Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Thirty

The arena still vibrated from Elara's skating routine, the roar of applause echoing as the teams readied themselves. Anastasia was bouncing in her seat like she'd just downed three espressos, Olivia leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and Elara still hadn't unclenched her hands from the rush.

Coach Garcia stepped in front of their row, clipboard under his arm, expression serious as usual. "Listen up, girls. You're about to watch the most important game of the season. You should focus."

Anastasia arched a perfect brow. "The first game is the most important? What about championships or something?"

Coach Garcia's mouth twitched like he almost wanted to smile, but didn't. "Championships don't matter if you don't set the tone now. The opener decides everything, momentum, confidence, reputation. This isn't just a game. It’s a warning shot. You win, and the rest of the league knows not to touch you. You lose, and every other school circles you like vultures with their prey."

Olivia let out a low whistle. "No pressure, then."

Coach Garcia gave the girls one more look. "Watch closely. You'll see what makes Viremont different." Then he stalked back toward his spot next to the rink.

The puck dropped.

The opening minutes were absolute chaos–skates slicing, bodies slamming into boards, the puck whipping from stick to stick so fast Elara almost lost track. The Rosewood team was slick, all clean passes and rehearsed formations, jerseys gleaming white and blue. Viremont? They played like a storm–fast, brutal and unpredictable.

The score ticked up quickly. 1–1. Then 2–2. Each goal cracked the arena open with screams and pounding feet. Elara's heart hammered in her throat, her eyes glued to Elias, to Andre, to Leo, to Thiago as he skated like a predator across the ice.

By the third period, Rosewood started pushing harder. Their captain slipped through the defense, wristed the puck past the goalie, and the scoreboard flashed 4–3 with only minutes left.

The Rosewood section of the stands exploded.

Viremont's players gathered at the bench, panting, sweat dripping, the weight of the game pressing on their shoulders. Elara gripped the railing, desperation clawing at her chest. She could see it–the hesitation in Thiago's movements, the way he wasn't pulling the trigger when he had the chance. As if he was uncertain of what he was capable of.

"Thiago!" Elara's voice cut across the arena before she even thought about it. He glanced over, surprise flashing in his eyes.

Her throat burned but she shouted again, words tumbling out with raw urgency, "The inside feint! From practice–cut right then wrap around left!"

It was the move she'd drilled with them when she helped with skating drills, one they hadn't perfected but could break a defense wide open if done fast enough.

Thiago's jaw tightened. He gave the smallest nod.

Back on the ice, the puck dropped again. Viremont stormed forward. Thiago took possession, darting down the wing. The Rosewood defenders closed on him, smug and certain–

–until he cut inside, faked the shot, and spun behind the net in one seamless motion. The goalie lunged right. Too late. Thiago wrapped around left, slipped the puck across the crease–

–and Elias smashed it into the net.

The arena detonated in noise. 4–4.

Seconds later, with the crowd still on their feet, Thiago stole the puck again, wove through the stunned Rosewood defense, and fired. The red light flashed. 5–4.