The games started in full swing.
The field was noisy and alive, filled with cheers, whistles, and the sharp voice of coaches calling out instructions. Minor games like relay races and short drills went first, warming up the crowd and building excitement. Students from different schools filled the stands, waving banners and shouting names.
Liam stood with the other athletes, stretching quietly. His jaw was tight. His hands kept clenching and unclenching at his sides. It was strange—this nervousness. Liam Adrien was never nervous before a game. Confidence used to come to him as easily as breathing. But today, his chest felt tight, and his thoughts were messy.
The first event he would take part in was sprinting.
Mr. Collins pulled him aside along with Henry, another sprinter from Golden Crest.
"Do your best," the coach said firmly. "You're representing the school. Don't bring our name down."
Liam nodded once. Henry nodded too, looking pumped and ready.
There were ten sprinters in total, two from each of the five schools—including Golden Crest and Willows Hill. When they lined up on the track, Liam could feel eyes on him. Some students whispered his name. Some remembered him from his days at Willows Hill.
The whistle blew.
Liam shot forward like an arrow.
At first, everything felt familiar. His legs moved on instinct, his breathing steady, his body cutting through the air. As usual, he took the lead quickly. The distance between him and the others grew, and for a brief moment, he felt like himself again.
Then it happened.
As he reached a certain spot on the track, his foot landed wrong.
His body tilted, balance lost—and he fell hard onto the ground.
Gasps rose from the stands.
One by one, his opponents ran past him. Shoes thudded against the track. For a split second, the world felt silent in Liam's ears.
But he didn't stay down.
He pushed himself up immediately, ignoring the sharp sting in his ankle. His teeth clenched as he forced his legs to move again. Rage, pride, and sheer willpower drove him forward.
He ran.
He ran like he had something to prove.
Slowly—then quickly—he caught up with the others. One runner. Then another. By the time he crossed the finish line, he came in second place, just behind a boy from a boys-only school who took first.
Cheers still erupted.
Liam bent slightly, hands on his knees, breathing hard. His left ankle ached, but he brushed it off. It wasn't serious. At least, that's what he told himself.
The next event was high jump.
This was where Liam truly shined.
Round after round, he cleared the bar with clean, powerful jumps. His form was perfect. His focus sharpened. The crowd roared louder each time he succeeded. Even students from other schools couldn't help but admire him.
By the final round, it was clear—Liam had won.
For the last jump, the bar was raised higher than before. Silence fell. Liam ran, leaped, and soared cleanly over it.
Success.
But when he landed, his foot twisted badly.
Pain shot up his ankle like fire.
Almost no one noticed.
The cheers drowned everything out. Golden Crest students who had come separately screamed his name, jumping and clapping wildly. Some waved their school colors. Liam forced himself to stand straight, lifting his hand slightly in acknowledgment, even though his ankle throbbed painfully.
The next game was one he wouldn't participate in.
Using that chance, Liam quietly slipped away while his teammates crowded around him, patting his back and praising him endlessly.
"Still a beast," Thomas said.
"Second place after a fall? Insane," a boy laughed.
Liam only nodded and smiled faintly before heading into the changing room.
He sat down on a bench, elbows on his knees, breathing heavily. Sweat rolled down his neck. When the noise outside faded a little, the pain in his ankle became harder to ignore.
Not long after, some of his teammates entered, laughing and talking loudly.
Then came others.
Girls.
A long row of familiar faces—his past exes.
Some carried small gift bags. Others held bottled drinks or snacks. They surrounded him, talking over one another.
"You were amazing!"
"I knew you'd win!"
"You haven't changed at all."
"Actually, you're even hotter now."
Liam leaned back slightly, exhausted, giving them polite smiles as they congratulated him and placed gifts beside him. Inside, though, he felt strangely empty.
All the cheers.
All the attention.
And yet, his mind kept drifting—somewhere else entirely...
It was time for the main event.
The basketball court buzzed with noise even before the game started. The court was wide and open, with bright lines painted on the smooth floor. Spectators filled the stands on both sides—students in uniforms, teachers, coaches, and visitors from different schools. Banners fluttered in the air, and the sound of cheers rose and fell like waves.
Liam stood on the court with his teammates, his jersey clinging lightly to his body. Sweat had already gathered at his temples. His ankle throbbed faintly, a dull pain that came and went, but it wasn't what troubled him the most.
His emotions were a mess.
As the referee prepared the whistle, a sudden thought struck him.
Other senior students came separately…
His heart skipped.
Could Oliver be here too?
Liam's eyes moved on their own. He scanned the crowd quickly—left, right, then further back. Faces blurred together. Laughter. Shouting. Familiar uniforms.
But no Oliver.
He looked again, slower this time, his chest tightening.
Nothing.
Before he could search properly, the sharp whistle cut through the air.
The game had started.
The ball was thrown into the air, and the match between Golden Crest Academy and Willows Hill High School began. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the court echoed loudly. Liam moved automatically, his body following habits built from years of training.
But his mind wasn't there.
His head felt heavy, muddled. The disappointment settled deep in his chest.
He didn't come…
The thought hurt more than he expected.
Liam received the ball for the first time. Normally, this would have been easy. He would dribble smoothly, find an opening, and pass or shoot without thinking.
But this time—
The ball slipped slightly from his grip. His dribble was off-beat. An opponent snatched the ball from him, and the crowd gasped.
Someone from Willows Hill scored.
Whispers rippled through the stands.
Liam tried again. He missed a clean pass. Another mistake followed—his shot hit the rim and bounced away. His movements were stiff, his timing wrong. His ankle gave a small sting when he pivoted too fast.
People were shocked.
This was Liam Adrien—the king of basketball. The boy who dominated the court wherever he went.
Some spectators frowned in confusion. Others leaned closer, whispering guesses.
"Is he holding back?"
"Maybe he doesn't want Willows Hill to lose."
"It is his former school…"
Liam heard none of it clearly, but he felt their eyes on him. Every mistake felt louder, heavier.
By the end of the first half, the scoreboard showed that Willows Hill was ahead by two points.
The whistle blew for the break.
Coach Collins called the team together immediately. His voice was firm, sharp with frustration. He pointed out missed passes, weak defense, poor coordination. The boys nodded, breathing hard.
Then the coach turned to Liam.
He stared at him for a long moment.
"Liam," he said slowly, "what's wrong with you today?"
Liam said nothing. His jaw tightened.
The coach's eyes narrowed. "You're not focused. Should I replace you?"
For a second, the words hung heavy in the air.
Liam shook his head immediately. "No."
Coach Collins studied him again, then finally turned away. "Get your head in the game," he said. "We need you."
The second whistle blew.
The final round began.
Liam closed his eyes for a brief moment. He took a deep breath.
Focus, he told himself.
Just play.
At first, it worked.
He moved better. His dribbles were sharper. He scored once—then again. The crowd roared. Golden Crest caught up quickly, and soon they were ahead.
Cheers filled the court. His teammates slapped his back, energized.
BFor a moment, Liam felt like himself again.
Then—without thinking—he turned his head. Hoping to see Oliver face amidst the cheers.
His eyes searched the crowd.
Still no Oliver.
His chest sank.
The emptiness rushed back, stronger than before. His hands trembled slightly. His thoughts scattered.
Again, his play fell apart.
He missed an easy shot. Lost the ball. Failed to defend properly. Willows Hill seized the chance, scoring again and again. The gap widened—three points… four… five.
Liam's breathing grew uneven. His ankle screamed with pain now, but he barely noticed.
It was too much.
His head rang. His chest felt tight, like it might burst. He wanted to scream. To run off the court. To disappear.
Why didn't he come?
Why does it hurt this much?
Just as he felt he had reached his limit—
Someone screamed his name.
"LIAM!"
The voice cut through the noise, sharp and desperate.
Liam froze...