Transfer Rivals

She turned to the white-haired guy who had just spoken, her brow furrowing. “Sorry?”

Before he could answer, Blake reached for Sarah's hand, yanking her out of the tight circle between the two boys.

Whispers erupted across the crowd, but Blake ignored the eyes on them. His grip tightened around her palm as he pulled her away from the scene. Sarah followed, though her steps were hesitant. A few yards away, Blake stopped, spinning around to glare at the pair.

Both boys stood their ground, easy smiles spreading across their faces—looking as if being there, creating that exact scene, had given them ultimate satisfaction.

Blake turned back, holding Sarah's hand firmly to ensure she stayed beside him.

Once the surrounding students faded out of view, his pace slowed, and he led her toward the basketball court.

“Who were those guys?” she asked, trying to keep up with his long strides.

He stayed quiet, his jaw set, looking as though he were wrestling with whether to answer her at all.

“I don't know,” he said finally, his voice clipped. “Probably transfer students. I’ve never seen them around here before.”

Sarah searched his face. “Then why were you so angry? And why did he call me 'sister-in-law'?”

“I don't know.”

“Blake, why were you so mad, then?” she pressed.

He went silent again. Sarah reached out and nudged his arm lightly, forcing a faint, reluctant smile to break across his lips.

“Okay, fine,” he muttered. “The way they flanked you was annoying. I mean... you’re my girlfriend. They should respect that.”

Sarah burst into laughter, the sound ringing out loudly across the empty walkway.

“That’s crazy—they don't even know that!” she said through her giggles.

“They should.”

Before she could process his words, Blake stepped in front of her, scooped her up into his arms, and kept walking toward the bleachers.

Sarah gasped, completely caught off guard. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but despite her racing pulse, she wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to hide the helpless grin spreading across her face.

“You’re taking this fake-dating thing way too seriously,” she whispered against his neck, her warm breath brushing his skin.

Blake swallowed hard.

He didn't offer a reply as they stepped into the shadow of the gym. Setting her gently back onto her feet, he pulled out a chair for her, and they both sat down overlooking the court.

“Why do you only play basketball when you’re the hockey team captain?” Sarah asked, her eyes tracing the empty court. “I’ve never actually seen you play hockey, even though you lead the team.”

Blake went quiet.

The heavy silence made her turn back toward him.

“I had an injury,” he said after a long beat. “It forced me to stop.”

The guarded look in his eyes warned her not to pry further. She quickly shifted gears.

“The international match is coming up soon, right? How’s the team handling the prep?”

Blake smiled slightly, his dark eyes shifting from the court to her face. “You’re surprisingly up to date.”

Sarah let out a small laugh, nodding.

“Well, we need to win,” he continued softly. “At least... I know *you* need that trophy. You literally come to every home game. Those trophies must mean a lot to you.”

Sarah’s gaze lingered on him. A smile spread across her face—a little too wide, a little too revealing.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Nothing.” She turned away, still biting back her grin. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and stood up from the podium. “I need to get to class. Catch up with you later.”

Blake nodded, his eyes following her until she disappeared down the corridor.

As he turned back to the players warming up on the court, his expression darkened, his brows pulling into a tight line.

Standing up, he left the bleachers and walked straight toward the administrative block.

He didn't bother waiting long after his knock before opening the door to the school administrator’s office, stepping inside.

“Morning, Mr. Martin.”

“Morning, Coach.”

“The new students—the two boys,” Blake said, cutting straight to the point. “I want to know their department, who authorized their transfer, and why they’re here.”

Martin leaned back, his eyes scanning the young man standing before him with calculated coldness. “And what makes you think I’m going to hand over confidential student records to you, Coach?”

“I think you will,” Blake replied, stepping closer. “Unless you want things to get uncomfortable.”

Martin made to stand, but hesitated, leaning forward over his desk instead. “Careful, Captain.”

“Linda, the cheerleader,” Blake said softly, a dark smile touching his lips. “I’m sure the school board would love to know why the administrator is offering *private lessons* to a student.”

Anger and sheer panic instantly flooded Martin’s features.

After several long seconds of tense silence, Martin finally spoke. “Jasper is in the Entertainment department. Ronan is in Business. As for why they’re here—to study, obviously. What else?”

“To push my buttons, maybe?” Blake raised an eyebrow, pinning the man with his gaze. “Who signed off on their transfer letters?”

“I really can’t say.”

“Speak, Martin. I have video proof, too. Do you want to review the footage together?”

Martin visibly shuddered, his hands shaking slightly as he adjusted his tie. “You can’t tell anyone I gave you this.”

Blake let out a dry, humorless laugh.

Martin’s lips thinned into a tight, pale line. “I’m serious, Blake. You can’t drop my name.”

“You’re going to lose your job either way if you keep pulling this trash with high schoolers,” Blake said, his tone dripping with disgust. “I have a class to catch. Stop wasting my time... *sir*.”

Martin slammed his palm over his face, groaning into his hand. “Fine,” he muttered. “Mr. Smith authorized it.”

Blake’s face went cold.

It was as if he had expected it, yet hated having it confirmed. Somewhere deep down, he had held onto a foolish hope that it was anyone else—even their mother.

“By Mr. Smith...” Blake’s voice dropped, hollow and dangerous. “Do you mean *my* father?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yes.”