"This is him? The Spear you've been raving about?" Coach Viriam squinted across the pitch, voice pitched just low enough that he probably thought it wouldn't carry. "He's barely taller than the Krozball posts."

Hugo shifted uncomfortably, his massive frame making the weathered bench beneath him creak in protest. "I know he doesn't look like much, but—"

"Doesn't look like much?" Viriam interrupted, scratching at his salt-and-pepper beard. "He looks like someone's little brother who wandered onto the field by mistake. Are you sure we're looking at the same kid? The skinny one with the white streak in his hair?"

"That's him," Hugo confirmed.

"God preserve us. I could snap him like a twig with one hand."

The murmurs rippled through the gathered players. Adom kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending not to hear any of it while strapping on his right gauntlet. Next to him, Sam winced.

"They're not exactly being subtle, are they?" Sam whispered.

Adom said nothing, tightening the gauntlet with perhaps more force than necessary.

"Hey, mini-Spear," called Talef from a few feet away, his tone light and teasing. "Don't worry—if someone charges you, just duck. They'll fly right over you."

Several players laughed, not unkindly.

"Or you could run between his legs," added Mira, grinning. "Tactical advantage of being fun-sized."

More laughter.

Children, Adom thought. All of them. Playing at competition with absolutely no concept of real battle. In his first life, by their age, most would have already faced genuine life-or-death situations.

"Look," Coach Viriam continued, "I'm sure he's a nice enough kid, but this is Krozball, not storytelling hour at the library. People get hurt. Badly. Remember Galen Nox? Shattered his entire arm cage on that bad fall last season."

"Rib cage," Hugo corrected. "And yes, but—"

"My point exactly! We're talking broken bones as a matter of course. And now you want me to put—" Viriam gestured vaguely in Adom's direction, "—that on the field?"

Again.

"Coach," Hugo said, lowering his voice slightly (though not nearly enough), "I know this sounds crazy, but you have to see him play. He's got the best spatial awareness I've ever seen in a third-year. Maybe in any year."

"The dungeon hero, right?" Viriam's tone made it clear exactly what he thought of that title. "Look, I'm sure the stories about him are very exciting, but they're probably exaggerated. Kids that age tend to—"

"I watched him take down Serena in a duel," Hugo cut in. "Clean win. No tricks."

That caused a moment of silence. Even Viriam seemed to hesitate.

"You told me already, but are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Probably a fluke," Viriam muttered, but with less conviction now. "Or she was going easy on him."

"Serena doesn't go easy on anyone. You know that."

From the bench nearby, Serena herself looked up sharply. Her eyes found Adom, measuring him silently. Unlike the others, she wasn't laughing. Her jaw tightened, and she scoffed loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"It wasn't a fluke," she said flatly. "And I wasn't going easy." She returned to adjusting her gauntlets, adding under her breath, "Won't make that mistake again."

Sam leaned closer to Adom. "You okay?"

"Fine," Adom replied flatly.

"You don't look fine. You look like you're plotting someone's violent demise."

"That's just my face."

Sam snorted. "No, your plotting-violence face has more of a squint to it. This is your I'm-too-dignified-to-acknowledge-I'm-annoyed face. Very different."

Despite himself, the corner of Adom's mouth twitched upward. "The difference is smaller than you'd think."

Sam snorted. "Your sense of humor gets really dark when people underestimate you."

"It's not the underestimation," Adom said quietly. "It's the tedium of it. Eighty years, and I still have to deal with the exact same nonsense."

Across the field, Coach Viriam was still expressing his reservations. "And what about his parents? You think they'd be happy to learn we've put their precious boy on a collision course with some fifth year's fist?"

"He's Commander Sylla's son," Hugo reminded him.

"Oh, even better," Viriam threw up his hands. "So when he gets his arm broken, I'll have one of the Empire's top military commanders on my doorstep. Fantastic."

"Coach," Hugo said, with the patience of someone explaining a simple concept to a particularly stubborn child, "just watch him. One practice. That's all I'm asking."

Viriam stared at Hugo for a long moment, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. One practice. But if he gets flattened, that's on you. You saw what his father did last semester. I want none of that."

"Deal."

Adom finished adjusting his gear and stood up.

"All right," Viriam shouted, suddenly shifting to his full coaching voice. "Everyone on the field! Let's see what we're working with!"

Adom caught Hugo giving him an encouraging nod. He returned it with the barest inclination of his head.

"Remember," Sam said as Adom prepared to join the others on the field, "no magical death spells if someone laughs at you."

"I'd never," Adom replied with feigned innocence.

"Uh-huh. I saw your face when Talef made that height joke. Pure murder."

"Not murder. Just mild maiming."

Sam grinned. "Show them what you've got, old man."

Adom allowed himself a small, genuine smile. "Oh, I intend to."

*****