The locker room felt colder than usual.
Even after a win, no one was talking. No music. No jokes. Just the dull thump of boots on tile, water running, and the heavy breathing of men who used to be a team.
Tyson leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, eyes scanning them one by one.
Marco, pale, twitchy, avoiding everyone's gaze.
Jude, staring at the floor like it might open and swallow him whole.
Rafael, seated calmly on the far bench, scrolling his phone, cool as ever.
Tyson made his move.
"Hey," he said, loud enough to break the silence. "We need to talk."
No one responded.
He stepped forward, facing them. "I think someone's setting us up."
Marco blinked. Jude looked up slowly.
Rafael didn't even react.
"You've all seen the leaks. The video. The articles. And now reporters are sniffing around our past—our school. Someone pointed them there."
Jude opened his mouth. "You saying the media—?"
"I'm saying someone on this team wants to bury us," Tyson growled.
He turned toward Rafael, but not directly—just near enough.
"Think about it. Who benefits from chaos right now? Who looks squeaky clean while the rest of us sweat?"
Rafael finally looked up. Calm. Innocent.
"Is there a reason you're looking at me like that?"
Tyson's jaw tensed. "I'm just saying, we don't know you. You show up out of nowhere, and suddenly the past starts bleeding out? Little convenient, don't you think?"
Rafael stood. Not angry. Not defensive.
Just… sad.
"Wow," he said softly. "I thought we were building something here."
"I'm not accusing you," Tyson lied. "I'm protecting the team."
Rafael nodded. "And by 'team,' you mean the ones who held down a seventeen-year-old until he stopped breathing?"
The air cracked.
Jude flinched. Marco whispered, "What the hell…"
Tyson stepped forward, fists tight. "You think you know what happened?"
Rafael smiled.
"No," he said. "I know exactly what happened."
He walked past Tyson, slow and measured, like a lion circling prey.
Then stopped by the door.
"You buried Eli," he whispered.
"But you didn't bury him deep enough."
He left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And for the first time in five years…
Tyson felt cold fear.
Not just guilt.
Fear.
It was supposed to be a simple practice.
A closed session. No media. Just drills, film review, and sweat.
But when Marco showed up fifteen minutes late, eyes bloodshot and voice trembling, the tension snapped like a brittle bone.
"You told him, didn't you?" he hissed at Jude, throwing his bag to the floor.
"You told Rafa what happened."
Jude looked stunned. "What? I didn't say anything—"
"You've been twitchy as hell since that damn video dropped. You look at him like you know something."
"Maybe because I do," Jude snapped, louder than he meant to.
"And maybe it's time we stop pretending like we're the victims here."
Tyson stepped in. "Shut your mouth, both of you."
But the room was already unraveling.
Marco pointed a trembling finger. "He knows, Ty. That Rafa guy—he knows who Eli was. He's messing with us."
"We don't have proof."
"Oh yeah?" Marco pulled out his phone, flipping to a paused video.
A press interview. Rafael, smiling for the camera.
In the background—a pendant.
A silver football pendant, barely visible beneath his collar.
The same one Eli used to wear.
"Tell me that's not him," Marco said, voice cracking.
The room fell silent again. This time, heavier. Final.
Jude sank into his seat, staring blankly.
"I think…" he whispered. "I think he wants us to turn on each other."
Marco shook his head. "I'm not going down for something we did. If anyone should confess, it's you, Tyson. You were the one who started it."
Tyson stepped closer, voice low and deadly.
"You say that again and I swear—"
"What?" Marco snapped. "You'll kill me too?"
Everyone froze.
That was the line.
Even Tyson realized it.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Until Coach's whistle echoed from outside.
Practice time.
They walked out one by one.
But they weren't a team anymore.
They were targets.
And Rafael…
He just smiled from midfield, juggling the ball with smooth precision, as if none of them had just turned their backs on one another.
The collapse had started.
Now all he had to do was pick the right moment to blow the whistle.