Fierce Red

Teamwork

"I pray we get selected," Stacy said nervously, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She kept wringing her hands together as they walked, her eyes darting around with worry. "I'm so nervous, Almora. What if we don't make the team?"

“We’ll be fine,” Almora said, trying to sound calm and reassuring. Deep down, though, her heart was pounding in her chest. A thousand doubts and “what ifs” danced through her mind, but she forced herself to push them aside. She didn’t want to show any signs of anxiety, especially not when Stacy was already so unsettled. “Don’t worry about it too much. We’ve got this.”

They walked across the open grounds toward the changing rooms near the courts. The sun was hanging high in the sky, casting golden light across the basketball and volleyball courts. The sounds of sneakers squeaking, basketballs bouncing, and chatter from other students filled the air, creating a vibrant, bustling atmosphere.

Eventually, they reached the locker room. The door creaked as they pushed it open, the cold air from inside brushing against their warm skin. Inside, a few other girls were already getting dressed and adjusting their gear.

The volleyball court was outdoors, surrounded by tall green fencing and sat right next to the basketball court. From where they stood, Almora could already hear whistles blowing and sneakers squeaking against the polished court surface.

Almora and Stacy changed into their sportswear—simple but comfortable athletic shorts and matching school t-shirts. They both laced up their trainers and stared at each other for a moment.

“Ready?” Stacy asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Almora replied.

The two girls inhaled deeply at the same time, then exhaled slowly. They gave each other a nod and stepped out of the locker room, walking side by side toward the volleyball court.

When they arrived, the place was already packed. Students were milling around, stretching, chatting, or nervously checking their tags. A few people were warming up with practice serves or jumping in place. The crowd was electric with excitement and tension.

A student volunteer walked up to them and handed each of them a small colored tag, one blue and one yellow. Both Almora and Stacy received blue tags.

“Guess we’re on the same team,” Stacy said with a relieved smile.

A sharp, commanding voice rang out from the center of the court. “Gather round, students!”

Everyone turned.

A tall woman with short auburn hair tied in a sleek ponytail stood with a clipboard in her hand and a whistle around her neck. She wore the school’s athletic tracksuit and had the air of someone who took no nonsense.

“I’m Ms. Ashley, your volleyball coach,” she introduced herself, her tone confident and clear. “As you can see, you’ve all been given tags, some are blue, others yellow. These colors represent the teams you’ll be playing on today. You’ll be competing against each other, and from both teams, I will select the best players to officially join the school’s volleyball team.”

Her gaze swept across the crowd, sharp and watchful.

“Understood?” she barked.

“Yes, ma’am!” the students chorused in unison, their voices echoing slightly against the nearby walls.

“Good. Now, let’s begin!”

Almora and Stacy exchanged another look, a mix of determination and nerves, then walked over to the side of the court designated for the blue team.

The whistle blew, and Almora instinctively took a deep breath. The team lined up and took their positions on the court. There were six players per side, just like in a real match.

The game began.

The yellow team immediately showed their dominance. Their coordination was impeccable, their passes sharp, their spikes forceful, and their reflexes quick. On the other hand, Almora’s team was disorganized. They missed easy passes, bumped into each other, and struggled to communicate. Every attempt at scoring was met with failure.

After several exhausting minutes, the whistle blew again. The first half of the game was over.

The scoreboard showed a glaring difference. Yellow team: 12. Blue team: 0.

Stacy sighed heavily and plopped down on the bench. “If we keep playing like this,” she said, wiping sweat from her forehead, “we won’t get selected at all.”

“That’s because we’re not playing like a team,” Almora replied, her voice calm but firm. She wasn’t wrong. From the moment the game started, no one was communicating or working together. Everyone seemed to be playing for themselves.

Almora stood up and clapped her hands together. “Hey, guys!” she called out to the rest of their team, but no one responded. Most of them were either stretching, drinking water, or looking away, disinterested.

Stacy’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “Guys!!” she shouted.

Finally, the rest of the team turned their heads, visibly annoyed. One girl with curly brown hair and crossed arms snapped, “What is it?”

Almora turned slowly, locking eyes with her. “Don’t ask what it is. You should be thinking about how we can win this game or are you being disinterested because I’m a Red?”

The girl’s eyes widened slightly.

Almora continued, her voice strong and unwavering. “Look, I get that you all don't want to roll with me but if we keep playing like we did in the first half, we’ll all be cut. Do you really want that? There are dozens of other teams still trying out. We have a chance but only if we act like one.”

Her words settled in the air like a challenge. Slowly, one by one, the team members sat down and turned their attention to Almora.

The girl who had snapped at her earlier softened her expression. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you,” she said. “I guess we shouldn’t always believe rumors.” She extended a hand. “I’m Amy.”

Almora shook it with a smile. “Almora.”

Soon, they all introduced themselves, exchanging quick names and nods. A plan was made. They discussed formations, strengths, weaknesses, and who would cover which zones on the court.

The whistle blew.

The second half began.

The energy was different now. The blue team moved like a single unit. Almora delivered powerful serves while Stacy blocked and passed with precision. The crowd started to cheer louder, their excitement building with every point the blue team earned.

Within minutes, the scoreboard read: Yellow – 20, Blue – 15.

The blue team had made an impressive comeback.

The yellow team, however, was not pleased. Their movements became sharper and angrier. One of their players glanced toward Almora, and for a brief second, her eyes flashed green. Just as quickly as it appeared, the color vanished.

Almora, unaware of what had just occurred, suddenly screamed in pain and collapsed onto the ground, clutching her back.

“Almora!” Stacy cried out, dropping to her knees beside her.

The whistle blew loudly.

Ms. Ashley ran over. “What happened?”

“My back... I-I don’t know... one minute I was standing, then—Ahhh!” Almora screamed again, her face twisted in agony.

Lucian, who had been watching the game from the sidelines since the start, sprang into action the moment he heard her cry. He rushed onto the court, brushing past other students without hesitation.

“Brittany!” Ms. Ashley turned, her voice sharp. “Come over here now! Fix what you did!”

Brittany’s eyes widened in shock. “I—I don’t know how to undo it,” she stammered, voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt her... I just... I’m sorry!”

Lucian didn’t wait for explanations. He knelt beside Almora, touched her forehead gently, and whispered a soft spell. Her eyes fluttered shut as she was eased into a magical sleep, one that dulled the pain.

Without a word, he lifted her into his arms, careful and precise, as though she were the most fragile thing in the world. He turned to Ms. Ashley.

“I’ll take her to the infirmary,” he said.

Ms. Ashley nodded. “Tryouts for today are over,” she called out. “They’ll continue tomorrow.”

Almora’s teammates followed closely behind Lucian as he carried her across the school grounds. His expression was dark, and his grip on her never faltered. His eyes burned with restrained fury, and his jaw clenched tightly. He looked like a man holding back a storm.

Once they arrived at the infirmary, he laid her down gently onto the bed. The nurse moved quickly, applying magical salves and whispering healing spells. A soft glow surrounded Almora’s body.

“She’ll be fine,” the nurse said after a few moments. “By the time she wakes up, she won’t feel any pain.”

Lucian let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He raked his hand through his tousled hair, nodded, and without saying another word, turned and left the room.

His mind, however, stayed behind, right with her.