Chapter Text
Nathaniel did not flinch when he looked at himself in the mirror.
Instead he stared at himself- the dead-eyed gaze and the way his mouth pressed into a grimace. For a moment Nathaniel blinked and he thought he was looking at his father. The only difference was the absence of manic gleam that was somehow always present in his father's eye. Nathaniel was uninterested in violence, yes. In that aspect, he was more like his mother, enjoying mind games rather than the blood and screams his father did.
Nathaniel didn't know what was worse.
To become his father. Or his mother.
Nathaniel blinked, the only thing that separated him from his father was his height- or the lack thereof, really. He supposed he should thank his mother for that. He wasn't that short, but he was less than an average American white man and that was... a minor inconvenience.
Not that Nathaniel cared.
He washed his hands, watching the red swirl in front of him and allowing himself to briefly wonder how he gotten here. He was about as safe as he could be, as free as he could be and still there was a part of him that (Nathaniel wouldn't say he felt because such petty emotions were far beneath him) craved vengeance- for making him like this.
And that was a terrifyingly absurd thought.
Who was he blaming? His sociopath of a father? Or his mind-numbingly cold mother, who cared for nothing except for her survival?
Nathaniel shook those thoughts out of his head.
Nathaniel turned off the tap and blinked. There wasn't a chance he could leave fingerprints. (How do you leave something that wasn't even there?) But he still felt like he was missing something.
Nathaniel looked around.
A mediocre bathroom that had an all-white set-up with white ceramic and tiles. White. Oh, he wasn't in the Nest or anywhere his lord brought him then.
Ah.
That's right.
He was on a job.
It was almost done anyways.
Nathaniel picked up his gun and car keys from the sink. Pocketing them, Nathaniel made his way to the living room. Nathaniel sighed at the sight.
This was such a pain in the ass.
The man- Jordan Carson was just a bit over his fifties with a son in his twenty-something, worked for his lord, importing and exporting money with the expertise of a man long present in this field- was dead. His left wrist split open, a death that was a result of many years of repressing his pain for the loss of wife and guiding a child entirely on his own. At least that was the official story.
All it had taken was one bluff from Nathaniel and the man was ready to kill himself. It was pathetic how weak-willed he was.
Honestly, these kinds of people shouldn't even be in this type of business.
Nathaniel had leaned on his elbows, face serious, his drink (high quality brandy that he'd found somewhere in his house) abandoned and murder glinting in his eyes. Nathaniel had presented his favorite knife and had said, "I am here on a job."
Nothing more, nothing less.
Carson and taken one look at the color of his hair, at the sight of his terrible, terrible scars and licked his lips in anticipation.
When Nathaniel comes, he brings death.
And then Nathaniel had showed him a video of his son in the dingy club, dancing and drinking the night away. He understood what he had to do.
Nathaniel had watched impassively as he ran his fingers over the delicate curve of the knife, testing the sharpness. Nathaniel found the brandy so much more interesting, and then there was whimpering. Nathaniel looked down and the man had split his wrist open.
Nathaniel waited, pouring himself more of the drink. He needed to buy this thing, ugh. But it probably wouldn't look too good to ask a dying man about his brandy. Dammit.
Fucking morals.
A couple more minutes had ticked by and when he checked for the pulse which wasn't there.
Finally.
He could go take his nap.
Nathaniel clicked his tongue in distaste, already hating the hard work he was putting himself in. But some effort was needed if was going to dethrone his lord. He'd taken too much- from Jean, from Kevin, from Nathaniel. It was his turn to take now.
And he had no plans to stop before his lord was on his knees, begging for the mercy of the death that Nathaniel would never give.
Nathaniel knew exactly what he was going to leave behind.
Destruction.
He shrugged and started dragging Carson towards the bathroom. Not many people killed themselves in their living rooms, after all. Besides, it would be a hassle if the pigs caught a wind of him.
Nathaniel was too pretty to go to jail, thank you very much.
Nathaniel folded Carson's hands in his lap and ran the kitchen knife over the cut on his wrist before placing it in his right hand. Carson was right-handed and liked playing the guitar. Taught it to his son too.
Nathaniel cringed inwardly at the obvious affections shared between the two.
Nathaniel dialed Haru, giddy knowing he'd be pissing him off- with a good reason, mind you. Nathaniel had no time to playing such childish games- and he wouldn't have to drive. Hitting two birds with one bullet or whatever the saying went.
"What do you want?" Haru grunted after picking up the call after a couple rings.
"Well, someone's in a bad mood." Nathaniel chirped, twisting his keys in his hand.
"I said-"
"A ride." Nathaniel cut in. Haru hated being cut of more than he hated repeating himself. "I ran out of gas."
Liar, liar pants on fire,
"Tough shit, sweetie." Nathaniel rolled his eyes, but there was already rustling on Haru's side of the phone and Nathaniel knew he'd be there in a couple minutes. "Send me location."
Send his what now?
Nathaniel was just about to ask that but Haru had already hung up. How do you send a location?
Fucking bastard.
And people had the audacity to say Nathaniel was impatient.
Sighing, Nathaniel long pressed the home button before the voice of an animated assistant sounded, "how may I help you?"
Nathaniel thanked his lucky stars at least by some miracle he still knew how to use Google assistant.
"How do I send my location?" Nathaniel muttered lowly, not wanting anyone to hear him. But who was going to hear him in a dead man's home?
The dots circled for a couple seconds before the assistant said, "Here's what I found for you."
A fucking machine was more useful than a certain someone Nathaniel knew.
Andrew Minyard had a serious staring problem.
Neil ignored the hazel in his eyes and the way it felt something akin to a burn where he stared. It felt as if he was going to gauge every single one of Neil's secrets and then dangle it over his head.
Neil was just about to tell him to piss off before he remembered of the fact that he didn't have the protection that came with being the captain. Hell, Neil was a damn striker sub. He didn't know what might happen if he opened his mouth without protection. His lord couldn't give a rat's ass about his exy-related injuries which only deduced one thing- Neil Josten was the most vulnerable before the practice started.
He decided to let it go.
For now.
Jean was beside him, trying very hard to not ask about where he had vanished for the night. Neil suspected he knew the answer, but maybe he was just afraid to admit it to himself. That was something really pathetic about Jean- he still wanted to believe Neil was someone that could be saved.
It was at once both humorous and hopeless.
Neil spared a glare for Andrew. Can this man not mind his own business?
He jabbed Jean in the ribs with his elbow. "Stop pouting."
Jean frowned. "I'm not pouting."
Neil gave him an unimpressed look. Jean definitely pouting, petulantly like a child throwing a tantrum for one more cookie. Wildly, Neil imagined twenty-five year old Jean on the ground, arms flailing and kicking his feet, throwing a tantrum for his cookie.
Neil shuddered.
That image thoroughly wrecked his brain, traumatized him and messed his always on-going calculation in his mind.
Neil had taken the past two months to adjust to the new team, planning and keeping a behavioral analysis of every team member, trudging up their habits, understanding why they did what they did. It amused him to an extent, how a couple of the players were so desperate for affection and validation. Of course that meant Neil had kept quiet and didn't hurl any insults at any of them (which proved to be a very hard task for him, considering he was used to the Ravens' perfection). And Tucker's brashness was nearly bar-to-bar with Nathaniel's.
Their other drills had taken time for Neil to learn, and it had taken even more time to be accustomed to the new team dynamics.
So far no one had tried to corner him, nor had anyone tried to ask Neil for any 'favors'.
Which was weird.
The Nest had taken every bit Neil's sense of normalcy to the point where his very first action whenever another teammate approached him was to turn aside, showing them the earphone he'd plugged in. Of course, there no actual music playing in and he was stupid enough to get lost in it to ignore his surroundings.
There was a bit of Nathaniel in every name he been. Neil Josten was no exception.
Still, Neil's skills weren't developing as quickly as they had in the Nest. But that could be a result of the no-hit policy, which meant he no longer had to accept any canings from his new coach. Pain was the best teacher, Neil had learned, and he allowed himself to wonder why the coach wasn't on his ass getting him to master the drills.
Of course, that meant Neil had to learn all the drills at his own pace under the guidance of a backliner because Neil refused to let anyone else near him. Neil knew it would take him longer than usual to have a backliner teach him striker-referenced drills, but no one had bothered Neil and he had decided it was fine and well, if they were going to come after him, they would have done so in the past two months. But Jean was patient.
Objectively, Neil knew no one was going to hurt him, now. Or at the very least, not in the way that would be visible. He was a public figure, they couldn't risk his image being tarnished by hand-shaped bruises on his face or throat. No, Neil was pretty sure everyone on the team was too smart for such crass methods. But there were methods which would not physically scar him including waterboarding or taking a racket to his ribs or thighs. But they were rather temporary and Neil knew how to keep his wits about himself in such situations.
Neil shook those thoughts out. There was no point contemplating the multiple circumstances until the situation asked for it.
Besides, there was nothing they could do to Neil that hasn't already been done to him a hundred other times.
"Alright, listen up, asswipes!" The coach yelled, clapping loudly to get everyone's attention. Game day meant they'd all gotten plenty of rest that day, but Nathaniel had spent the last night waiting for Carson to show and then he had to tie up some loose ends.
Everyone looked ready for the game.
Everyone but Neil, who looked very much like he needed a nap right fucking now. Which wasn't that much of a stretch from the truth.
"Here's the roaster," he pointed to the couple print-outs and handed one of them to the Nelson, who took it quietly. "Read them, learn them, or do whatever the fuck you want to do. But I want every single one of you to know the stats and the most common moves each of these players have played."
Typical.
Neil suppressed a yawn.
When the roaster was passed to Neil, he went through it once and felt Jean lean over his shoulder to read too. Jean cursed under his breath, "Fils de-"
Neil looked at him weirdly. "What?"
Jean pointed towards the top left corner, to the name but Neil had no energy to even look at it. Neil rolled his eyes, "Jesus, Jean."
Jean looked at him as if he were the one who was queer. "Do you even know who-"
"-dunno know. Don't care?" Neil yawned, "I can handle whoever comes my way. I'm a Raven."
"You-" Jean shook his head, "You're the one who's going to go against-."
Neil snorted. No way. "Me? oh no. Naive, Jeanie-"
"Don't fuckin' call me that-"
"-They are the ones going against them," Neil pointed towards where Tucker and Nelson were planning. "I'm just the rookie."
Jean hummed. "You can drop the act now. We both know Hunt would earn himself a yellow card in the second quarter and they're going to be sending you in."
Oh, Neil knew that alright. But still, his plan was to sit quietly on the bench and rest his eyes for a quarter or two. At least, that had been the initial plan but now that Jean had reminded him of this... it seemed stupid to hope for a bit of rest.
"You should've left me to dream in my ignorance." He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.
"If I'm going to suffer, then so will you." There was a hint of a smirk on Jean's thin face.
Fuck.
Neil was about every bit as amused as Jean might have been.
There were seven more minutes before the second quarter ended and the game had taken a turn for the worse. The other team- The Titans- was getting more aggressive as the clock ticked by. Neil's team was desperate to score considering they were still three points behind but someone had agitated Tucker, that much was obvious considering the barely-there coordination between him and Reese.
With the offense falling apart, the defense had twice as much to make up for resulting in Jean running himself ragged to pick up the slack Tucker left. Neil thought Andrew should've been in the goal to shut the score down but his coach made no move to extract his goalie.
Neil wanted to suggest the change but decided to keep his mouth shut.
Neil watched the ball go from Reese to Tucker to Jean, who passed to the goalie. Then the ball was in possession of Woods who passed back to Reese before his ten steps ended. The ball was just about to be in Reese's net before a Titan intercepted it, checking them to the plexiglass wall before taking a shot to the goal.
Red lit up the goal and the Titan fans went mad with the four-point difference.
Neil looked to where Hunt Tucker had fallen- fallen and had stumbled before getting back up. A concussion, were Neil to guess. Or maybe a twisted ankle.
Neil stood up, frustrated that his first match with the pros was going this bad. He tapped his coach on the shoulder, getting his attention.
"Put me in." Neil said, tone bordering an as an order.
"Not now, Josten." he answered looking as though he was expecting for Hunt to sub himself out.
"Reese's done for the match," Neil observed, with no malice in his voice. It was a fact and Neil had just said it. "We both know that, coach. Put me in."
He spared him half a glance as if that meant something. "I need you for the next quarter. I can't waste you right now."
"There's five minutes left in this quarter," Neil wanted to break something. Why can't he just agree with his logic? It was facts, facts were not lies. "I can handle five more minutes."
"I need you pristine before I put you in."
"I can handle five minutes, coach."
Neil was getting to him. He knew because there was the same silence when he was almost done convincing someone. Albeit all those times, they were purely for his own benefit but this time Neil was thinking about how his Lord may have betted on him this game. He couldn't disappoint his lord. The keyword was may but Neil won't put it past his lord to not tell him something.
Coach grimaced before nodding shortly. "Can you handle the next two quarters too? Nelson wouldn't be able to play and if you get injured too, I'd have to deal a dealer for you."
"Of course, I can." There it was.
"There's the Raven arrogance I've heard so much about." Minyard cut in from nowhere and Neil blinked- not in surprise of him speaking but more of Andrew speaking to him.
It was not a pleasant change.
"Should I be surprised that you've categorized me with the big bad Ravens?"
"Should I be surprised that you've decided to play the victim?"
Neil thought about it, was he? Meh.
He didn't particularly give much of a fuck about this philosophical bullshit.
"You won't last long on this team." Andrew cut off, "And I hope I'm the reason you get kicked off."
"Is that the thought you've been jerking off to for the past two months?" Neil beamed, sun-bright and too-god damn shiny to not annoy Andrew's gloom. "Besides, who's going to kick me out? You?"
Andrew scoffed. "It doesn't take a genius to know you're planning to fuck something up. And if I have the proof of it... well, that would just be too easy, wouldn't it?"
"I'm not nearly stupid enough to leave evidence behind when I do something." Neil stood with his hands back, leaning just a little for the action to be something more than casual. "That is, of course, if I know the careless evidence might benefit me more."
Neil ran his gaze over Andrew's body, "It would be a shame if somehow, I manage to rope you into a little something." Neil knew some scandals were enough to ruin an athlete's entire carrier and he wasn't above such schemes if it meant he could keep himself safe.
"Is that a threat?" Andrew sneered, stiffening and fingers itching towards his armband for a knife Neil knew wasn't there. This is professional exy, after all. The security didn't fuck around when it came to safety. Or at least that's the illusion everyone seemed to be having.
But Andrew was not an idiot and Neil was not blind. He could see it in the tense posture, the defensive stance. Andrew Minyard was afraid of him.
'Good.' Neil thought with a weird sense of pride. 'He should be.'
"It's more of a possibility, if I had to say." Neil hummed.
"I-"
"Careful, Andrew," Neil said lowly, "You might not want to get on my bad side."
Neil held his hazel gaze, brown in the darkness of the court. Saw the way he clenched his jaw in consideration and waited for the jab he expected.
"Do you have a good side, then?" Deflection Neil-Nathaniel-Abram knew was a game. And Andrew didn't seem too well-versed in it. It was amusing how he thought he could shift the conversation back to Neil. Neil cocked his head. Fine then, he'll take the bait.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Neil grinned and there was a flash of emotion across his face. Neil wanted to continue, to see how many more times he could poke Andrew around before things escalated, to see just where his boundaries were. How many lies could he tell before Andrew caught up? If he met Nathaniel, what would he do? Would he run? Would he lose control? Neil realized he, he really wanted to-
Neil really wanted to see him lose control.
Coach Maverick still hesitated when he pulled Tucker out for the quarter. Neil could understand why- were they to lose the team's morale would drop low enough that winning the next match might not be enough to lift their spirits. And sending in a rookie- no matter how good- was still a risk. Neil was a variable for him, a wild card.
No one trusts a wild card.
But when Neil stepped onto the court, when he heard the commentators announce his name, his heart thundered with pride. He was alive, he was fine. His father had lost and he'd outlived his mother's paranoia. There was a buzz in his ears life everything was too loud, too muted, too blurred and too clear all at once. Neil thought he liked it.
Exy was a safe place. His father could never hone it to hurt him, his mother liked him the best when he was the best, he didn't have run-hide-pray for Lola to leave him alone when he was drowning in exy. Sure, the rules allowed the other players to 'accidentally' manhandle him, but it was nothing Neil couldn't handle.
Neil readies himself, taking a defensive position as the buzzer sounded off. The ball was flung in the air and Neil was the first one behind it, running faster than any other player on the court. He snatched it mid-air, not letting anyone near the ball.
Neil spared half a glance to the players on the field, noting where his teammates were. Reese was completely blocked off, there was no use throwing them the ball. Neil took the seven out of his eight steps and passed the ball to Woods leaving him deal to with it. Neil sidestepped a body-check before stalking towards home court.
The ball was back to Neil again when Reese passed to him. He had about half a moment to register the full-on attack he was about to receive but it wasn't as if there was anything he could do to defend himself. Neil hugged the racket closer to himself and let the backliner slam him into the plexiglass. There were shouts, Neil thought from his teammates about the bordering-on-illegal check but the referee must have shook his head because-
Neil had managed to keep the ball to himself.
Neil pushed the backliner off of himself before passing the ball off to Jean for keepsake. Jean threw him a weird glance, asking if he can play. Neil flicked his wrist by his side , a sign they'd designed for I can go on or I can play.
Neil shook his head gently trying to remove the aftershocks of the crash.
Neil hadn't thought who it was who crashed into him, but when he heard the voice, he wished he had. "God-fucking-dammit. I forgot how good you felt under me, cap."
Neil froze, muscles tensing and even the rush of Exy wasn't enough to make him ignore the voice. Captain. The former Four of Riko's little cult. The prodigal bastard able to play striker, backliner, dealer, goalie all alone if given the chance.
Neil knew, in hindsight, he might regret not walking away from Johnson when he had the chance. He also knew, it might end up with him either earning a red card or a panic attack. He didn't know which was worse. Give up the rest of the season and face his lord's wrath or lose him mind to the panic and let it envelope him into giving up the very first game of his career.
Neil straightened up, opening and closing his mouth before his mind gave up on it. There was no benefit talking to an animal, anyway.
*********
"You must have been so tired, cap." He said, empathetically, as if speaking to a child. "Spending all that time on your back for the team, that couldn't have been easy for you."
On his back. On his knees. In every possible position known to a human being. Quietly, letting the hands roam on his body, grip his arms, let them admire you. Be good, Nathaniel. The night's still young, we could always get Jean if you're tired. Shh, be quiet, no one likes your voice. No one wants to hear it. But you can scream if you want. Let everyone know how good we make you feel.
Jean? why would they go after Jean when they already had him? Nathaniel thought he was pretty enough to keep them all satisfied. Alone.
I know you're tired. I know, but don't you feel good? Do you not like how I feel in you? It'll be over soon, Nathaniel don't you worry your pretty head.
Get off his mouth, I need to use it too. His mouth, filled. Neil was silent as everything around him moved, shifted. Hands smudged into grinning faces too eager to use his pretty mouth. Something was covering his skin Neil thought he didn't like how sticky it was. Was it blood?
Beautiful. Absolutely fucking beautiful. Oh god, you should feel him around yourself Johnson, he'll take you straight to heaven in seconds- fucking hell. You look good like this, Neil. Maybe you should quit exy, I'll even pay for you.
Pay... me...?
For what?
*********
It'll be fine.
It'll all fine.
You'll be fine.
Neil blinked, dragging his gaze to Jean's face when he noticed him waving his racket in his face. "Are you alright?"
"I'll be fine." Neil said, something and everything still flashing at the back of his mind.
Jean looked like he didn't believe Neil, but he trusted Neil enough to back off if something went seriously wrong. Neil liked that about him.
"I didn't know he'd be playing too." Jean muttered as he ushered Neil out of the court. It must've been half-time, already if they were getting out. A fifteen minute break and they'll be back for the match.
That meant Neil had only been gone for less than a minute on the clock.
Thank fuck.
Neil blinked, feeling stupid that he'd not seen the roaster properly.
He felt phantom hands in his pulling-dragging-scratching at his face, arms and neck.
"Ask the coach to pull you out, Neil." Jean knew better than to place his hand on Neil's shoulder, but he still did. Neil shrugged it off and Jean didn't blink twice at the administration. They'd sung this song and danced this dance before. Jean knew what to expect after a situation like this.
So, he kept muttering in low French and Neil let it all go through one ear and out the other, made it a white noise as he struggled to remain in the present.
"Josten!" The coach thundered, and when Neil didn't answer, he guessed that made him even more mad. Neil readied himself for a hit, stupid stupid stupid! you don't freeze, Abram. Ever. That will kill you. Neil thought that wasn't his but he didn't have the energy to put a name to it.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" He yelled and Neil leaned back into Jean before he knew what he was doing. Flashes of his father, the burn of iron on his skin, the screams of his mother- Neil swallowed thickly. Jean brushed his arm gently, desperately trying to keep him in the present.
Neil put a bit of distance between him and Jean. He grimaced, wondering how he would explain it all.
"Johnson," Neil muttered slowly, looking up at the coach. "I- he's fucking with my mind."
"Johnson?" One of his teammates echoed who Neil didn't bother to answer.
"He's an ex-Raven." Jean cut in smoothly, "He, uh, he wasn't a particularly good experience for us- him."
Real smooth, Frenchman.
The coach seemed to consider the statement and the others broke into their own conversations. If this happened in the Nest, Tetsuji would've caned every single one of them black and blue.
"Can you or can you not play against him?" He asked at last.
"No, he cannot-" Jean said at the same time when Neil said-
"Yes."
Jean glared and opened his mouth, no doubt to say something incredibly stupid. "You cannot play, Neil. There's just no way-"
"He will kill me if I back off. And Johnson can't do shit in a place as public as the stadium. Even he is not as stupid as that."
"Don't be stupid."
Neil smiled weekly. "When am I ever?"
"I have a list. Want me to read it to you?"
Neil waved a dismissing hand, ignoring the way his chest still constricted his breath, "Semantics, Jean, semantics."
Jean only rolled his eyes.
The third quarter was almost over, so their coach hesitantly ushered them off the benches, taking their water bottles and towels. But he held Neil back.
"You will tell me to pull you out if he tries anything." Said the coach.
Neil suspected he was suggesting it, not ordering him around but Neil thought he'd rather be on the safer side and not say anything.
Tetsuji didn't particularly like insolent know-nothing players. He hated the players who asked to be subbed out.
Neil had no reason to think Maverick would sub him out just because of this reason or that.
It could be a ploy for all he knew.
Neil abandoned the clusterfuck he was thinking. It wasn't useful right now, and he can tear apart the information when he was alone and had time.
Neil adjusted his bandana and took his helmet from Jean when he was offered it.
This.
Neil had been training for this for the past seven years. Relentlessly. Obsessively.
And now it was finally, finally his time.
Neil wasn't going to give up this opportunity.
Not because Johnson, not for anyone, not because of anyone.
___
Johnson had gotten a red card.
A red fucking card.
Because of him.
Neil watched with a twisted glee as Johnson fumed beside him, quietly. Neil had taken a whole season away from him, benched him and dented his career. And if Neil was lucky, with a push or two, Johnson might just get kicked off the team for causing too much trouble and not enough skills to back him.
It had been so damn easy for him to fall for Neil.
And speaking honestly, Neil hadn't expected anyone to even fall for a trick as pathetic as the one he pulled. He found it almost as amusing as he found it pitiful. He'd gently passed the ball to Woods, who had come in a bit too close to him for Neil to feel comfortable, but Neil had sucked it up and passed the ball before even taking his five steps.
And then he'd taken a couple more, racket still clutched to himself as if he still had the ball.
Johnson was the first one to check him to the wall.
And when Neil went down hard, he knew what to expect as Johnson lied flat against him, his hands an unwelcome at Neil's body. Roaming, skittering, snagging their chance at any and every part of Neil's front. Nit remembered biting the inside of his cheek.
He remembered himself shoving down the bile.
Neil remembered screaming in his head.
Why? Stop? Please, please, please, please, please, please-
But Neil wasn't in the Nest. Not anymore. He wasn't the tragic captain taking pain to save and he had no reason to even pretend to be good anymore.
Neil was going to ruin him.
He would take away all that Johnson had worked for.
And he was going to enjoy it.
So, Neil made a show of being desperate to shove him off, grunting and trying to him off of himself. "I'm going to have so much fun ruining you, Johnson." Neil had whispered in his year.
"Everything you did for Riko, every time you bowed for him, every hit you took from Tetsuji- I'm going to make you throw it all away." Neil had said when they were still on the ground, "No matter how good, you become trash once you are broken.
"You are going to be trash." Neil had said as he finally stood back up, raising himself to his full height.
Johnson had snarled. He had snatched Neil by the collar and slammed him to the plexiglass wall. Neil had grinned, thinking 'How stupid can a man be?'
But the answer was obvious.
Johnson raised his fist to punch him and Neil distinctly heard the goal light up and the screams of the crowd. Reese must have scored then. The crowd must be wondering how the hell the ball had gotten to them.
The punch didn't particularly hurt considering he was wearing the armor, but Neil still bowed down, pretending to be in pain. And the someone else pushed him away from Johnson and shoved him with an anger that might have made Neil think twice before opening his mouth, if he was on the other end of it.
Jean.
The idiot had rushed to him, racket in his hand and standing between him and Johnson. A shield protecting Neil even though there was no need for protection. Neil pulled him by the jersey, pulling him beside himself.
The referees had come quickly then. The crowd was silent as they analyzed the fiasco, waiting with bated breath as the referees made their decision. But, to Neil it was obvious which way the decision would go to.
Unprompted body check, which mind you, was just shy of being illegal, violence against an 'innocent' player, not to mention the ball wasn't even in Neil's possession.
But the only factor was Jean.
Him interfering was not something Neil had planned. But, of course, that just made Neil stupid because when had Jean stood idly by when he was being hurt? When had Neil idly stood by when Jean was being hurt?
They were the same brand of idiots, it seemed.
A red card to Johnson.
And a yellow card for Jean.
Neil opened his mouth to argue. It wasn't Jean's fault, he shouldn't be the one being punished. He shouldn't be-
But Jean settles a hand on his shoulder and when he sees how hard Neil was trying not to flinch away from it, he retracts his hand back to himself. He didn't smile, but the intent was clear.
Jean wanted Neil to absolutely desecrate the team.
And when Jean stepped off the court, Neil's focus was a renewed thing- it was Nathaniel's focus that replaced Neil's need to win.
That was at the end of third quarter.
Neil was a demon in the fourth quarter, using checks that were barely legal, underhanded tricks that, if discovered could have him benched for the rest of the game, speed that was more of Nathaniel's than Neil's. But still, Neil had coordinated with Reese and they'd worked as a pair of cogs to function their offense and Neil had been pushing Reese's limits.
There were no other reliable substitutions for either of them, so while Neil played in overdrive, Reese managed to conserve his energy whenever he could.
They'd kept scoring, increasing the point gap and Andrew had been somehow invested in the game to completely shut down the goal for the rest of the quarter.
The Denvers' had won with an eight-point difference. 13-5, that is.
Reese had scored seven of them, Tucker two and Neil had scored four.
It was good enough.
He was a sub striker, after all.
Neil was pushed towards the mics by a smiling Maverick and Neil shivered inwardly, it clearly looked as if he was way too happy to care about the absolute havoc Neil's mouth could cause in front of a mic. Still, he was a rookie player so he shouldn't have to worry about taking the lead. Reese stepped silently beside him, handing Neil his helmet which Neil passed to one of the assistant coaches.
This was all such a hassle.
Neil could've been comfortably wrapped around a fluffy blanket, a cup of His Tea in his hand and if he had a nice integral to solve- well, that constituted just about the feeling of heaven.
Unfortunately, hell was empty, and all the demons were shoving their mics in his and Reese's face.
Neil didn't even attempt to smile.
Neither did Reese.
At the very least, Neil could comfort himself into thinking he wasn't the only freak here.
"Reese, you have scored well over five points this match-"
"Seven," Reese interrupted, the dead tone of his voice might have matched Nathaniel's, though his didn't have any ill-intent.
The reporter stumbled upon her words, "Er, yes. You have scored seven points this match, I'm sure there many- young and pro both- strikers who wish to be in your shoes right now. Is there something you'd like to tell them?"
Reese nodded, though it looked like he'd rather be at home than here. Neil shared the sentiment. "Do your best and uh, do not give up... hope."
If Neil were Nathaniel he would choke on his own spit and strip Reese of their dignity with his sharp tongue. That was such a taken-down-from-the-net-for-situations-like-these line. Reese hadn't even done a good job at pretending like they mean it.
"Neil," Oh god, please no. "You have scored four points- quite literally the double of what Tucker- the other starting striker has scored. Was that just a fluke?"
Or do you actually have the talent? Neil read between the lines.
Jesus. Had they never seen him play for the television before?
He was a Raven and everyone who watched exy has, at least seen the Ravens play once. And if they hadn't, they shouldn't even be watching exy anymore.
"A fluke?" Neil questioned, tilting his head in a way that was conveying the person to take back their words or Nathaniel might just end their entire damn careers. "If you have ever watched me play before, you would know it was never just a 'fluke'."
Neil mocked the word as if it was beneath him, which it was.
Neil had played with his fingers and ribs broken, when his body had just been torn days ago and managed to score more than four points with stitches ripping his back apart. He'd played quarters after quarters even with blood running down his chest from the cuts Riko had made, played when he was on the brink of passing out from sleep deprivation.
He hadn't fought tooth and nail just for his skills- which had been cultivated from pain and blood and sheer fucking spite- to be called a fucking fluke.
"But of course, you miserable little life must be so important that you must have never actually put in the effort required to do your job correctly and for you to call a professional athlete's skills to be a 'fluke' just shows how much work you do."
"Josten!" Reese murmured but Neil ignored them. There were gasps and sharp intakes of breathes.
"Maybe you should do some research on the Ravens? They're actually a phenomenal team and if you, per my... advice dig in deeper, you might find that they have only lost once since the formation of the team. But of course, since you are so incompetent, and you don't actually know about them or any good team's stats for that matter, do not shove your mic into my face pretending to know what you are talking about since you clearly don't."
"Jesus." Reese cursed under their breath, "We're pretty tired, er... maybe we could pick this up again sometime later?"
Reese didn't wait for the answer before they tugged on Neil's sleeve, dragging him with them away from the press.
Oh, Neil might be in trouble.
A big one, if Coach Maverick was anything like Tetsuji.