tank who could run through walls and apologize later. The only non-Legacy player on the main roster, and arguably the most naturally talented athlete Ashford had ever produced on the current team.
He’d earned his spot through sheer, undeniable skill—the kind that even nepotism couldn’t ignore.
And now he was walking toward the stage.
"I’ll join Phei’s team," Brian repeated, his voice carrying easily through the stunned silence—like a man who’d just decided the rules no longer applied to him.
The auditorium held its breath.
Even Phei felt surprise flicker across his face—genuine surprise, not perford. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t planned for it. Brian was a known quantity, a reliable player, soone who’d spent years working within the system to earn his place.
Why would he throw that away?
Ashworth’s eyebrows rose. "Mr. Thompson. You understand what you’re offering? If Mr. Maxton’s team loses, you’ll be suspended. And dismissed from the starting roster."
"I understand."
"You’ve worked years for your position."
"I have."
"And you’re willing to risk it all on—" Ashworth gestured at Phei with sothing almost like incredulity—or admiration disguised as disbelief. "—this?"
Brian’s dark eyes found Phei’s.
Sothing passed between them—not friendship, not exactly, but recognition. The recognition of two people who’d clawed their way up from nothing.
Who knew what it ant to be judged by your na instead of your skill. Who understood that sotis, you had to bet everything on a single hand—and that the house always cheated until soone called its bluff.
"I’ve watched the team for three years," Brian said slowly—voice steady, but carrying the weight of years of swallowed resentnt. "Watched talented players get passed over because their families weren’t important enough. Watched diocre players get starting positions because their daddies donated a new gym."
His jaw tightened—like he was biting back years of silence. "I’m tired of it. And if there’s even a chance that this—" He nodded toward Phei. "—changes things? Yeah. I’m in."
Silence.
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