I'll Bet Everything on the First Years
Meanwhile.
Devon was cheering for the first-years, of course. Even so, a teacher couldn't openly take sides, could he...
No. Why not?
He wasn't a referee, for one thing. The first-years had reached out and asked for help, and if he felt like playing favorites, what was wrong with that?
If they don't like it, they can fire me.
Devon marched into the faculty office with his head high. It was Saturday; the place would be empty anyway. He could lounge over a copy of Queensman and wander out around kickoff. Simple.
But then.
"Huh?"
A shopping bag caught his eye. Wait. Was that Ultimate? And it was sitting square on his own desk, which meant...
Don't tell me that's mine.
Nobody was chasing him. Even so, he shot across the room like a leopard and snatched the bag. Inside, bold as anything, lay a rugby shirt custom-made in a full 4XL, and with it a note.
First public unveiling of the Ultimate × Guccio collaboration. Offered as the coach's share from the first-years. We would be more than grateful if you would wear it during the match.
Good heavens! They were providing the coach's own share!
Playing favorites was worth it!
Radiant, Devon flung off the clothes he was wearing and snatched up the rugby shirt at once.
"Ooh!"
The fit had always been lethal.
"How is this so soft?"
And the fabric was something else entirely. What kind of luxury was this, and all thanks to a bunch of kids? His grin was threatening to split his face when a murmur rose outside the office. A few knocks followed, and then people came pouring in.
"You're the rugby club's supervising teacher, aren't you?"
"The first- and second-year match has drawn enormous attention across the media. How are the students reacting?"
"Some are reading it as a clash between Grosvenor and Harris. Has there been trouble at the school as well?"
"How do you see today's match?"
Questions crashed over him. True to form, Devon answered only the one that stuck in his ear.
"If I have to put money on it, I'm betting my entire fortune on the first-years."
"I-is the gap in strength really that bad?"
Of course not.
Call it my entire fortune. It isn't even worth a few coins.
He'd just been handed Ultimate. A friendly little wager was the least he could do. Let's go!
"The first-years win. No question!"
Perhaps it was the breezy certainty of the forecast. Either way, the reporters set off their flashes all at once.
We'd gathered in the locker room early. We weren't an official rugby club, and we didn't strictly need a locker room at all.
Still, we've got to change.
Faber had set everything up ahead of time, so each locker held a large duffel.
"Don't tell me they're giving these to us."
"What, you think they'd hand them over and then take them back?"
"Even so, it's Guccio... they're just giving them away?"
"Didn't you see them buy out the London Times? If they were going to be stingy over a few bags, they'd have hung a couple of banners and called it a day. Why else take an entire front page?"
"Huh? There are clothes in here too."
The conversation ended there. Jack set the mood like a soldier on the eve of a war, and mouths closed of their own accord.
"Get changed. Now."
A moment later the team, newly dressed, gathered around me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Somewhere along the way I'd gotten used to it.
"There'll be a lot of cameras out there. The crowd's going to be huge."
None of that changed the plan.
"Don't get nervous. Just focus on the fact that we worked several times harder than they did."
"......"
"Trust the sweat you've already spilled. We can do this, right?"
It wasn't a question that needed an answer. I put my hand out first, and one by one my teammates' hands stacked over it. The moment Tennessee's came down last, I led them off.
"One, two!"
"Let's go!"
Their voices rose together.
Just before kickoff, on the ground. There were more cameras than yesterday, beyond any comparison.
"Go, first-years!"
"First-years, win!"
Cheers burst from every side. Carl paid them no mind. Cold-faced, he called his classmates in.
"If Park Jihoon gets the ball, you smash him. No exceptions."
"......!"
"I don't mean stop him from shining. I mean he doesn't walk off that field."
The words came out of him like jets of flame. If the match ended and Park Jihoon was still in one piece, the look on Carl's face said the rest of them could die in his place. That was when Ralph edged forward, very carefully.
"But... there are so many cameras..."
"Idiot!"
"......?"
"Isn't that your alibi?"
"A-an alibi?"
"Like you said, the cameras are everywhere. You just insist you would never foul on purpose."
It was sophistry, pure and simple.
"......"
When had Carl ever listened to anyone and withdrawn a decision of his own? Ralph had no choice but to nod along.
"Defense is one thing. What about the attack?"
"Why would we need an attacking tactic?"
"......?"
"You get the ball, you give it to me. I am the tactic. I am the strategy."
Right then the stands began to stir, and a moment later the shutters came down in a rush.
"Aaaaah!"
"Tennessee!"
The instant the first-years stepped onto the ground, the roar broke over them. Tch. Not content with Ultimate from head to toe, the bastards were carrying enormous bags as well.
"Tennessee, you're incredible!"
The star had arrived. While every eye fixed on Tennessee, Carl Bernstein's were busy hunting for Park Jihoon—the boy strolling along behind him as if none of this concerned him in the least. So all of this was your work, was it?
Fine. Today I break every last piece of it.
Teeth ground. Carl burned with the will to fight.
Once the match began, the Guccio stores would put the new Ultimate line on sale. Items pricier than a month's wages, fifty thousand units apiece. Selling them wouldn't be enough. We had to whip up a storm in the shortest possible time, until Guccio's shareholders got hearts in their eyes at the mere mention of Ultimate. For that alone—
We have to win, and win loud.
Motivation, locked in. I turned and looked back at Mr. Devon on the bench.
Dodge a collision and you're no student of mine!
As if I would. That aside, the rugby shirt he had on... they'd cut it absurdly large, and it still looked a little tight.
Has he put on even more muscle?
Tsk. I looked behind me. Tennessee was waiting for the whistle with a blank face, and when our eyes met he glanced away as if he had somewhere else to be.
Tennessee's got my back.
Which meant I could give everything to the attack. I was still settling that resolve when the referee called both captains, and Carl and I met at the center of the pitch.
"First-years kick off in the first half. Second-years take the second."
Carl wasn't listening. He started a staring contest, as if he'd climbed into a fighting ring.
"Minor fouls will be settled with a scrum. Rough play can earn you a two-minute send-off."
Even now he was provoking me with his eyes.
All show.
Once the rules were done, the referee handed me the ball.
"Positions."
He looked both ways and gave the ready signal.
Hoo.
Cameras swept from one side of the ground to the other. Then the whistle blew, and the match was on. I knocked the ball toward Leo, and the opposition rumbled in at once. They meant to crush our momentum from the opening seconds. Fair enough. But even Ralph, their key defender, was coming up?
Then what happens to the back?
Leo seemed to be thinking the same thing. A glance, and he checked my position first. In that same breath Ralph closed on him at a frightening speed. Once, Leo would have panicked and flung the ball anywhere. Not now. He burst out the opposite way, opened the distance, checked me once more, and released the ball at the perfect moment—a calm we couldn't have imagined a month ago. And he wasn't finished. He shot out to my other side, ready to take the return at any moment, so at least one defender had no choice but to peel off and mark him.
Thanks to that, I took the ball out wide, with a little room to breathe. Was I imagining it? The instant the ball was in my hands, their faces froze, eyes as grim as bomber pilots waiting for the order to launch.
"Stick to him!"
This time they came at me. No forward pass in it. They were coming with intent.
Dodge a collision and you're no student of mine!
I remembered what the teacher had said, and gladly charged into their ranks. From the first step I dropped one with a shoulder. The tackle that came flying next, I rode out easily, clamping down on his side and refusing to go. Two of them, neutralized in a blink.
A-are these really first-years?
What kind of freshmen are these?
Shock rose in their eyes. A little late for that. These were the same boys who had kicked the door in and shouted, demanding to know if I was Park Jihoon.
I remember every last one of you.
At once I shot into their half.
"Stop him!"
Ralph roared and came at me. An enormous frame. He was different, no question—but my training partners had been something else entirely. He committed the shoulder on purpose. Shoulder, they called it. It was closer to a body check. I staggered. Of course I did.
This much I can take.
I had my balance back at once, and the next tackle was already in the air. If both my feet had been off the ground, maybe. He was tackling me with both feet planted? Sure enough, the angle was wrong—above the waist. He meant to stop me even if it took a foul.
Not a chance.
I clamped the back of his neck, feinted a burst to the right, and flung him the other way. I was about to take off again when someone planted himself in front of me with a truly vicious face.
Carl Bernstein. Hostility poured off him in streams.
All of this is your fault!
His eyes seemed to say exactly that.
My life was fine until it started going wrong, and it's all because of you!
A killing intent sharp enough to raise the hair on my arms. In that moment I was certain. He wasn't here to defend. Sure enough, he came at me as if he meant to kill me. The target was my knee—more precisely, the cruciate ligament. So that was the game. I dropped the ball at once and took a long, planting stride. If he'd wanted the ball, this was the moment to rise and cut the pass off. Instead his eyes stayed locked on my knee, and he threw the tackle with everything he had. Assault, dressed as defense. I didn't give ground. I set the ball on my instep with full intent.
You were born with quite a lot, weren't you?
A kick driven on the ankle strength even Steve had acknowledged. Astonishingly, the ball flew straight at Carl as he charged my knee.
"......!"
And it struck him dead on.