Chapter 10: Finally Some Action (Part 2)
"So, where're we headed?"
Kai asked, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel in a restless rhythm.
"Definitely the field. I've got a date with that football."
Zeke answered as they entered Kai's car, a sleek black jeep that gleamed under the afternoon sun. The leather seats carried the scent of expensive cologne and new car smell—a testament to the pampered life its owner led.
Kai had the luxury of being born from wealth—golden spoon practically embedded in his DNA from birth.
Whilst Zeke has a golden spoon sitting in his inventory.
Zeke had become sort of a legend on the field he and the musketeers visited, sporadically appearing like a ghost in cleats, breaking ankles and turning heads with moves that seemed to defy physics itself. His reputation preceded him—whispers of "that guy" echoing through the concrete corridors of the indoor facility.
His go-to routine: showing up with Zero's music catalogue from his past life pulsing through his mind as he balled out, each step synchronized to an invisible rhythm that only he could hear.
Now, as he reached the field—an indoor facility with polished floors that squeaked under rubber soles and fluorescent lights that cast harsh shadows—he exchanged pleasantries with however many persons came up to him to glaze him, their voices a mixture of genuine admiration and nervous laughter. They made jokes about having already selected him for their teams, or pleaded for him to go easy, their eyes holding the kind of respect reserved for legends.
"You really are the hot stuff around these parts," Aaron said as he walked to change his clothes for athletic wear that allowed better movement, his voice carrying a hint of amusement at the spectacle.
"Yeah, defenders fear going up against him," Kai said as he smiled, pride evident in his tone like a manager boasting about his star player.
"I don't though," Jude said with a deadpan voice, his expression as flat as his tone—a challenge wrapped in casual indifference.
"You playing in that?" He pointed towards Zeke's clothes with the precision of someone spotting a glaring error.
"What's wrong with this?" Zeke asked, genuinely puzzled as he looked down at his outfit, trying to find something off about his clothes.
Aaron facepalmed, the sound echoing through the changing area like a judge's gavel. "You're wearing flip flops."
"I brought an extra pair of shoes because I predicted this—this isn't even the first time. You've got to pay more attention, man," Kai said as he handed the pristine white sneakers to Zeke, shaking his head with the exasperation of a mother dealing with a forgetful child.
"Thanks," Zeke smiled sheepishly as he collected the shoes, his cheeks warming with embarrassment.
Upon wearing the shoes—laces pulled tight, soles gripping the floor properly—he walked towards where persons had gathered in the familiar pre-game ritual, voices creating a low hum of anticipation as they waited for team selection.
"Really?" Jude asked, his eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"What?" Zeke was puzzled, arms spread in confusion.
What now? I already wore shoes. Do you need me to walk you there? Don't swing that way, man.
Before Zeke could get out words to defend his sexuality, Aaron had come near him to take off his heavy trench coat, the fabric rustling like autumn leaves.
"How did you survive before you met us?" Aaron questioned, exasperated, his voice carrying the weight of genuine concern mixed with bewilderment.
{He had me} Zero said in Zeke's head, the AI's voice carrying a hint of smugness.
"Hehe, I was excited, I forgot about it," Zeke said, effectively ignoring Zero while scratching the back of his neck—a nervous habit that betrayed his embarrassment.
---
As usual, Zeke balled out, this time having the musketeers as teammates. The indoor field echoed with the sharp sounds of sneakers against polished floors, heavy breathing, and the occasional whistle of the ball cutting through air.
The chemistry was untouchable—a symphony of coordinated movement where each player knew exactly where the others would be. He could have held back as much as he would have wanted, but the competitive fire burned too bright. He ended up scoring seven goals and assisting the remaining eight goals, shared amongst the trio. Aaron with three goals, Kai with two goals, and Jude—as unremarkable as he seems at first glance—proved to be a multifaceted genius. He scored the remaining three goals whilst playing what would be the equivalent of a box-to-box midfielder, his stamina seemingly endless.
The opposing team only scored five goals, their faces growing progressively more deflated with each passing minute.
A massacre painted in sweat and skillful footwork.
Safe to say Zeke was satisfied with the grass-touching activity. He planned to go home and stay in for one month before coming out again—a hermit's promise to himself.
---
"Good food heals the soul," Kai said as he wolfed down his meal, eating like he had never tasted seasoning before. The restaurant buzzed with the comfortable din of conversation and clinking cutlery.
"When I went back home after our little sleepover, I ate like never before. Instant ramen irritates me now," Aaron said, not losing out in the eating competition, his fork working with the efficiency of a machine as he matched Kai's voracious pace.
With an annoyed expression creasing his features, Zeke shot back with the sharpness of someone who'd heard this complaint one too many times:
"Then, learn how to cook! How can neither of you know how to cook? What have you learned in the years you've stayed in your parents' home?"
"Ey?" Kai dropped his food to grasp Zeke's hoodie collar, his knuckles brushing against the soft cotton. "What'd ya say? You're older—why don't you know how to cook? Heh."
"Cough, cough, it's a complicated situation," Zeke coughed as he pulled Kai's hands from his hoodie's collar, the fabric stretching slightly before snapping back.
He had forgotten how to cook—or if he even knew how to cook before in his past life. Realistically, in this life, he should have known how to cook seeing as he lived alone, but he has no memory of this life. A semi-blank state, like a computer with corrupted files.
And as lazy as he was, he did not learn how to cook.
"He's definitely too lazy to learn how to cook," Jude interjected as he ate his food at a normal pace, his words delivered with the casual brutality of someone stating an obvious fact.
"You're rich, hire a butler," Kai said, waving his fork like a conductor's baton.
"Hah. You wouldn't understand."
Zeke said as he went back to eating, effectively shutting down the conversation with the finality of a slammed door.
{He's just too introverted to interview people, hmm, even more introverted to have someone over without cooldowns}
'Shut up, Jarvis,' Zeke shot back mentally with a jab at Zero.