Chapter 146: Lets start

JUSTIN’S POV

The staff member laughed heartily. "Good. I like the energy." He shook my hand with a firm, solid grip. "Welcome. I’m Coach Miller, Player Development. Congratulations to both of you. We’re beyond thrilled to have you in the system."

"Thank you, sir," I said genuinely.

"Thank you," Mason added, straightening up.

Miller’s eyes grew a bit more intense, though his tone remained friendly. "Today is going to be a whirlwind. Don’t stress if it feels like you’re being thrown into a woodchipper it moves fast." He gestured down a wide, brightly lit hallway. "Head to registration first. You’ll get your dorm assignments, medical testing schedules, gear fittings, and itinerary. Then we have orientation with the full staff."

"Sounds great," Mason nodded.

Miller grinned again, stepping aside. "And before you ask yes, we paired you two together for rooming and drill groups."

Mason flashed me a look. I grinned. "Appreciate that, Coach."

"Get settled in, boys," Miller said, waving us through.

As we walked down the corridor, I couldn’t help looking around. The walls were a museum of hockey excellence. Black-and-white photos of Hall of Famers lined the corridor. Silver championship banners hung framed in display cases alongside game-worn jerseys and historic trophies.

Mason slowed his pace beside me, his voice dropping to an awed whisper. "Holy shit, Justin."

"Yeah."

"Look at this place."

"I see it."

"This is where we’re supposed to earn a sweater."

I looked up at a giant photograph of a captain lifting the Cup. One day. That was the singular focus now. Not just being a high draft pick. Not just signing a contract. The show. The NHL. That was the only finish line that mattered.

Miller stopped outside a set of heavy wooden doors. He turned to us, his expression lingering on a note of gravity.

"Gentlemen," he said smoothly. "Welcome to the organization."

He pushed the doors open.

Inside was a massive auditorium packed with dozens of other prospects. Some were chatting nervously in small groups, others sat in stoic silence. As the door swung open, several heads turned in our direction.

A sudden hush fell over the nearest row. I caught the faint rustle of whispers.

"That’s them.""The first and second picks.""Those are the guys from college."

Mason leaned toward my shoulder. "Look at us. Famous."

"Shut the hell up," I muttered under my breath, heading toward two open seats near the center.

A minute later, the head of player development and the head strength coach stepped onto the stage. The room immediately went dead silent.

The director stepped up to the podium, scanning the room of hungry, talented young men. "Good morning, gentlemen."

"Good morning," a chorus of voices answered.

"First of all, congratulations," he began, clapping his hands together once. "Every single one of you earned the right to sit in these chairs today."

A tight feeling formed in my chest. Earned. That word carried real weight.

"But I want to make one thing crystal clear before we hand out a single piece of gear," the director continued, his eyes sweeping across the auditorium. "Whatever you think you know about being an elite athlete... leave half of it at the front door."

Beside me, Mason shifted. I kept my eyes locked on the stage.

"This is development camp," the coach said firmly. "You are not expected to be a finished product today. You are expected to be a sponge. Over the next six days, we are going to test your limits. Medical evaluations, brutal fitness testing, high-tempo on-ice sessions, position-specific micro-drills, video analysis, nutrition overhauls, and psychological profiling."

He leaned over the podium, locking eyes with the front row. "You are not competing for an NHL roster spot this week."

That statement echoed in the quiet room.

"This week is about establishing your baseline. It’s about discovering who you are right now, and mapping out what you need to become to play in this league."

I sat back against my seat, absorbing the words. It made complete sense. Camp wasn’t the victory lap it was the foundation.

"We are going to challenge your habits," the director warned. "We are going to correct your mechanics. We are going to push you until you are exhausted. Some of you are going to feel very uncomfortable." He broke into a sharp, knowing smile. "Good. If you’re uncomfortable, it means you’re growing."

He paused, looking directly out at the crowd, his gaze momentarily catching mine.

"Are you ready to work?"

For a fraction of a second, the room held its breath. Then Mason spoke up from beside me, loud and steady.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes," I echoed immediately, the word grounded and absolute.

The director nodded, a satisfied smirk touching his lips. He clapped his hands together with a loud crack that echoed off the walls.

"Then let’s get to work."

A staff member showed us down the quiet corridor to our rooms, and the second the door clicked shut behind me, the very first thing I did was call Harper.

"Hey, baby. I’m finally here. They’re getting everything set up right now."

After talking to her for a few minutes, I dialed my grandparents next to let them know I’d arrived completely safely. I promised to send them plenty of videos and pictures throughout the trip, then gave them a quick live video tour of the whole facility. I walked them through the spotless locker room, showed off the massive halls, and finally angled the camera back into the room where I’d be staying for the next few days.

I was still turning the camera around to give them one last view when my screen lit up and I couldn’t help but smile.

"Oh, my girl’s calling me."

And just like that, I said a quick goodbye to my grandparents and picked up. The moment the line connected, her soft, sweet voice filled my ear, instantly washing away the exhaustion of the journey.

"Baby, have you settled down yet and have you gotten where to stay?"