Chapter 111: An Unhinged Captain

Damon’s POV

After my darling captain literally threatened to snap my neck and forced me to leave the club last night, I dragged my exhausted body back home.

The moment I stumbled through the front door, my extremely pissed-off nanny was already waiting for me in the foyer with her hands on her hips. She didn’t even give me a chance to explain where I had been. She practically dragged me by the ear to the dining table, forced me to eat a massive bowl of hot soup until I was stuffed to my throat, and shoved three different kinds of bitter pills down my neck. I fell onto my bed like a dead corpse and passed out cold before my head even hit the pillow.

When I opened my eyes this morning, the tiny fever had finally broken.

I unlocked my phone, swiped through my notifications, and the very first thing that popped up across every single social media platform was a blood-red headline featuring our icy hockey captain.

Holy fuck.

Noah was literally taking over the morning news feeds. Pictures of George Jenson lying in a hospital bed with his shattered, bandaged hands were plastered everywhere, right next to wild headlines accusing Noah Miller of unprovoked assault.

I sat up in bed, letting out a dark, whistle of appreciation. My darling captain really went all out last night, didn’t he? He actually went ahead and broke all of George’s fingers just like he promised.

I knew for a fact that this media smear campaign was entirely George Jenson’s doing. George’s father was a massive real estate tycoon who literally owned half the board of trustees at his university. The guy was a spoiled, entitled brat who had spent his entire life using his daddy’s endless wealth and political influence to flex over anyone who dared to cross him. Or honestly, knowing how pathetic George was, maybe it was his dear old dad who launched this smear campaign on his behalf to protect his precious little heir.

Either way, I didn’t give a single fuck about George Jenson or his powerful daddy.

If George had his rich father backing him up in the press, then I decided right then and there that I was going to be my dear captain’s ultimate backer. Noah had pulled Micah out of that hellhole last night, so the least I could do was help him burn George’s reputation to the ground.

That was exactly how I ended up bumping into Noah at the university’s main entrance a couple of hours later.

The main gate was a complete warzone. Dozens of news vans were parked along the curb, and a dense pack of aggressive reporters had swarmed around Noah, shoving microphones and flashing cameras directly into his stoic face. They were screaming questions, trying to trick him into admitting that he had brutally attacked a fellow student.

As completely unhinged and psychotic as Noah was behind closed doors, I half-expected him to just tell the truth, glare into the cameras, and admit that he had pulverized George Jenson’s hands because the guy touched his little brother. But as I pushed through the crowd and got a clear look at his expression, I paused.

Noah was standing there with a calm, perfectly composed, and entirely gentle look on his handsome face. He looked like an innocent saint being falsely accused by wicked monsters.

That was the exact moment I remembered why this bastard had managed to maintain his legendary "Golden Boy" persona for way too long.

It was brilliant. By keeping up that pristine, squeaky-clean, top-student image in front of the entire world, Noah had built a bulletproof armor around himself. No matter what heinous crime was blamed on him, no one would ever truly believe it. He could stand over a body with a bloody knife, put on that mild-mannered, stoic smile, and the whole world would assume he was just defending himself. After all, everyone in this city knew Noah Miller as the noble, disciplined, golden captain of the university hockey team.

And my god, it played out so beautifully.

Not a single reporter was actually buying George Jenson’s story. Public opinion was already wavering, but the moment I decided to crash the live broadcast and join Noah’s side, the entire narrative flipped on its head.

I put on the performance of a lifetime. I squeezed out genuine, glistening tears, let my hands tremble like a traumatized victim, and painted George Jenson as a psychotic mobster who had sent hired thugs to break my legs before the upcoming finals. I praised Noah as the heroic captain who selflessly threw himself into danger just to protect his teammate from a brutal ambush.

The reporters swallowed every single word whole. Within ten minutes, the entire Internet went from condemning Noah to launching a massive online movement to protect him.

After I wiped away my fake tears, received comforting pats on the back from sympathetic bystanders, and watched the news reporters turn their rage against George, Noah and I finally broke away from the crowd. We crossed the campus plaza, walked into the main sports arena, and made our way down the quiet, polished hallway leading to the team’s locker room.

"That was sickkk," I chuckled, stretching my hand out toward Noah for a triumphant high-five. "Did you see the look on that female reporter’s face when I started sniffling? She looked like she wanted to personally adopt us both!"

Who was I even kidding? There was zero chance a cold-blooded sociopath like Noah was going to high-five me.

Noah didn’t even glance at my outstretched hand. He completely ignored my existence, stepping right past me with his heavy gear bag slung over his shoulder, his cold eyes fixed straight ahead as he continued walking toward the locker room doors.

I rolled my eyes, pulling my hand back and jogging a couple of steps to keep pace with his long strides.

"Hey! Captain! Listen to me!" I called out, falling into step beside him. "The regional championship is literally almost a week away! After what happened today, you know damn well George’s team isn’t just going to take this lying down. They’re humiliated. They’re going to want absolute revenge. What do you think our game plan should be if those bastards try to jump us again?"

Noah didn’t even slow down. "I don’t care."

"Aw. Come on, man," I groaned, folding my arms across my chest as I followed him through the heavy wooden doors. "After the incredible performance I gave out there to save your ass from a media lynching, the absolute least you could say to me is a simple ’thank you’."

I stopped near the entrance, leaning against a row of metal lockers with a smirk, fully waiting for him to swallow his pride and give me some credit. But the fucker didn’t even blink. He walked right past me into the center of the locker room, completely tuning me out.

The rest of the hockey team was already inside, fully dressed in their training gear. The moment Noah and I walked in, every single guy in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to look at us. Their eyes were wide, filled with a dramatic mix of intense pity, worry, and burning rage. They had clearly been watching the live news broadcast on their phones.

To them, Noah and I were surviving heroes who had barely escaped a cowardly ambush by our hated rivals. They looked ready to go to war for us.

"Captain! We saw the live stream!" one of the senior defenders shouted, slamming his hockey stick hard against the concrete floor. "That bastard George Jenson went way too far this time! Why don’t we sneak into their university tonight and destroy all their expensive training gear?!"

"Screw their gear! Let’s just set their whole damn arena on fire!" another forward yelled, his face red with anger.

The locker room instantly exploded into a chaotic mess of angry shouting. Everyone was throwing out wild, unhinged revenge ideas, eager to avenge us before the big game next week.

I stood by the lockers with my arms folded, a massive smirk spreading across my face as I listened to them. Honestly? I was fully in support of every single destructive idea they threw out. Setting the rival arena on fire sounded like an absolute blast.

Noah calmly walked over to his private locker, unzipped his gear bag, and began pulling out his jersey. He turned around to face the roaring room, his expression terrifyingly calm, his cold blue eyes cutting through the chaos like a sharp blade.

"We will defeat them on the ice, fair and square," Noah said, his low, steady voice effortlessly silencing the entire room. He paused, his jaw clenching tightly as his eyes narrowed. "But if they decide to play dirty off the ice... we will play dirty too."

The locker room erupted into wild, deafening cheers.

"CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN!" the guys began chanting in unison, banging their fists against the lockers and pumping their helmets in the air.