CHAPTER 63: NOISE-CANCELLING EARPHONES, OR—A TRAGEDY

After the noise in the stadium had died down, Alaric stepped off the court with a gait far more relaxed than before. The cheers had faded, replaced by the sounds of spectators heading home, the chatter of event staff cleaning up, and a few lingering laughs from groups of students.

Inside, he felt a mix of exhaustion and contentment, even though the game hadn’t ended in victory. He knew his team had given it everything.

Alaric made his way to the Westminster campus restroom to change clothes. The scent of the court. Sweat, wood from the flooring, and the unmistakable smell of the game, still clung to his skin. As he entered the room, he slung his bag onto one of the hooks, then peeled off his Northvale team jersey.

His reflection in the mirror stared back at him. Tired. A sheen of sweat still covered his forehead. He wiped it away with his shirt, turned on the faucet, and cupped cold water in his hands.

He splashed his face repeatedly. The chill cut through the lingering tension, refreshing him like a reset after the intensity of the match.

His image in the mirror revealed tousled hair and eyes that carried the weight of fatigue. Naturally. Without giving it much thought, he changed into a plain black t-shirt.

Once done, he packed up his belongings, zipped his bag shut, and slung it over his shoulder. His movements were calm and methodical. As if muscle memory had taken over, just like the school days.

He stepped out of the restroom and began walking through Westminster’s campus corridor. As the rival campus, it felt unfamiliar to him.

The walls were more classic, even grander than his own university. The darker toned aesthetic and the architecture gave the place a different kind of air than Northvale.

The hallway, once bustling, had quieted down. Occasionally, a Westminster student would pass by, throwing him a glance, recognizing his face from the match. Some whispered among themselves. But Alaric walked on calmly, unbothered.

He eventually stopped at one side of the corridor near a terrace. Dropping his bag beside his foot, he sat on the edge of a low wall that blended into one of the support columns. The spot was comfortable enough to stretch out and breathe.

He pulled out his phone and tapped Robin’s number. As the call connected, his eyes scanned the area, checking if Robin had already arrived.

"Where are you now?" Alaric asked, still surveying his surroundings.

"Halfway there, Sir," Robin replied.

"Alright, let me know when you’re here."

"Will do, Sir."

Alaric ended the call. He slid the phone into his pocket for a moment, only to take it back out seconds later and plug in his earphones. He fitted the buds into each ear and started playing a fast-paced playlist. Songs that could lift his mood after a day like this.

As the beats kicked in, Alaric leaned back against the pillar, closed his eyes, and began tapping his right foot in time with the rhythm.

Notifications from his social media accounts kept coming in, indicating that many people had tagged him on social media. Posts about the recent match, photos, videos, and more.

Alaric glanced at the screen, then sighed. He didn’t open any of them. It was normal for him. Even on days without games, His timeline is always filled with college girls writing confessions, confessing that they like him, are in love with him, or simply idolize him.

This time he chose to let it all pass. His fingers simply pressed the ’lock screen’ button, then he closed his eyes again. The music was still playing, pounding into his chest. He truly seemed to be enjoying himself, away from the hustle and bustle of the world and the public eye. The young man enjoyed his own little space in a corner of the Westminster campus corridor.

The Westminster campus felt cool in the evening. A gentle breeze brushed against his face. Eyes shut, Alaric let the music guide his thoughts elsewhere. While his body remained still, it felt like his mind was running free, spinning in sync with the tempo.

But his solitude didn’t last long.

From the direction of the second-floor staircase, something fell. It was loud enough to echo off the corridor walls. Metal, maybe, or a person. It was hard to tell.

Alaric didn’t move. The earphones in his ears played at full volume, drowning out the world around him. He stayed there, eyes closed, foot tapping, lost in a world only he could hear.

Then a sound broke through. A voice. Hoarse, shaky, barely audible over the music.

"Help..."

At first, Alaric didn’t notice. He continued scrolling through his playlist, searching for a track that better fit his mood. His face remained relaxed, his body gently swaying to the beat.

"Help..."

This time it was a little clearer, though still muffled. The voice carried a weight, like it was being forced out of a chest that had run out of breath. Alaric frowned. He stopped tapping his foot, as if his body sensed something was off. Still, he didn’t react beyond that. The earphones remained in, and the outside world stayed muted.

Until the third cry came louder, more desperate.

"HELP!"

The word cut through the music like a blade. Alaric could feel the urgency even before removing his earphones. The voice was raw, trembling with what sounded like the last reserve of strength.

His eyes snapped open and he turned his head. He scanned the corridor, uncertain. He wasn’t completely sure, but he *had* heard something. Slowly, he removed one earbud. The breeze and ambient sounds returned—but the voice was gone.

Yet, from the corner of his eye, something stood out. A pair of human legs, limp, barely visible at the top of the stairs.

Reflex kicked in.

He stood quickly. His bag, still hanging from one shoulder, swung with the motion. He crossed the corridor in a hurry, heading straight for the stairs.

The closer he got, the faster his heart beat. A sinking feeling formed in his gut.

And there it was.

A heavy-set older man lay sprawled near the staircase, one arm trembling slightly as he struggled to breathe. His wheelchair had been flung several meters away into the bushes at the edge of the campus courtyard.

The scene was clear—he must’ve fallen from the top, lost control, and crashed hard onto the steps before landing on the ground.

"Oh my god..." Alaric whispered as he rushed over.

He crouched beside the man, gently touching his arm to check if he was conscious.

"Sir? Can you hear me? Stay calm, I’m here to help." His voice came naturally, steady and instinctively reassuring.

The man’s half-lidded eyes found him. There was visible relief in them—someone had finally come.

Without wasting time, Alaric slipped his arms under the man’s and began to lift him. It took effort. The man’s body was heavy, and clearly uncooperative, but Alaric’s athletic build helped him manage. Carefully, step by step, he guided the man down from the stairs.

He brought him to a shaded part of the terrace just across from the staircase. There, he gently eased the man down into a seated position, making sure he was stable and supported.

Alaric reached into his bag and pulled out a water bottle.

"Here, have some water. Slowly."

The man sipped as best he could, hands still trembling. Alaric supported his back, keeping him from collapsing. His face was serious now, eyes locked onto the man’s condition, alert for any signs of worsening.

The mood had shifted entirely. No more carefree music. No more relaxed moments in solitude. Just a young man turned rescuer and an older man who had narrowly escaped something far worse.

After ensuring the man was steady, Alaric stood up again. His eyes flicked toward the bushes where the wheelchair had landed.

It wasn’t close. About five meters away.

He quickly made his way down the small steps that led from the terrace to the lawn. Wet grass from an earlier watering stuck to his shoes.

The wheelchair was tipped over, one wheel caught in a low-hanging branch. The backrest was covered in dirt and leaves. Alaric grabbed it, steadied it, and began brushing off the mess. He did what he could to make it usable again.

Then he wheeled it back to where the man was seated.

"Once you’ve rested a bit, you can sit in this again," he said gently.

The man didn’t answer immediately. His breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling in jagged patterns. His veined hands shook slightly, and sweat clung to his temples. Alaric could almost feel the man’s heartbeat in the way he held himself, like every pulse reverberated through his body.

Alaric didn’t rush him. He sat down nearby, watching quietly. The sounds of Westminster students in the distance returned, but faintly. Occasionally, he glanced at the man to ensure he wasn’t getting worse.

He couldn’t help but wonder how had this happened? How could someone in his condition be navigating stairs alone? It didn’t make sense, especially not with how steep the steps were. Alaric shuddered at the thought of what might’ve happened if he hadn’t heard that final cry for help.