Chapter 2
1494 Words
## **Corner's POV**
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the white ceiling.
Then the pain came rushing back.
My ribs hurt and my shoulder was a bit stiff. I slowly turned my head. My father was sitting beside the hospital bed.
He looked furious.
Not the kind of anger he showed during business meetings.
This was different.
Personal.
“What happened?”
His voice was low.
I swallowed.
“I went for a walk.”
“A walk?”
I nodded.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went outside.”
His jaw tightened.
“And you thought walking around alone at night was a good idea?”
“I didn’t expect a group of idiots to attack me, besides it wasn’t long before my night and shining amour came.”
He stared at me.
“I know you well to know what you can do”
“Okay, fine. I saw some thugs on the way and I decided to get a beating.”
His expression hardened.
“What were you thinking?”
“Well, in case you have forgotten, This was the day my sister lost her life.” I spat with anger.
My father stood.
“You are not the only one affected. Get a grip of yourself. Whatever you are doing wouldn’t bring her back.”
“But yours will, you never come home, you’re always busy. The only time I see you, are in situations like this. It won’t bring her back, you know”
“You are being to reckless, your semifinals is tomorrow.”
“You know what. Dad”
I said in a sarcastic tone.
“Let me take care of that, it’s not like you care.”
I looked away.
The doctor had already told me to rest.
Painkillers. Ice. I wasn’t beaten that bad, my face was there target and I only managed to have a lip cut and a nose bleed. Though their kicks to my ribs and arms still induced pain, but I’ll be fine.
The semifinal was tomorrow.
And I wasn’t planning on missing it.
———————-
The ice hummed beneath my skates as I pushed forward, breath sharp in my chest, adrenaline buzzing like electricity under my skin. The arena lights burned bright overhead, reflecting off the rink and blinding everything except the puck and the goal ahead.
We needed to win this match to reach the State finals.
This was not just a game. This was reputation. Legacy.
The crowd roared as the opposing team closed in, sticks clashing, skates cutting hard lines into the ice. My grip tightened. I could hear my heartbeat louder than the referee's whistle.
The arena was deafening.
Thousands of people filled the stands, screaming every time the puck moved.
The scoreboard was brutal.
6–3.
We were losing.
Badly.
I gripped my hockey stick tighter.
Every movement hurt.
My ribs protested whenever I breathed too deeply, and my shoulder wasn’t much better.
But I stayed on the ice.
I was the captain.
I couldn’t leave my team behind.
The whistle blew.
We went into the break.
I sat on the bench, breathing heavily.
My teammates were exhausted.
Our coach was shouting instructions, but my mind barely registered them.
Six goals.
Three goals.
Three points behind.
And time was disappearing.
I closed my eyes.
Think.
There had to be something.
Some weakness.
Some opening.
Anything.
But my mind was too crowded.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my earphones.
I put them in.
I opened my playlist.
No lyrics. No voices. Just violin.
The first notes played softly in my ears.
I closed my eyes.
The sound washed over me.
Slowly, my breathing steadied.
The noise of the arena disappeared.
And suddenly—
I saw the game differently.
I opened my eyes.
“Wait.”
Andrew looked at me.
“What?”
I stood.
Our coach turned toward me.
“Connor?”
I pointed toward the ice.
“Number eleven keeps dropping back too early.”
Everyone looked at him.
“When we attack from the left, their defense shifts toward the puck. But number eleven always moves back before the pass.”
My teammate frowned.
“So?”
“So we stop attacking from the center.”
I pointed again.
“We draw them toward the left, then switch sides quickly. Their defense will follow the puck. When they do, there’s going to be space behind number eleven.”
The coach stared at me.
I continued.
“And their captain keeps pushing forward whenever we have possession. He’s aggressive.”
“Very,” Andrew said.
“Exactly.”
I smiled slightly.
“So let him come.”
My teammates looked at one another.
I grabbed my stick.
“We don’t fight their pressure.”
I looked at all of them.
“We use it.”
The coach’s expression changed.
“Let’s do it.”
The whistle sounded.
We returned to the ice.
And everything changed.
⸻
The first goal came quickly.
A pass from the left.
A sudden switch.
A shot.
6–4.
The crowd exploded.
I could barely hear anything over the noise.
We kept pushing.
Another goal.
6–5.
Then another.
6–6.
The opposing team started panicking.
They weren’t expecting us to change our entire style of play.
Neither was I.
My body was screaming at me to stop.
But I kept going.
Every time I moved, pain shot through my ribs.
I ignored it.
We were almost there.
The scoreboard clock continued to fall.
01:00.
One minute.
The entire arena was standing.
The puck flew across the ice.
I caught it.
Their captain came straight toward me.
He wasn’t going to let me through.
He wanted to crush our final attack.
I pushed forward.
He moved closer.
Ten seconds.
I could hear my teammates shouting.
“Connor!”
He lunged toward me.
I knew I wouldn’t get past him.
So I changed direction.
At the last second, I slid the puck across the ice to a teammate positioned near the goal.
The opposing captain realized what I’d done.
Too late.
My teammate received the pass.
One shot.
The puck flew past the goalkeeper.
For one second, the entire arena went silent.
Then the buzzer sounded.
6–7.
We had won the game with seconds left.
The crowd erupted.
My teammates rushed toward me.
Someone grabbed my shoulders.
Someone else screamed.
I could barely process what had happened.
We had done it.
We had come back.
I looked up at the scoreboard.
And despite the pain, I smiled.
Then the arena erupted.
"Corner! Corner! Corner!"
The chant hit me like a wave. I laughed, breathless, dizzy with victory, lifting my arms as my teammates crashed into me. Helmets knocked together. Gloves slapped my back.
I looked up at the stands and grinned.
That smile always did it.
I saw it in their faces. Girls blushing. Phones raised. Eyes locked on me like I was something unreal.
This was my world.
I skated straight to the bench and shook the coach's hand. He nodded at me, pride written all over his face, his smile wide and unguarded.
I turned just in time for Andrew to pull me into a rough hug.
"You did it, man," he said, laughing.
"No," I corrected, gripping his jersey. "We did."
The bus ride back was chaotic. Singing. Shouting. Someone banging on the ceiling like it was a drum. Sweat, laughter, victory thick in the air.
When we pulled into the Campus, it got even louder.
Students were already flooding outside. Mostly girls. Screaming. Cheering. Chanting my name as if it belonged to them.
"Corner! Corner! Corner!"
Pride surged through me.
I climbed onto the hood of a black Benz parked near the curb, pumping my fist into the air as someone handed me a bottle of champagne. I popped it open and sprayed it everywhere, laughter ripping out of me as everyone screamed louder.
The team gathered around, jumping, chanting, drunk on the win.
Our victory song rose into the night.
**"Blue and white, fight tonight,
Skate it hard, hold the line,
One team, one flame, one name,
We win now, we win always!"**
The chant echoed off the buildings, wild and unstoppable.
For a moment, standing there with the crowd screaming my name, I felt untouchable.
Like nothing could reach me.
I did not know yet that someone was already watching.
And that this victory was the last moment my life would ever be simple.
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