Chapter Text
The Unstable University dining hall smelled like oily tater tots, old gym sneakers, and the humid, heavy musk of too many hybrids crammed into a space with broken air conditioning. It was peak lunch hour on a Tuesday. The noise was a massive wall of sound—plastic trays clattering, chairs scraping, and everyone yelling over each other to be heard.
At a corner table by the dusty windows, Wemmbu was aggressively ripping apart a grilled chicken breast with a plastic fork. Every stab was personal. His long, bright purple hair was tied up in a loose braid that hung over his shoulder, and his violet eyes were locked onto something, or rather someone, across the room. Under the collar of his purple varsity jacket, a silver chain with a sunflower charm caught the light.
"Dude, stop," Eggchan said, not even looking up from his phone.
The seraphim hybrid was slumped so low in his chair his knees were hitting the underside of the table. His massive, pure white wings were folded tight against his back, the tips tucked away so people wouldn't trip over them. With his messy white hair and pale skin, he looked half-dead, but his striking blue eyes were completely sharp as they flickered toward his best friend. His lunch salad sat completely untouched.
"Stop what?" Wemmbu muttered, his voice tight. The sharp, black ridges of his dragon horns twitched slightly against his purple hair.
"You’re doing that psycho stare again," Eggchan rolled his eyes, his thumb flicking rhythmically across his screen. "You’re literally glaring a hole through the tiger. It’s embarrassing. Everyone can see your aura flaring up."
"I’m literally just sitting here," Wemmbu snapped, though his tail gave a sharp, frustrated thud against the floor under the table. He adjusted his jacket, trying to look casual. "I'm just annoyed by how loud people are. It's obnoxious."
Across the chaotic cafeteria, Flamefrags was currently standing on top of a plastic chair.
He was being completely, ridiculously extra. His thick black dreads bounced around his shoulders as he threw his head back, laughing at some stupid joke Theo had just made. Flame was wearing a sleeveless red jersey, showing off the heavy ink on his arms and the broad, dark expanse of his shoulders. His striped tiger ears were curved forward, and every time he moved, a visible wave of heat warped the air around him—his mixed demon bloodline running way too hot.
Right next to him, Lomedy was calmly eating oatmeal, his brown bunny ears twitching in mild annoyance. He didn't even try to pull Flame down from the chair. He was too used to it.
"Look, guys! The sunflowers are out today!" Rejoice’s voice exploded into the space.
The golden retriever hybrid slid onto the bench across Wemmbu, practically vibrating. His floppy dog ears clopped against his cheeks, and his tail was wagging so hard under the table that the whole wood structure started shaking. He slammed down a massive tray piled with three plates of spaghetti and two chocolate milks.
"Hey, Wemm! Hey, Egg! Did you see the weather? It's gonna be so nice for our home game tomorrow!" Rejoice shoved a banana directly into Wemmbu’s face, his brown eyes wide and full of pure sunshine. "I got you this because you need the energy for practice!"
Wemmbu’s irritated expression dropped instantly. He took the banana, a small smile breaking through his grumpy face. "Thanks, Rejoice. You're the only normal person at this table."
"Don't encourage him," Eggchan mumbled. "He literally tracked mud into our dorm room this morning. If you keep being nice to him, he’s gonna start bringing you dead birds."
"I don't do that!" Rejoice protested, his ears drooping slightly.
Before Eggchan could shoot back another deadpan comment, the air around their table suddenly changed. The ambient temperature spiked, getting thick and heavy, smelling faintly of cinnamon and a lit match.
"Well, look who it is. The volleyball royals."
Wemmbu stopped chewing. He slowly set his plastic fork down, his purple eyes narrowing as a massive shadow fell over their table.
Flame slid into the seat next to rejoice, casually resting his face in his hands. His eyes were bright in the cafeteria lights—one a fierce, burning red, the other a sharp, molten gold. A lazy, confident smirk pulled at his lips, showing off his sharp, elongated canines.
"Hey, Rejoice. Looking fluffy," Flame purred, his eyes instantly sliding sideways to lock right onto Wemmbu. "Princess. Didn't see you at the athletic building earlier. I thought maybe you got scared and skipped out on practice."
Wemmbu looked up, his face hardening into an expression of pure disgust. "Some of us actually go to class, Kitty. I know that's a crazy concept for someone who spends his entire day chasing an orange ball around."
A couple of basketball guys at the next table let out a loud “Ooooooh,” but Flame didn't even blink. His smirk just widened, his tiger ears twitching with amusement. "Man, you're always so snappy when you’re nervous, Tinkerbell. Is it because your team’s gonna lose next week, or are you just sweating because I’m standing this close to you?"
"The only reason I'm sweating is because you look like you haven't taken a shower in three days," Wemmbu snapped, his voice getting louder as his purple wings flared out, clipping the edge of Rejoice’s shoulder. "Get out of my face before I literally throw you out the window."
Flame laughed, a deep, boisterous sound that made half the dining hall look over. He leaned in even closer, his body heat radiating off him in literal waves, making the skin on Wemmbu's neck prickle. "See you around, dragon boy. Try not to miss me too much."
With a slow, teasing wink from his golden eye, Flame spun on his heel and sauntered back to his table, swaggering like he owned the entire campus.
Wemmbu sat completely rigid for three seconds, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. His breathing was shallow, his sharp horns hot to the touch.
"Your ears are totally red," Eggchan said casually, picking up a carrot stick from his tray.
"They're not," Wemmbu hissed, his voice cracking slightly. He grabbed his water bottle and took a huge, aggressive gulp, trying to cool down his burning face. "The heat in this building is just broken. I'm literally suffocating."
"Yeah, okay. The building," Eggchan mumbled, turning back to his phone. "Totally not because the big cat just flirted with you."
"Eggchan, shut up!"
"Ooh! Are we complaining about the AC?" Rejoice chimed in, completely missing the thick, angry tension in the air. "Can we ask them to fix the juice machine too? It only dispenses water!"
Wemmbu let out a miserable groan, burying his hot face in his hands as his purple hair fell forward to hide his bright, undeniable blush.
The walk back to the dorms was supposed to be quiet. Wemmbu took the longer, concrete walkways around the edge of campus, trying to avoid the main squares where groups of students always hung out to gossip. The air was getting cooler as evening approached, which helped stop his face from burning every time he thought about lunch.
He turned the corner into the third-floor hallway of the dorm building. The carpet was a depressing institutional gray, lit by flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed like bugs.
Step. Step. Step.
Suddenly, another set of footsteps joined his. They were heavier, louder—the unmistakable sound of sneakers scuffing against the cheap floor.
Wemmbu didn't even have to look.
"Do you have a tracking device on me, or are you just a stalker?" Wemmbu said, not slowing down. He kept his eyes straight ahead, walking faster toward Room 314.
"Hey, don't flatter yourself, Princess," Flame’s voice came from right behind his shoulder. The tiger hybrid easily caught up, his long legs matching Wemmbu’s stride until they were walking shoulder-to-shoulder in the tight hallway. Flame had his hands slung behind his head, his black dreads swaying. "I live here, remember? Room 320. Just down the hall. We’re practically roommates."
"We are literally not," Wemmbu snapped, his boots clicking rapidly. He accelerated, desperate to get to his door.
Flame chuckled, his tail swinging lazily behind him, nearly knocking into a fire extinguisher on the wall. "Wow, why are you walking so fast? What's the matter, dragon? Scared I'm gonna burn you if I get too close?"
"I'm trying to get away from the sound of your annoying voice," Wemmbu said, his teeth gritting as he finally reached the door marked 314. He pulled his keycard out of his pocket with a fast, jerky motion, ready to slam the door in Flame's face.
But before the lock could even click green, a heavy hand slammed against the wood right above his head.
Flame shifted his weight, completely pinning Wemmbu between his massive frame and the door. He wasn't touching him, but he was way too close. Flame’s red and gold eyes were dark, looking down at him with an intense, heavy focus that made Wemmbu’s throat go totally dry. The heat coming off the tiger was like standing in front of an open oven.
"Move your hand, Flame," Wemmbu said, his voice dropping into a warning tone. His hand gripped his keycard so hard the plastic started to bend. "I'm not doing this right now."
"I’m serious, Wemm," Flame said, his voice low as he dropped his hand from the door. He leaned down a bit, his striped ears twitching. "We got the away finals against Strength Uni tomorrow night. Huge game. The stands are gonna be full of scouts."
"Good for you. Go tell someone who cares." Wemmbu reached for the handle, pushing the door open and quickly sliding in, but Flame instantly slid his foot forward, wedging his big sneaker right into the doorframe before Wemmbu could slam the door in his face.
Wemmbu pushed against the wood, his dragon strength tensing in his arms. He could easily slam the door hard enough to crush Flame's foot—the violent thought crossed his mind, clean and tempting. But then he looked at the sneaker, then up at Flame’s face. Lomedy would kill him if he injured their star player just before the biggest match of the year.
Wemmbu stopped pushing and opens the door fully, facing Flame. His wings flared slightly behind his back in pure frustration. "You are lucky I don't want to get suspended. Move your foot."
"I have a proposition," Flame said suddenly.
Wemmbu blinked, his purple eyes widening. "What?"
"A bet," Flame explained, his golden eye gleaming with a sharp, desperate intensity. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, looking down at the dragon. "If I drop 30 points against Strength tomorrow... you let me take you out. A real date. Just us."
A sharp, sarcastic laugh popped out of Wemmbu’s throat. He masked it instantly behind a glare. "Thirty points? Against Strength? Their defense is literally all seven-foot wolf hybrids, Flame. You're gonna get carried off on a stretcher."
"Then you got nothing to lose, right?" Flame challenged, his head tilting, his voice getting into that smooth, low tone that always messed with Wemmbu’s head. "Unless you're scared I'll actually do it. Unless you're scared to be seen with me."
Wemmbu’s heart took a violent leap. The comment hit way too close to his actual fears. His pride flared up, hot and defensive.
"Thirty is a joke," Wemmbu said, stepping closer until his chest was almost touching Flame’s jersey, his violet hair shifting over his shoulder. "Make it forty. You drop forty points on Strength Uni's court, and I’ll consider letting you buy me food. But when you fail—and you will fail—you leave me alone for the rest of the semester."
Flame’s expression completely froze. For a split second, pure shock flickered across his face. Forty points in a final was an insane, almost impossible number for a heavily guarded player. But then, Flame’s eyes lit up with a fierce, hungry look.
"Forty," Flame whispered, his voice thick. He took his hand off the wall and held it out between them. "Deal."
Wemmbu reached out, his cool, pale hand sliding into Flame’s huge, calloused, burning palm. The contrast was shocking—ice meeting fire. Flame’s fingers wrapped around his, tight and lingering, a grip that felt way too intense for a sports bet. They shook once, the silence in the hallway stretching until Wemmbu couldn't take it anymore.
Wemmbu yanked his hand back, his skin tingling where Flame had touched him. He stepped into his room and slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place loudly.
A few doors down, Flame literally skipped into Room 320.
He shoved the door open so hard it hit the wall, his tail throwing wild, chaotic loops in the air behind him as he dropped his gym bag onto the floor.
"Mane! Mane, wake up, I did it!" Flame yelled, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Manepear didn't even flinch. The older brother was stretched out on the tiny twin bed across the room, his long blonde dreads spilling over the edge of the mattress. He had one massive arm thrown over his eyes, his muscular frame taking up the whole bed. His left eye—the blinded, pale gray one—was hidden, leaving only his right, deep orange eye to slowly crack open as Flame slammed the door.
"Stop screaming," Mane rumbled, his voice a deep, gravelly bass. He didn't sit up. "Some of us actually worked out today while you were busy being an idiot in the cafeteria."
"I wasn't being an idiot, I secured a date," Flame grinned, collapsing onto his own messy bed, staring up at the ceiling with a ridiculous, lovesick smile. "I asked him out. Well, a bet. Same thing."
Mane shifted slowly, sitting up against the wall. His lion ears flicked, watching Flame’s tail wag furiously against the sheets. He looked totally unbothered, his face heavy and bored, but his one good eye was sharp.
"Wemmbu?" Mane asked.
"Yeah. The one and only."
Mane let out a short, dry huff. He reached down to adjust the tape around his ankle. "You’re a dumbass, Flame. You made a bet with a rich dragon whose dad is a literal doctor. He looks at you like you're a stray project."
"He doesn't," Flame muttered, his energy dipping, his ears pinning back defensively. "He just... he acts tough. It’s his thing."
Mane looked at his younger brother for a long, quiet moment. He thought about the small, quiet kid he used to teach martial arts to years ago—the rich boy who used to look up to him before everything went to hell with their own dad. He knew Wemmbu’s walls were thick. And he knew Flame was hopelessly in love.
"Just don't get hurt," Mane said, his voice dropping into that quiet, protective tone he only used when they were alone. "People like him... they have a lot to lose if things get messy. And you don't have a safety net if you lose your scholarship."
Flame’s smile vanished, his jaw tightening as he nodded. "I know. I'm gonna lock in, Mane. I promise."
Meanwhile, in Room 314, a loud, muffled scream was vibrating through a pillow.
Wemmbu was face-down on his bed, his purple wings completely spread across the mattress. He kicked his legs out in pure frustration before rolling over to stare at the ceiling with wide, panicked eyes.
"Forty points," Wemmbu groaned to the empty room. "Why did I say forty? I'm so stupid. I'm literally the dumbest person alive."
Eggchan didn't even turn around from his desk. He was currently nose deep in a book that was bigger than his head.
"Because you want him to get forty points," Eggchan said, his voice completely flat.
"I do not!" Wemmbu yelled, sitting up fast, his purple hair falling over his face. He touched his lips, then quickly dropped his hand. "I want him to lose. I want him to get completely destroyed so he leaves me alone. He's annoying, he's loud, and he's ruining my life."
"Uh-huh," Eggchan mumbled, clearly not convinced. "That's why you looked like you were about to pass out when he touched your hand. I could hear your heart from the door, Wemmbu. It was loud."
"That was just adrenaline!"
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that." Eggchan set the book down and finally turned around in his chair, his white wings flaring slightly. His face was totally expressionless. "Just don't come crying to me when he actually does it and you have to spend two hours alone with him at a fancy restaurant."
Wemmbu grabbed his pillow and threw it directly at Eggchan’s head. Eggchan didn't even move; he just tilted his head two inches to the left, letting the pillow sail past his ear and hit the closet.
"Go to sleep," Eggchan sighed, turning back to his desk. "We have a home game tomorrow. Try not to miss the ball because you’re thinking about Flame."
The late afternoon sun was hitting the windows of the visitors' locker room at Strength University, but the light inside felt completely cold. Flame sat on the wooden bench, his large hands gripping his skull, his fingers tangling tightly into the roots of his black dreads. His tiger ears were pinned completely flat against his head.
The rest of the basketball team was bustling around him—the snap of tape, the rustle of mesh jerseys, and Lomedy’s quiet, firm voice going over the defensive rotations with Theo and Spongs. Spoke trying to rope Jaden into another one of his schemes. But Flame couldn't hear any of it.
The weight in his chest had settled in about an hour before they boarded the bus.
His phone sat face-down on the bench right next to his high-top sneakers. Screen cracked, buzzing every few minutes like an angry insect. The name on the caller ID hadn't flashed across his screen in nearly two years, but when it did, it had made Flame’s blood completely freeze.
"Flame.” The voice had been slurred, heavy with the sharp, toxic scent of cheap alcohol even through the cheap cell speaker. "I saw the sports papers. You’re playing the finals tonight. You think you’re a big man now, huh? Don’t forget who got you there. I need a thousand by the weekend or I’m coming down to that fancy campus to show your little friends what you really are."
Flame had hung up without a word, his hand shaking so badly he had nearly dropped the phone.
Now, sitting in the quiet corner of the locker room, the pressure was suffocating him. He looked down at his jersey, the bright red fabric feeling like a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. If he messed up tonight, if the scouts wrote him off, his scholarship could be in jeopardy. If he lost that, he lost everything. He’d have to go back to that house. He’d have to let Mane handle the burden alone again.
"Flame. Hey."
A hand touched his shoulder. It was warm and steady. Flame blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on Lomedy, who was leaning down with a look of quiet concern on his face. The bunny hybrid's ears were tilted back, his soft brown eyes searching Flame’s pale, stressed face.
"You're burning up, man," Lomedy said softly, checking the air around Flame’s shoulders, which was starting to warp with a faint, nervous heat. "You're inside your own head. What's wrong? Is it your dad?"
Flame swallowed hard, pulling his hands away from his face and forcing a weak, completely fake version of his usual confident smile. "Nah, Loms. Just... final game jitters, you know? Big crowd out there. Lots of green."
Lomedy looked like he didn't believe a single word, but before he could press further, the coach clapped his hands together loudly near the door.
"Alright, let's go, UU! Let's get out there and take what's ours!"
Flame stood up, his legs feeling like lead. He didn't look at his phone as he shoved it into his gym bag, locking the zipper down tight. He checked his hands—they were trembling slightly, the heat in his palms running unstable and jagged. He thought about the bet. He thought about Wemmbu’s cool, perfect purple eyes looking at him with that sharp disdain in the hallway.
Forty points, Flame thought, his chest tightening until it hurt. How am I supposed to get forty points when I can barely breathe?
He turned toward the tunnel, following the rhythm of the high-tops clicking against the concrete, stepping out into the deafening, hostile roar of the Strength University crowd.
The noise hit Flame like a physical blow the second his sneakers cleared the concrete tunnel.
Strength University’s stadium wasn’t just an athletic complex; it was an echo chamber designed to swallow visiting teams alive. The steep, concrete bleachers rose up into the dark steel rafters of the ceiling, packed to the absolute brim with thousands of fans dressed in a suffocating wall of dark green and silver. They were stomping their feet in rhythm, a low, mechanical thud-thud-thud that vibrated through the hardwood floorboards and rattled the bones in Flame’s chest.
"Look at this place," Theo muttered, his cockatiel wings giving a nervous, involuntary flutter against his jersey as they lined up for layups. "They’re literally feral. I think a guy in the third row just threatened my entire extended family."
"Ignore them," Lomedy said, his voice a steady, grounding anchor as he bounced a basketball against the floor. His brown bunny ears were straight up, sharp and scanning the court. "Keep your eyes on the net. We run our plays, we play our game, we win. That's it."
Flame didn't say anything. He grabbed a ball from the rack, dribbled twice, and went up for a standard warmup jump shot. It was a shot he could do in his sleep, a motion baked into his muscle memory from thousands of hours spent in the UU gym until his shoulders bled.
Clang.
The ball hit the back of the iron, hard, and ricocheted wildly toward the baseline.
Flame landed, his high-tops scuffing against the wood. His timing was completely off. His hands felt hot, but not the good, hyper-focused heat he usually got when he was locked in. This was a greasy, suffocating burn that started at the back of his neck and made his jersey stick to his spine.
"Hey," Luke4472 said, jogging over to retrieve the ball and passing it back to him with wide, anxious eyes. "You're good, Flame. Just a little warm-up rust."
"Yeah. Thanks, Luke," Flame muttered, his voice sounding hollow even to himself. He looked up at the VIP boxes situated just beneath the media booth. Three men in matching gray corporate tracksuits were sitting behind a glass partition, their faces expressionless as they clicked their pens over clipboards. The scouts.
Every time Flame looked at them, his dad's slurred, mocking voice echoed in his ears. You think you’re a big man now, huh?
TWEET.
The horn roared through the stadium, signaling the end of warmups and the start of the first quarter. The teams took the court, the green jerseys of Strength U looking massive, their front line comprised of two seven-foot wolf hybrids who looked like they lived in a weight room.
From the very first whistle, it was an absolute bloodbath.
Strength Uni didn't just play basketball; they ran a physical, punishing system designed to wear down opponents through sheer brute force. Every time Flame tried to come off a screen, a green jersey was there, checking him with an elbow to the ribs or a hip to the thigh. They were double-teaming him early, completely aware of his reputation as UU's star shooter.
"Watch the shooter! Don't let him breathe!" the Strength coach yelled from the sidelines.
Flame caught a pass from Jaden at the three-point line. He didn't have space, but the shot clock was ticking down to three seconds. He forced his body upward, fading back to avoid the massive, hairy arm of a wolf hybrid lunging toward him.
Clang.
Another miss.
By the time the buzzer sounded for the end of the first half, the scoreboard looked like a crime scene.
STRENGTH U: [46]
UNSTABLE U: [28]
Flame sat on the long bench in the locker room, his head buried deep in a cold, damp towel. He was breathing in heavy, ragged gasps, his broad shoulders shaking slightly. The air around him was visibly shimmering, a thick, oppressive heat rolling off his skin that smelled like scorched copper.
He had exactly four points. Two layups. Zero three-pointers. He was single-handedly costing his team the championship.
"Flamefrags."
The voice wasn't the coach's. It was Lomedy.
Flame didn't lift the towel. "Loms, please. Not right now."
Lomedy didn't care. He snatched the towel off Flame’s head with a sharp, violent yank. The gentle, soft-spoken bunny hybrid looked completely unrecognizable. His face was pale with pure rage, his brown ears pinned flat against his skull, and his jaw set so tight the tendons in his neck were visible. He grabbed Flame by the front of his red jersey, his fingers digging into the mesh as he forced his best friend to look at him.
"You are throwing this game," Lomedy hissed, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly low, furious whisper that made the rest of the locker room go dead silent. "I don't know who called you on that phone today, Flame, and honestly, right now, I don't give a shit. Look at your team."
Flame’s red and gold eyes flickered weakly, tracking across the room. Jaden was leaning against the wall, breathing hard, his brows furrowed. Theo was sitting on the floor, his cockatiel feathers ruffled and bent, nursing a bruised shoulder. Luke4472 was covered in sweat, ice taped tightly to his lower ribs where he’d taken a brutal charge from a seven-foot center just to get Flame an open look that Flame had fumbled.
"They are destroying themselves out there to give you the ball," Lomedy said, his grip tightening until Flame’s chest was pressed against his. "And you are sitting here feeling sorry for yourself because your life is messy. We all have baggage, Flame. But when you put on that jersey, you leave it on the bus. If you’re gonna play like a coward because you're scared of a phone call, tell me right now so I can bench you and put Spongs in."
Flame didn't argue. He didn't yell back. He just sat there, the harsh truth of Lomedy's words cutting straight through the thick, greasy panic in his brain. He looked at Luke’s bruised ribs. He looked at Theo’s bent feathers. Lomedy was right. He was being selfish. He was letting his abusive, piece-of-shit father ruin the one good thing he had built.
"I'm sorry," Flame muttered, his voice cracked, raw. He didn't make an excuse. He just nodded, his jaw tightening as he looked Lomedy dead in the eye. "I'm here. I'm not quitting."
Lomedy let go of his jersey, his expression softening just a fraction, though his ears stayed sharp. "Good. Because the third quarter starts in two minutes. Wake up."
The third quarter wasn't much better. While Flame’s head was finally back in the game, the deficit was simply too massive, and Strength Uni had all the momentum. They were playing with the smug, arrogant confidence of a team that knew they had already won.
Flame was fighting for every single inch of hardwood. He drove into the paint, taking hard, bruising hits from the wolf hybrids, drawing fouls, and sinking his free throws through sheer, stubborn willpower. He was scoring now, his personal tally slowly ticking up—14 points, 22 points, 28 points—but UU was still trailing by double digits. The clock was their biggest enemy, the numbers bleeding away like water through a cracked vase.
With four minutes left in the final quarter, Flame pulled up for a desperate three-pointer, hitting the bottom of the net.
Flame landed, his chest heaving, his body temperature spiking as he ran back on defense. They were down by 16. It felt impossible. The Strength student section was already singing goodbye songs, waving green flags, their voices a deafening, arrogant roar that echoed off the concrete walls.
Then, the heavy double doors at the very top of the visiting bleachers slammed open.
The sound was sharp, cutting through the rhythmic stomping of the home crowd. Flame didn't look up immediately, but a sudden, weird shift in the noise level made him glance toward the visitors' section.
A small group of students walked down the concrete steps, moving with a quiet, unbothered confidence that didn't care about the thousands of green jerseys surrounding them.
It was the UU volleyball team.
They were still in their white and purple match uniforms, their knee pads pushed down around their ankles, their hair damp from quick post-match showers. They had just won their own home game and driven forty-five minutes down the highway just to get here before the final buzzer.
At the very front of the group was Wemmbu.
He moved like he owned the entire building, his long, bright purple hair falling over the shoulder of his white varsity jersey. His dragon wings were folded neatly against his spine, but his posture was completely unyielding. He didn't look at the hostile crowd, and he didn't look at the scouts in the VIP box. He walked straight to the front railing of the visitor’s tier, gripped the cold metal bar with his long, pale fingers, and stopped.
His purple eyes sliced through the chaotic air of the gym, scanning the court until they locked dead onto Flame.
The stadium around Flame seemed to go entirely mute. The green flags, the stomping, the screaming—it all faded into a dull, low hum. Everything slowed down to an agonizingly beautiful, heavy crawl. Flame could feel the literal beat of his own heart, a slow, deep thud against his ribs.
Wemmbu didn't yell. He didn't cheer. He just stood there, his face serious, his purple eyes burning with an intense, quiet focus that blew away every single piece of doubt, every slurred word from Flame's father, and every ounce of pressure from the scouts.
Slowly, deliberately, Wemmbu parted his lips. His movement was agonizingly clear across the distance. He mouthed two words:
Lock. In.
Flame felt a violent, electric shock snap through his entire central nervous system. The heat under his skin didn't just warm up—it went completely nuclear. A visible, heavy wave of white steam rolled off his broad shoulders, wrapping around his upper body like a shroud as his demon and tiger blood reacted to the sheer, unfiltered rush of adrenaline. The lead weights on his ankles turned to pure, unadulterated fire.
He raised his hand, his fingers steady, holding up four fingers clearly toward the visitor’s section.
Forty.
Watch me, Flame mouthed back. His gaze was so fierce, so hot, it felt like it could burn a hole right through the railing where the dragon was standing.
What happened next would be talked about on the UU forums for the next three semesters.
Flamefrags went completely, terrifyingly feral.
The next time Strength Uni tried to double-team him, Flame didn't try to pass. He drove straight between both seven-foot defenders, his shoulder dropping as he absorbed a brutal impact that would have flattened a normal player. He exploded upward, his tiger ears flat against his dreads, and slammed the ball down through the rim with a draconic level of violence that made the entire backboard shake.
Flame landed, not even looking at the defender who had tumbled onto the floor behind him. He walked to the free-throw line, his chest rising and falling, his hands perfectly steady. He drained it.
STRENGTH U: 78
UNSTABLE U: 65
Strength Uni brought the ball up the court, their point guard looking visibly rattled by the sudden, terrifying shift in Flame’s aura. Flame didn't wait for them to set up their play. He lunged forward, his striped ears twitching as he anticipated the pass, intercepting the ball with a lightning-fast swipe of his heavy palm.
He didn't wait for his team. He sprinted down the court alone, pulled up a full three feet behind the three-point arc, and let the ball fly.
Swish. Net.
STRENGTH U: 82
UNSTABLE U: 75
The Strength coach called a frantic timeout, but it was like trying to put out a volcano with a squirt gun. Flame didn't even sit down on the bench during the break. He stood on the hardwood, staring up at the visitor’s rail where Wemmbu was watching him, his tail flicking rhythmically against his calves.
The final two minutes were a blur of pure, high-octane chaos. Flame was everywhere. He was blocking shots on defense, diving into the bleachers after loose balls, and shooting from distances that defied logic. The Strength Uni crowd had completely stopped singing. The arrogant green flags were lowered, replaced by a tense, horrified silence as they watched their twenty-point lead evaporate under a relentless barrage of red mesh and black dreads.
With twelve seconds left on the clock, the stadium was a pressure cooker.
STRENGTH U: 87
UNSTABLE U: 85
UU was down by two. Flame’s personal score sat at exactly 37 points.
"Get him the ball! Give it to Flame!" Luke4472 was screaming, his voice completely hoarse.
Lomedy secured a contested rebound under the green basket, fighting off two wolf hybrids. He spun on his heel, his bunny ears flattening as he spotted Flame breaking down the right wing. Lomedy threw a hard, chest-high pass across the half-court line.
Flame collected the leather in stride, his high-tops squeaking sharply as he planted his foot at the three-point line and prepared to shoot. If Flame gets this three-pointer in, Unstable wins. A Strength defender—their biggest, heaviest center—realized what was happening and lunged forward with everything he had, his massive body completely airborne as he tried to block the shot.
Flame didn't hesitate. He pulled up, his body suspended in the air, his eyes locked onto the red rim.
CRAAAACK.
The defender slammed directly into Flame’s ribs mid-air, a brutal, intentional foul that sent the tiger hybrid crashing violently onto the hard floorboards. Flame slid three feet across the wood, his skin burning against the varnish, his breath leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.
The ball left his hands right as the contact happened. It bounced off the backboard, rolled around the rim, and spilled out onto the baseline.
WHISTLE.
"Shooting foul! Number 14, Strength! Three free throws for Unstable!"
The gym exploded into a deafening wall of screaming, boos, and frantic chatter. Flame lay on his back for a second, his ribs throbbing where the center had leveled him. He looked up at the rafters, his heart hammering against his chest like a trapped bird.
Three free throws. Down by two. 85-87. Flame has 37 points.
If he hit all three, they would win the game by one point, and he would hit exactly 40 points. The bet, the finals, his scholarship—everything was riding on this.
Lomedy walked over, extending a heavy hand to pull him up from the floor. "Hey. Don't look at the score. Just look at the net."
Lomedy, Theo, Luke4472, Jaden, and the rest of the team all stood a few steps behind Flame, heads down, arms around each others' shoulders.
Flame stood on the black line. The referee bounced the ball to him. The Strength student section behind the basket was a nightmare of distraction—waving pool noodles, screaming insults, stomping their feet.
Flame closed his eyes. He took one long, deep breath, letting the internal demon heat settle into a low, controlled hum. When he opened them, he didn't look at the pool noodles. He looked straight up at the visitors' railing.
Wemmbu was still there. He hadn't moved an inch. His hands were gripping the metal rail so hard his knuckles looked completely white, his purple eyes fixed on Flame with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
First shot. Flame bounced the ball twice. Pull up. Release.
Swish. 87-86. (38 points).
The UU section went wild. The referee bounced the ball back. Flame’s hands were completely steady now, the heat concentrated perfectly in his fingertips.
Second shot. Same routine. No hesitation.
Swish. 87-87. (39 points).
The noise inside the arena was a physical vibration that rattled the glass backboards. The whole season came down to one free throw. Flame accepted the ball for the final time. He looked up at the rim, felt the burn in his arms, and let it fly.
Swish. 87-88. (40 points).
BUZZER.
The horn roared, signaling the end of the game. Unstable University had won the finals.
"HE DID IT! HE LITERALLY DID IT!" Luke4472 screamed, sprinting towards Flame like a complete maniac, followed instantly by the entire team.
Flame was immediately tackled to the floor, a massive mountain of red jerseys collapsing on top of him. The visitor section went absolutely feral, students jumping over seats, throwing popcorn, screaming until their throats bled. Flame was laughing on the floor, his black dreads tangled in someone's jersey, his tiger ears pinned back against the deafening noise. Lomedy pulled himself to the top of the pile, grabbed Flame’s face, and planted a massive, messy, celebratory kiss straight onto his cheek.
"You stupid cat!" Lomedy yelled, his bunny ears flopping wildly. "You actually did it!"
The crazy noise of the celebrations had moved down the hall to the locker rooms, leaving the main court of Strength Uni in a heavy, hollow quiet. The high stadium lights had been shut off, leaving only the dim, amber safety lights illuminating the long rows of empty bleachers.
Outside the media room, Luke4472 was slumped against the wall, his thumb moving at supersonic speed across his phone screen as he finished his final tweet of the night:
> @luke4472: FLAMEFRAGS IS NOT HUMAN. 40 POINTS TO WIN THE FINALS. LOMEDY ALMOST KISSED HIS FACE OFF. SCALED THE MOUNTAIN. ALSO SPOTTED: CERTAIN PURPLE DRAGON IN THE STANDS???
A reporter from the campus sports paper shoved a microphone into Flame’s face as he walked out of the locker room tunnel. Flame had changed into a clean red hoodie, but his hair was still damp from the shower.
"Flamefrags! A historic comeback tonight. What changed in the fourth quarter? How did you pull off forty points under that kind of pressure?"
Flame stopped, looking straight into the camera lens. The tired lines around his eyes disappeared, replaced by a slow, arrogant smirk that made his golden eye gleam under the amber lights.
"Had some extra motivation tonight," Flame said, his voice smooth and entirely confident. "A very special person decided to show up in the bleachers. I got a beautiful lady to take out on a date, and everyone knows I don't break my promises. Forty points was light work."
He pushed past the reporter, ignoring the follow-up questions, and walked back onto the main court.
Wemmbu was sitting alone on the lowest row of the visitors' bleachers, his legs crossed neatly at the ankle. He had his purple varsity jacket zipped all the way up to his chin, his long violet hair falling around his shoulders like a curtain. He was holding two bottles of blue sports drink in his lap, his expression completely guarded.
"Forty points," Wemmbu said, his voice quiet, echoing slightly in the massive, empty gym. "You always have to be extra, don't you, Kitty?"
Flame walked over slowly, the loud swagger and bravado completely disappearing from his posture the closer he got to the dragon. He looked a lot softer under the dim lights, his tiger ears tilted slightly downward as he stopped a few feet away from where Wemmbu was sitting.
"Had a good motivator," Flame said softly, a small, tired smile touching his lips.
Wemmbu looked away, his eyes drifting toward the dark scoreboard at the far end of the arena. He extended one of the bottles toward Flame, his face turning a light, stubborn pink. "You played well. Whatever. Don't look too much into it. I only came because Egg made me drive him since our match ended early."
"Yeah, okay," Flame chuckled, accepting the bottle. His fingers brushed against Wemmbu’s—just a tiny, split-second touch, but a sudden, gentle warmth blossomed between them, cutting through the chilly air of the gym.
Flame sat down on the bleacher step right below Wemmbu, his long legs stretched out across the hardwood floor. He took a drink from the bottle, then leaned his head back against the concrete riser, looking up at the dragon hybrid.
"So," Flame murmured, his red and gold eyes gleaming in the dim light, looking up at Wemmbu with a soft, hopeful vulnerability. "A bet’s a bet, Princess. You gonna keep your word?"
Wemmbu’s heart did a violent flip against his ribs, but he quickly covered it with a cold huff, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He looked at Flame, his purple eyes narrowing as he forced himself to downplay the entire thing. Flame was a playboy. Flame was the guy half the campus wanted. This was just a game to him—a trophy chase to see if he could make the "untouchable" rich kid break.
"I'm keeping my word because I don't break promises, Flame," Wemmbu said, his voice rigid, trying to ignore the way his own face was burning. "But don't get your hopes up. It's not a real date. It's literally just a silly bet. We're just getting food because I said we would, and then you’re gonna leave me alone like we agreed."
Flame didn't look hurt by the rejection. He just smiled, a slow, breathtakingly genuine look that made his whole face light up. He reached up, his large, warm hand moving slowly, and gently tucked a stray strand of purple hair behind Wemmbu’s ear, his fingers lingering for a second against the cool skin.
"Whatever you say, Princess," Flame whispered, his voice incredibly soft, his body radiating a deep, comforting heat that made Wemmbu’s dragon skin prickle. "Friday night. I'll pick you up at 7. Don't stand me up. Please."
Wemmbu froze at Flame's earnest tone, his entire face burning bright red as his tail gave a weak, embarrassed thump against the bleacher seat. He wanted to push Flame’s hand away, but he didn't. He just stared at the tiger, his own purple eyes softening completely in the quiet, golden light, utterly terrified of how much he was lying to himself.
"Okay."