"Catch him!"
The words felt as though someone besides Devon had also caught up to me.
But I didn't let them distract me.
The footsteps behind me still had a sense of leisure to them.
When I didn't panic,
"Oh ho, not bad," a glimmer of curiosity flickered in my opponent's eyes.
I pretended to glance left, as if I were about to pass the ball.
Whoosh—Bang!
Then I darted in the opposite direction.
This alone wouldn't fool a national defender.
So…
Swish.
At the exact moment I should have been sprinting forward,
Whip.
I changed direction again.
It was my attempt at a psychological play, but it was no use.
My opponent's balance shifted with the agility of a wild animal.
Watching that massive frame adjust its center of gravity like a feline predator was unreal.
"Hand over the ball."
"…"
"If I tackle you, you'll get hurt."
I feigned passing the ball and prepared to run again, but—
"Where do you think you're going?"
I was immediately caught by the scruff of my neck.
'Ugh.'
This wasn't a size gap I could overcome through effort alone.
You know how it is—like when I sparred with that Korean university professor during wrestling practice.
Locking arms with him gave me exactly the same feeling.
The kind of feeling where you're certain, even if you were reborn a hundred times, you wouldn't stand a chance against him.
'But that doesn't have to be a bad thing.'
Sure, fighting a monster like that would be hopeless, but if you had him as your mentor?
'You couldn't ask for a better ally.'
Athletes like him—fiery, straightforward, without grudges, and incredibly loyal— are simply the best.
I was lost in thought when—
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Devon's deep voice yanked me back to reality.
"What are you doing, zoning out in the middle of a match?"
"Because your clothes look nice."
The words slipped out without much thought.
"What did you say?"
"I said your clothes look nice."
"They're expensive."
It was a long-sleeve T-shirt from Ultimate.
The original price was pretty standard, but judging by his comment, he must've bought it as a resale at a higher price.
Anyway!
We didn't score a single point until the match ended.
Sure, Devon's individual skills were outstanding, but—
"Wait! Don't rush forward! Watch it all the way through! Now! What are you doing? I said now!"
Even with simple commands like that, the team's defense completely transformed.
'So, that's how it is, huh?'
A little later.
Just as the bell signaling break time rang out.
The students quickly gathered in the field and gave the teacher a big bow.
Devon responded with a light nod.
As everyone scrambled off the field, drenched in sweat, and headed toward the classroom to change,
"Sir."
"…?"
My call made Devon glance over.
Maybe because of his massive trapezius muscles, just turning his head didn't seem to give him a full view.
He had to turn his entire upper body in a semicircle to find me.
"You again?"
"Could I have a quick word with you?"
"If you need a consultation, go find your class teacher. Why come to me?"
"It's related to physical education."
"Then use class time for it, kid."
His expression said he'd rather use his break time to relax.
But then, as if remembering he didn't have another class to teach, his expression softened.
"Will it take long?"
"No."
"Then let's do it over there."
Devon gestured toward a bench in front of the café.
"Do you drink coffee?"
"Will you buy me one?"
"Do you expect me to mooch off you?"
Devon soon came back with two cups of coffee.
The bench, shaded by a large tree, had a stylish charm about it.
Perhaps that's why—
"This kind of spot is perfect for a date."
Devon downed his coffee in big gulps, as if he were trying to calm his nerves.
"What do you want to say?"
I asked him about the selection match for the inter-grade representative team.
I wanted to know if it violated any regulations and what his stance was as the rugby team's supervising teacher.
But what came next was unexpected.
"So, you want to use the sacred sport of rugby as a tool for revenge, huh?"
"…!"
"How do you expect to form a team with those guys who bully freshmen and call them over just to teach them a lesson? You just want to crush them, right? Isn't that it?"
What could I do?
I had no choice but to nod obediently.
"That's the revenge you're dreaming of?"
"Yes."
"So in the end, rugby is being used as a tool for your revenge?"
"That's right."
"You're awfully honest, aren't you?"
"…"
"No wonder you're the type who lifts benches with brute strength."
I had no idea why he suddenly brought up bench presses, but at least his expression softened at this point.
Still, I couldn't afford to let my guard down.
I met his gaze calmly.
"Watching revenge unfold is fun and all. I don't oppose it. But do you really think it's possible?"
Devon furrowed his brow and continued.
"You think knocking down a couple of second-years makes them think you're a threat? Rugby's a whole different ballgame. The captain's practically at a professional level… and the vice-captain? He's as big as me. Plus, they've built solid teamwork over the past year. Do you seriously think a bunch of freshmen can pull off a coup?"
He shook his head, as if doubtful.
"Forget revenge. All you'll get is a whole lot of frustration."
"That's why I came to you."
Devon attempted to cross his legs but quickly gave up, likely due to his bulky muscles, and settled for spreading them wide instead.
"And what do you want from me?"
"I want personal coaching."
"What kind of coaching?"
"Rugby, of course."
No sooner had I answered than Devon frowned.
"Why should I?"
"Does a teacher need a reason to teach their student?"
"Since when were we close enough for that kind of relationship?"
"You're my teacher, aren't you?"
Devon didn't back down.
"I'm only your teacher when I'm on school grounds. After I clock out? Do you still think I'm your teacher then? If I were to offer personal coaching, it would typically have to happen after school."
But that's during his off-hours, so he's technically not a teacher then?
'Makes sense.'
Still, it's not like I'm someone who backs down so easily.
"A student is seeking guidance. If you send me away like this, it'll leave you feeling unsettled too, won't it?"
"What's with you? I'm someone without a shred of pity or compassion."
"Don't say that. Why not give it a try just once? Nothing more, nothing less—just one session. For all you know, I might drop out halfway through."
I tossed out the bait casually.
And as expected, Devon's ears perked up.
He must've thought, This kid's going to keep pestering me anyway. Might as well push him hard enough to make him quit on his own.
"Is it just you?"
"Sorry?"
"You're the only one who wants to learn?"
"Jack too. Jack 'Tiger' Grills."
"That guy's a troublemaker, isn't he?"
I had no good response to that, so I just scratched my head awkwardly.
***
Meanwhile.
The moment the Ultimate x Gucci collaboration was confirmed, Faber immediately flew to New York.
He left all the marketing in the hands of the company's CEO.
His focus was solely on fashion.
Yes, fashion.
If it was just to watch a rugby match, staying in England would've been the smarter choice a hundred times over.
But to explore rugby-inspired fashion items, heading to the epicenter of style was the right call.
He spent the entire day traversing renowned shopping streets.
It seemed like he inspected nearly every rugby-themed item in New York.
Was it because this was America?
The designs had shed much of their aristocratic elements, emphasizing practicality instead.
'I actually like it better this way.'
It was the complete opposite of England, making him feel the trip was well worth the effort.
With that, today's schedule was complete.
'Starting tomorrow, I'll delve into luxury fashion.'
Faber quickly pulled out his notebook.
Let's see.
He had an appointment in the afternoon.
Where was it again?
Thankfully, it wasn't far.
Though it was a dinner meeting with someone he'd never met before, which felt slightly awkward.
But the person was essentially the CEO's right-hand man.
Not to mention, he was also an art professor at Korea's most prestigious university.
It seemed like they'd manage to communicate well enough.
As Faber steadily made his way forward, he caught sight of an Asian man in a beige coat from a distance.
Sure enough, the man seemed to have spotted Faber too, striding toward him confidently.
"Professor Jo So-deok?"
"James Faber."
"Pleased to meet you."
When Faber bowed his head slightly, Jo So-deok returned the gesture and added,
"I spent ages looking for you back then."
"I heard as much. And then you met Lukash…"
"Well, at least we've met like this now, haven't we? That's something to be thankful for."
After cracking a lighthearted joke, Jo So-deok continued,
"Since you've come all the way to New York, I'd like to treat you to something."
Usually, that's the kind of thing someone with strong ties to New York would say, right?
But Jo So-deok was supposedly a Seoul native, whereas Faber had lived in New York for years.
Still, Jo So-deok seemed to think differently.
"I might as well be a New York local. I've explored practically every corner and alley here."
"Were you searching for me the whole time?"
"Let's bury those painful memories, shall we?"
"…"
"Today, I'll treat you to the full course."
"A full course?"
"You're in New York—it's only proper to offer the full experience."
At Jo So-deok's words, Faber gave an awkward smile.
***
After School, at the School Field.
As promised, I brought Jack along.
Devon, perhaps because this felt like unpaid overtime, wore a rather annoyed expression.
"You know the rules, right?"
"Yes!" Jack answered confidently, while I merely gave a subtle nod.
"What's wrong? Don't know the rules?"
Even if I did, I feigned ignorance.
Why?
Because when explaining the rules, it's inevitable that a person's philosophy and understanding of the sport reveal themselves.
In other words, it was a chance to learn how Devon viewed rugby.
How could I let that slip by?
"If you don't even know the rules, how did you play earlier?"
"Well, someone told me to just run, so I grabbed the ball and ran for it. That's all there was to it."
"You've got a long way to go, kid."
Devon thumped his chest like a gorilla.
"Listen carefully. Rugby is a forward-looking sport."
"…"
"American football allows forward passes, right? But rugby doesn't. If you want to move forward, you have to do it on your own two feet. Got it?"
See? He's explaining it effortlessly now.
"Whether you're fast, you hold your ground in a physical fight, or you call for teammates, the goal is always to advance the ball. Nothing else matters—just keep moving forward."
At first, he sounded annoyed, but as he spoke, his voice grew louder and more passionate.
"For beginners, speed feels like everything. But eventually, you hit a wall. No matter how fast an attacker is, the defense is waiting. They can reach out with their arms or throw their bodies at you."
Speed isn't everything?
Devon's eyes lit up, as if to say, Now we're getting to the real deal.
"Now, how about physical contests? It's like close-quarters combat in a war. Slow, but the most reliable way to advance. In other words, you crush your opponents with sheer size and strength!"
"So the essence of rugby is physical confrontation?"
"Of course! Head-on clashes! In-fighting!"
As if to prove his point, Devon shrugged off his jacket.
"I'm going to move forward. Try to take me down."
"Excuse me?"
"Do whatever it takes to stop me."
He wanted to demonstrate how effective advancing through physical force could be.
Taking on someone who got a rugby scholarship and was scouted for the NFL draft?
"What an honor!"
"It's only an honor if you actually manage to stop me, kid."
As soon as the words left his mouth—
Whoosh!
I launched myself at Devon without hesitation.