For a moment, Haitam had no answer. Charcoal-gray hair slipped forward, shadowing his eyes. When he spoke, his smile was soft—almost weary. "We won't," he said quietly, "If God wills."
Yara huffed, dragging in a sharp breath, "After this match, you'll practice bowling a hundred and fifty strokes. And ten laps around the ground. Am I clear?"
"Wait—Captain Haitam is doing all that again?" Zidan blurted out, incredulous, "But we've been practicing since morning—"
Yara shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel, "Did I ask you?" The air went still once more.
Haitam, standing there with the ball still clutched in his hand, only nodded—bearing the weight of expectations that never seemed to ease.
"I only asked Haitam Asher to do that workout?" Yara said coolly, her voice stripped of warmth. Her gaze sliced past Zidan and locked onto Haitam, "Because despite asking your esteemed captain to train like this for the past two weeks, I haven't seen even a speck of improvement." She folded her arms, "What more do you expect me to say now?"
A ripple of unease spread through the group. The high schoolers frowned, jaws tightening. The middle schoolers pressed their lips together, eyes darting between faces as if anxious to breathe too loudly.
Yara turned away just as Yasir exhaled, already stepping forward—clearly intending to dissolve the tension before it thickened any further. But before a single word could leave his mouth—
"He won't do it alone." Raza's voice rang out, sharp and unwavering.
Yara halted mid-step. Slowly, she turned.
Haitam blinked, anxiety flickering across his face. Just moments ago, the storm had seemed to quiet down.
Now— Raza stepped forward and caught Haitam by the shoulder, pulling him back gently but firmly until he stood beside him, facing Yara head-on. "Just like always," Raza said, his voice steady despite the fire in his eyes, "He won't do it alone. Am I clear?"
The message landed unmistakably.
Yara scoffed. "So be it." Her lips curved into a cold smirk, "Exhaust yourselves all you like. Not that your name is going back on the lineup for the next match." She tilted her head slightly, "I pulled it out—with quite the effort."
The words froze the air.
David. Galleous. Haitam. Lucas. All stood stunned, as if the ground beneath them had shifted. Even Yasir stood dumbstruck. Raza felt heat surge through his veins. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles paling as he fought the urge to move.
"Yara," Yasir warned, striding toward her, his expression darkening, "That's more than enough. Don't force me into taking action I might regret."
Yara avoided his gaze.
Then—unexpectedly— amid that suffocating silence, Raza laughed. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing it back.
His smile was sharp, almost cruel now, mirroring the very ruthlessness he despised. "Why don't you just say it?" he said. "That you are simply undeserving of us, Chief Counselor Yara."
Yara's eyes widened.
"Haitam, us, and even the middle schoolers," Raza's voice sharpened, rising with each word. "Now that I think about it… even Alan Rex Lorenzo of Karachi Kings doesn't exactly seem to respect you, does he?"
At the name, Yara's eyes flared, the whites bloodshot with sudden heat.
Haitam tugged at Raza's sleeve, a silent plea for him to stop—but Raza's temper had ignited, and he ignored the warning. "Or maybe," he continued, teeth gritted, "you're not even worthy of that respect—!"
SLAP!
The sound cracked through the silence. Raza's glasses flew from his face, clattering against the ground. His head snapped to the side, hair spilling forward to veil his eyes. His lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line.
No one moved. No one breathed.
"Yara!" Yasir grabbed her arm, pulling her back. She exhaled shakily; the hand she had struck Raza was trembling at her side.
Haitam moved instantly. He seized Raza's wrist and pulled him back behind himself, placing his own body between Raza and Yara. His expression was grave—eyes burning with something cold and unfamiliar. He was glaring. At Yara. For the first time. The hand gripping Raza's wrist had gone ice-cold.
"Raza—are you alright?!" David rushed forward, turning him gently to look at his face.
Maaz picked up the fallen glasses.
Kirill placed a careful hand on Raza's back.
Pierre, Galleous, Khizr, Mahd, Lucas—all of them watched, worry etched deep into their expressions.
When Raza lifted his head, their hearts sank. His golden-brown gaze was hollow. A red mark bloomed sharply across his cheek—an unmistakable imprint of the price he'd paid for benevolence.
Still, he forced a smile. Rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand, he said calmly, "Don't worry. I'm not someone who's being hit for the first time in his life." His smile softened, "I don't regret it. And I'm not embarrassed either."
He glanced briefly toward Haitam. "In fact," he continued, "I'm glad. Whatever was meant to fall on my best friend—I took it instead." His voice steadied, "And if needed… I'll do it again."
"Raza…" David whispered, stunned. H
aitam stared at the ground, unable to speak. Best friend. The word echoed painfully in his chest—heavy, precious, fragile. And to think it had all led here…?
Without another word, Yara turned and walked away.
Yasir stepped toward Raza, gently touching his cheek, apology heavy in his eyes even if he didn't voice it.
"What's with that look, Head Coach?" Raza said lightly, "I told you I'm fine. If something like this could break me, I wouldn't even be standing here in the first place."
A moment later, he added, "Sorry."
Yasir blinked.
"No matter how harsh she was; I shouldn't have said it. I hurt you too, even if I didn't mean to… this time, I just couldn't bear it," Raza apologized.
Hearing him, Yasir smiled—softly, forgivingly—and patted his shoulder, "It's okay. The fact that you even realized it is an apology in itself. That's a big thing." It was something he hadn't expected, something he had silently wished Yara would do, the child before him had done—in just mere moments.
Turning to the boys, Yasir called, "All of you—head back. Get refreshed. Take a break and eat something. We'll discuss the rest later."
"Yes!" they answered in unison. All—except Haitam. He released Raza's wrist and said nothing.
Raza watched his back, unease creeping into his chest.
"Haitam…" Yasir called. "Please, sir," Haitam interrupted softly, not turning around, "I'd like some time to myself. May I?" His voice carried firmness, as if a decision had already been sealed.
Yasir hesitated, then nodded, "Very well."
And with that, Haitam walked off alone—toward the far end of the practice grounds—while the others drifted the opposite way.
David, Raza, Lucas all turned to watch him go, uncertainty weighing on their faces. Above them, twilight settled over the stands floodlights flickering on one by one as the grounds held everything left unsaid, scattered like echoes in the cooling air.
____