He reached the far end of the field, positioning himself on the attacking side now. Forward. Frontline.
The predator's perch.
As the players continued filing into their new roles, the atmosphere changed again—not from within the teams, but from the edges of the field.
It started slow. A few students in the distance. Then more. And more.
The far gates clicked open, and shoes crunched against gravel, laughter carrying faintly. Backpacks were dropped along the bleachers. Bottles exchanged. Conversations sparked, and then shifted to murmurs. Curious stares turned into fixed gazes.
Damien felt it.
He heard it.
"The seniors are still going?"
"Class 4-C and 4-A? Isn't that Riona and Celia's class?"
"Wait—Damien Elford's on the field?"
"Didn't he, like, never show up for this stuff?"
