Chapter 383: Poison Left on the Floor

Sector 8, one of the few places Victoria’s influence hadn’t reached yet, which made it neutral ground for the hardheads who still missed the old, darker freedom of the Underground.

In a bar wedged between a shuttered convenience store and a half-dead electronics shop, the noise from outside seemed to stop right at the door, like it marked the border between the old world and the new one.

Roam had gotten there first. Like always these days. He liked having a little time before the others showed up, before they all went back to looking at him like he was just a piece of furniture with a captain’s armband.

He turned his glass between his fingers without really drinking, eyes fixed on the table.

Three days.

Three days without a message from Saya. Without a call. He’d reread their last exchanges like ten times, looking for something that would explain the silence.

He knew why it was eating at him this much, actually. Not just because the team needed her. There was this stupid fear, way down, that she’d just decided she didn’t need any of them anymore. That she’d chosen Nash for good, this time.

That was stupid, why would she choose Nash...

Ah. Because Nash was a thousand times better than him now.

But... that didn’t mean anything, Nash being better meant he could definitely do better than some chick the whole Underground had already run through, he definitely had no reason to take her...

Ah. Maybe to get revenge on him?

Roam felt caught between a rock and a hard place. He had a thousand worries, and the strongest one was that Nash would eventually take that cruel revenge before he died.

He waved the thought away with a gesture, like that could actually work, but nothing had any flavor to it anymore. Peace, beer, even women all suddenly felt out of reach.

Vargas showed up soon after, his wheelchair creaking on the rotten floor, followed by Tylo, who sat down without a word, hands in his pockets.

Rin arrived last. Always. She settled a little off to the side, not at the center with the others, like she wanted to keep her distance.

Kej stayed standing, leaning near the entrance, silent.

The twins, Kiel and Kael, walked in together, trading that look they made all the time now.

The team was pretty much all there, just missing the cherry on top, and she was about to make her triumphant entrance.

The door opened, and Saya stepped in to the biggest silence yet.

At last, after so many days of silence and chaos, the queen of the trash heap had reclaimed her court, and nobody stood up to greet her.

She watched them for a moment, fighting not to laugh, then shook her head.

"What," she said, sitting down without being invited. "You’d think you’d all seen a ghost."

The others stared at her, torn between surprise she was alive and frustration that she was, in fact, alive and kicking.

"Three days," Roam spat, his voice tighter than he’d wanted. "Three goddamn days with no word, Saya. We didn’t even know if you were still alive."

She put on a shocked face, hand over her mouth, before losing the fight against her own laughter.

"Aw," she said, in a tender tone. "Were you worried about me? Cute, coming from the guy who looked the other way while half the Underground was climbing on top of me every Friday night."

An awkward silence. Nobody argued. Nobody could, actually — that was literally the argument that always gave her the last word in every fight.

Roam felt the heat rise to his face. That particular humiliation, he was starting to know it by heart.

"We don’t care about that right now," Vargas growled, drumming his fingers on the wheelchair armrest. "You owe us some explanations! You tell us one thing, then you vanish and stop answering, and now the match is happening. What the hell is going on?! What’s your damn plan??"

"Always so classy, coach," Saya answered. "You were a lot less impatient when it was my ass you wanted to negotiate for your job."

Ice-cold silence this time.

Tylo let out a joyless little laugh.

"She’s not scoring points, but she’s not wrong either. The important thing is she’s here, right?"

"Shut it, Tylo." Vargas growled.

"Alright," Saya cut in, raising a hand. "We’re not gonna redo the whole history of who fucked who in this shitty team. We’re here about a match. So listen, because I’m not saying it twice."

She leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"A lot’s happened lately, but like I already told you, nothing’s changed. Nash is going to lose. Voluntarily."

Dead silence. Like the air itself stopped for a second.

Vargas was the first to react, almost hysterical.

"Are you sure? Are you SURE? Because last I checked, his team is terrifying!"

"As sure as a dog in heat definitely fucks better than you," Saya said, without hesitating a second. "He still thinks I did him the worst wrong in the world. Pride, feelings, all that baggage he’s been dragging around since we met. I just replayed the girl-he’ll-never-have card, and now he’d do anything to break me." She shrugged. "It’s crazy what you can get by knowing how to sell your ass at the right time. Especially to a guy who doesn’t just stand there watching his girl get railed."

Something tightened in Roam’s chest at those words. Harder than he expected. He tried to keep a neutral face, but his eyes stayed on her a beat too long.

He hated it. Hated that it still hurt, after everything that had happened, after everything he’d let happen.

Rin, leaning against the wall, watched all this with a completely detached air.

"I only half believe it," she said. "Last time you cooked up a plan, it ended with two Blacklist idiots getting exiled. Was that part of the plan too? Especially you vanishing without a word?"

"Yeah," Tylo added. "Your track record doesn’t exactly inspire confidence."

"Believe what you want," Saya answered. "I’m doing the work, me. You’re all just whining while you wait to be saved. That’s why Nash is heading to the playoffs, and we’re heading to the morgue."

Kej lifted his head from his spot against the wall, something lighting up in his usually dead-eyed stare. Just the mention of Nash’s name, apparently, was enough to wake him up a little.

The twins traded their signature look.

"We’re bailing after this season anyway," Kiel said. "Win or lose."

"But if it means we don’t end up a laughingstock one more time," Kael added, "we won’t say no."

It was Rin who spoke up next, her voice steadier than usual.

"Even if she’s telling the truth," she said, looking around at each face at the table. "Even if we win this match. What do we actually win?"

Uncomfortable silence.

"We win our lives, you piece of shit," Vargas growled, nearly offended anyone would even ask.

"YOUR life," Rin repeated, a dry laugh escaping her. "Vargas. Seriously, you need an exorcism to get rid of whatever madness is poisoning your brain." She turned to Roam. "I did one season in this sport. One. And I spent more time spreading my legs to score points than actually training." She shook her head. "Might as well just be a hooker. At least that way I get paid properly."

"Rin," Roam said.

"What," she answered, no aggression, just tired. "What’s the biggest cuck in the Underground got to say? You want me to tell you I still feel like fighting for this garbage team?"

She stood up, straightening her jacket.

"With everything going on in the Underground right now," she went on, "the new opportunities, the money flowing everywhere since Nash’s manager blew up. There are real jobs out there now. Stable ones. Without opponents’ dicks up my ass between matches."

She looked at Roam with contempt.

"I’m seriously thinking about quitting all of it. After this match, whatever happens. So win or lose, it’s not my problem anymore."

The floor gave out from under Roam a little more with those words. Rin, of all people. The one who’d always seemed able to stomach the horror their team was going through, had just opened the box.

He’d always believed, somewhere, stupidly, that as long as the team was still standing, his own career was still possible. That Nash’s success, as hard as it was to watch, at least proved a player from the Underground could still make it.

But hearing Rin talk about quitting, this calmly, felt like watching the last pillar of his future collapse in front of him.

Not that. Anything but that.

His hands were nearly shaking. He stared at the floor for a moment, struggling to find words, before finally giving up.

"...We’ll talk about it after the match," he said finally, unable to come up with anything better.

"Yeah," Rin said, shrugging, sitting back down anyway.

The silence dragged for a while, until Tylo broke it, leaning toward Saya.

"Okay, practically speaking," he said. "How’s it supposed to go. On the day."

"Simple," Saya answered. "You play normally. You give it everything you’ve got, so it looks convincing to everyone watching. Nash handles the rest, quietly, on his end. Nobody will see it coming."

"And you’re sure he’s really gonna hold back," Vargas pressed. "Like, really."

Saya let out a theatrical little laugh.

"Don’t worry about that. He’s already won, he knows deep down he’s already proven he’s the winner of this whole story. Trust me, he’s got plenty of other revenge plans on his mind right now besides a match where we all already know the outcome." She stretched, a smile spreading slowly across her face. "This guy hasn’t let me sleep a single night since we got back in touch. I can barely walk straight in the morning, I swear. And apparently he’s planning to go even harder after the match, like, payback for losing. Pray for me."

An awkward silence spread across the table. Roam felt a cold sweat run down his back.

"Do you have to tell us this," he said, voice tight.

"Completely have to," Saya answered, a smile on her lips, clearly savoring his discomfort. "Like, it’s honestly a whole different world, Roam. Seriously. The way he fucks me, the violence with which he—"

"Okay, we get it," Tylo cut in, uncomfortable himself now.

Vargas, meanwhile, seemed to have completely taken the bait and was enjoying the description, a smile returning to his face, as if he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes shaking for his own skin. He rolled his wheelchair a little closer to Saya.

"I’d like to see for myself. But it’s true you’ve worked harder than anyone, my girl. You deserve a real reward for that," he said.

Saya looked at him, then put a hand on the wheelchair and pushed it back slowly, the way you’d push away a disgusting plate.

"Touch me one more time, you fat pig, and I’ll rip off what’s left of your balls."

A nervous laugh rippled around the table. Vargas rolled his chair back, offended but too much of a coward to press the issue.

Saya stood, grabbing her bag, throwing one last look over the group.

"See you on match day," she said. "I’m gonna go stock up on morning-after pills before then, given how much cum that guy dumps in me every time." She let out a small laugh as she pulled on her jacket. "Seriously, liters and liters of it. He must’ve killed off every loser gene you put in me, Roam."

She walked out without another word, leaving unease behind her.

Rin was the first to speak, once the door closed, a small ironic smile on her lips.

"At least," she said, "this time it’s not some pathetic cuck fucking her."

Roam clenched his fists under the table, and said nothing.

The biggest news of the week, alongside the formation of the new Blacklist, was still the confirmation of the most anticipated match of the moment: Blacklist VS Dust Dogs.

Across social media, the trend was the same. Everyone dreamed of finally seeing, for the first time, Blacklist’s full roster together on the same court, thirteen players carried by this season’s biggest revelation.

The Dust Dogs were nothing but cannon fodder, serving as a sacrifice to glorify a new team of giants.

The bets were on fire. Predictions poured in. And beneath the surface of the collective excitement, a quiet certainty was already settling in, almost unanimous: the Dust Dogs didn’t stand a chance, and the only real question was just how massive the gap would be.

On the manor’s private court, late in the afternoon, Nash trained alone, a ball in hand.

At the same moment, miles away, in a completely different world, Roam stood alone too, on the Dust Dogs’ training court, that same cracked pavement they’d used all season, the old bent hoop, the half-torn fence. A freshly planted sign near the entrance announced the site would be demolished by the end of the month.

Nash stopped, set his feet, and shot.

Swish.

The ball sailed through the net without touching the rim, a clean, satisfying sound. He thought of Zayela, of that night the team kicked him out, when she’d been the only one who never doubted him, even at his lowest.

Roam shot too. Airball. The ball flew far above the hoop, bouncing hard off the cracked asphalt behind it. He thought of Saya, of that line she’d thrown at him one day, months back.

You’re not a man, Roam. Not even close.

Nash shot a second time.

Swish.

This time, it was the memory of the whole team around him that surfaced, Jaz, Rei, Aiko, all the others, that feeling of finally belonging to something solid, something whole.

Roam shot again. Missed, again, the ball clipping the rim before bouncing far away. He thought about the rotten atmosphere now hanging over his own locker room, about Rin talking of quitting, about the twins already counting down the days, about the silence that had replaced what had once, very loosely, resembled a team.

The two men reset, each on their own side of the Underground, for one last shot.

Nash took a breath, eyes fixed on the rim, thinking about the match ahead, about what it actually meant to him now, no longer revenge, just a formality, a page he was finally about to turn for good.

Roam took a breath too, eyes fixed on that same kind of bent rim, thinking about that same match, about what it meant to him, his last chance to prove something, or his last match, period.

One of them on a brand-new, modern court. The other on an old court about to disappear into this new world.

Both balls left their hands at the exact same moment.

Elsewhere, Victoria stood on her bedroom balcony, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, wrapped in a light silk robe that slid over her golden skin, the thin fabric hugging her curves. Her hair, still a little undone from the night, fell loose over her shoulders, a few golden strands catching the light.

She took a sip of her coffee, gaze lost somewhere on the artificial horizon of the Spires, when her phone buzzed on the low table beside her.

She picked it up, mildly indifferent.

She read. Then reread. Again, and again, and then... nothing. She went completely still, the cup suspended halfway to her lips, her eyes fixed on the screen, no longer blinking.

That evening, in her hotel room perched high in the Spires, far above anything the Underground could still do to her, Saya came home late, exhausted, the tension from the bar still clinging to her shoulders.

She shut the door behind her, dropping her bag to the floor without even noticing, before collapsing onto the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long while without really thinking about anything.

She’d been good. Really good. Cold enough, sharp enough, convincing enough that even the most skeptical of them had eventually gone quiet, or at least doubted just little enough to keep playing along until the end.

She thought back to Roam’s face, to that pain she’d seen cross his eyes every time she brought up Nash. Some part of her, a part she didn’t really like to admit existed, had taken a wild pleasure in watching him suffer like that. A petty little revenge, for all the times he’d looked away while she was treated like an object.

Another part of her, quieter, wondered if she wasn’t just exactly what Nash despised. Was she acting out a role to trap the Dust Dogs, or was this just who she was? Before she could answer that, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Roam: We need to talk. Just you and me.

She reread the message twice, an amused smile slowly spreading across her lips.

"Like I’m gonna give up this luxury to be alone with your face. That’s exactly how you end up in a crime story," she murmured.

She lay there a moment, thumb hovering over the screen, an idea crossing her mind. She could go on the forums, right now, post something anonymous, hype up the Dust Dogs, announce their coming victory, stoke the fire a little more, to make the whole thing hit even harder dramatically when they lost.

She hesitated, thumb still frozen above the screen, weighing it, before finally letting her hand drop, setting the phone back on the nightstand, without answering Roam, without touching the forums.

She sank back against the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling, a smile finally settling onto her face.

Better not overdo it, she thought. Everything was already perfect as it was. She’d done what needed doing. She’d played her role perfectly. All that was left now was to wait for judgment day.

Her hand drifted almost on its own toward her stomach, lingering there for a moment.

"Almost perfect," she corrected, in a murmur, closing her eyes, finally letting the day’s exhaustion take her.