The field was already alive by the time Scott stepped onto it.
Players moved fast, sticks clashing, voices overlapping in sharp bursts of energy. Every movement had intent, every pass had purpose.
Scott slowed just slightly as he walked in, letting his senses adjust.
Loud—but clear.
From the bleachers, he could hear voices he shouldn't have been able to.
"…this weekend, there's a party."
Scott didn't look up.
He didn't need to.
"Friday night," Lydia added. "You should come."
"A party?" Allison's voice—uncertain.
"I can't," she said after a second. "It's family night."
Lydia scoffed lightly. "You sure? Everyone's going after the scrimmage."
"Scrimmage? Like football?"
Scott almost smiled.
"Football's a joke here," Lydia said. "The sport's lacrosse."
A small pause followed.
Then Lydia again, softer—but sharper.
"Because of a certain team captain."
Scott's focus shifted slightly.
"Who is that?" Allison asked.
A beat.
Lydia followed her gaze.
Scott didn't turn.
"Him?" Lydia said casually.
Another pause.
"Don't know."
Then—
"But he's kind of cute."
Scott's step faltered for half a second.
Barely noticeable.
They were too far.
He shouldn't have heard that.
But he did.
[Perception +0.05]
Scott exhaled slowly.
Okay… that's new.
"McCall!"
Coach's voice cut through everything.
Scott looked over.
"You planning on daydreaming or you actually gonna play?"
Scott stepped forward. "Playing."
Coach pointed toward the goal. "Good. Get in there."
Scott paused. "Goalie?"
"I know you've never played," Coach said, already turning away. "That's the point. Let the others score, build confidence. First day back."
Scott frowned slightly. "What about me?"
Coach didn't even look back. "Try not to take any in the face. Let's go!"
Then, louder—
"Let's see some energy! You're making me look bad out here!"
Scott stepped into position.
The goal narrowed everything in front of him. Instead of tracking the entire field, his focus condensed—angles, movement, distance.
Simpler.
Cleaner.
[Body Awareness +0.03][Balance +0.02]
"Run it!" Coach shouted. "And somebody actually try to score!"
The first shot came fast.
Too fast.
Scott saw it anyway.
Everything shifted.
Not just the ball—
The motion before it.
The shoulders, the angle, the release.
His body moved.
Step. Adjust. Raise.
The ball hit the net of his stick.
Stopped.
Too easy.
A pause followed.
Coach squinted slightly.
"…again."
Second shot.
Lower. Harder.
Scott dropped faster this time, hand snapping down just in time.
Blocked.
[Reaction Speed +0.04][Hand-Eye Coordination +0.03]
"Again!" Coach barked. "Come on, you're embarrassing yourselves!"
Third shot.
Side angle.
Scott pivoted, pushing off his back foot, covering the space just as the ball crossed in.
Deflected.
Now people were watching.
Not everyone.
But enough.
Jackson slowed slightly, watching from the side.
His expression tightened, annoyance slipping through the confidence.
"Move," he muttered, grabbing the ball himself.
He stepped forward.
No warning.
A trick shot.
Fake high—
Snap low—
Angle change mid-release.
Fast and precise, the kind of shot no one was supposed to stop.
Scott moved before the second motion completed.
Step.
Drop.
Extend.
Caught.
...
Silence.
Jackson stared.
For a second—
Too long.
From the bleachers—
"…he seems like he's pretty good," Allison said.
Scott heard it.
"Oh, very good," Lydia replied, a little too quickly, cheering for Scott.
Jackson's jaw tightened slightly.
Scott didn't react.
Didn't look.
But something in him sharpened.
[Perception +0.04]
"Again!" Coach barked. "Don't stop now!"
The next shot came without warning.
Hard.
Direct.
Scott didn't step back.
He stepped forward.
Time shifted.
Not slowed—but stretched.
The ball rotated through the air, every detail visible—the spin, the angle, the exact moment it would cross the line.
Scott moved before it finished.
Raised his stick—
Caught it.
...
Silence.
Longer this time.
Scott blinked.
Everything snapped back.
Normal speed.
Normal sound.
His grip tightened slightly.
[Reaction Speed +0.05][Movement Efficiency +0.03]→ Speed: 17.6 → 17.7
Coach stepped closer now.
Watching him properly.
"…alright."
Then louder—
"Rotate! Before he makes the rest of you look bad!"
Scott stepped out of the goal.
The field opened up again—wider, less controlled—but his body adjusted quickly.
Pass.
Catch.
Turn.
Everything connected.
[Balance +0.02][Movement Efficiency +0.03]
From the sidelines, Stiles leaned forward.
"…okay," he muttered. "Nope. Not normal. Definitely not normal."
Scott caught another pass without breaking stride.
Moved forward.
Then—
It shifted again.
Not the game.
Something else.
Scott slowed.
Just slightly.
That same feeling.
Someone was watching him.
Not from the bleachers.
Somewhere else.
He looked past the field.
Toward the trees.
There.
A figure stood between the shadows.
Still.
Watching.
Scott didn't react outwardly.
Didn't stop moving.
But he knew.
Derek.
Even from this distance—
He could feel it.
That focus.
That awareness.
For a moment—
Nothing else mattered.
Then Derek stepped back.
Gone.
Scott exhaled slowly.
[Perception +0.05]→ Control: 15.8 → 15.9
"McCall!"
Coach's voice snapped him back.
"You zoning out now too? Stay in it!"
Scott nodded once. "I'm in it."
And he was.
But now—
This wasn't just practice anymore.
Because someone else had noticed.
And this time—
Scott understood exactly what that meant.
To be continued…