|| Chapter One || Sebastian – “Are you fucking kidding?” #3
“Alright,” Jacob began. “Full squad’s still off. You aren’t. That means we keep it simple today. Touch, movement, repeat efforts, then inside. We’re here to see where your bodies are at and to get some measurements to set up training plans.”
A few players shifted. Someone near the back laughed under his breath.
Jacob did not look away from the group. “You’ve had a few weeks off.
So, I hope you enjoyed them. Because we aren’t here to fuck around.
” Jacob turned and gestured toward Jeremy.
“Jeremy’s got the first block set. Agility, change of direction, repeat efforts.
We’ll move through groups, then move on. ”
Jeremy lifted one hand in a quick, awkward acknowledgement, then immediately dropped it.
“We’re going in five,” Jacob finished. “Warm yourselves up properly. I don’t want anyone tight because they spent the break sitting on their ass with their hands down their pants.”
The group loosened.
Conversation returned in pieces. A few players dropped into lunges.
Others started rolling their shoulders or jogging small circles between the cone lines.
The morning began to feel more recognisable now that there was instruction in it.
The first sting of Marcos’ arrival had not gone anywhere, but it had been forced to make room for work.
Sebastian joined a loose circle with Randal and four others, the ball travelling between them by hand more than foot now, quick handballs into chests, catches taken cleanly, bodies shifting without needing much thought.
Corey stood opposite him, shorter, pale, with curly red hair and the kind of sunburn across the back of his neck that belonged to someone who had spent their break in Queensland and refusing to wear sunscreen.
He caught the ball with both hands, offloaded too high, and winced when Phetmany had to reach for it.
Phetmany was next to Sebastian, barely up to his shoulder, compact and quick. He had gone back home to Laos over the break, which Sebastian knew because Randal had mentioned it in the car park while talking through half the team at speed.
Parker stood two spots over, mullet shifting whenever he turned his head, and Kirk was beside him, dark skin already shining with sweat despite the cold. Edgar completed the circle—round face, square shoulders, and a smile too bright for the time of morning.
Sebastian ran their names through his mind several times, making sure they all stuck. He’d seen most of them before. On the field, competing for the ball. Now, he had to get to know them all in a new light. Learn how to work with them instead of against.
“I’m still kinda pissed we lost the semis against the Storm,” Parker said, grimacing as he caught the ball and sent it on. His mullet swung with the motion.
“Yeah, fuck Sydney,” Kirk chimed in, the ball hitting his hands and leaving just as fast.
“We’ve got them next season,” Edgar said, clasping Sebastian’s shoulder when the circle shifted. “Our two new centre players will make sure of that.”
Sebastian forced a smile.
“New centre players.”
Plural.
It should have sounded professional, maybe even promising. Instead, it dragged Marcos into the space beside him again, whether Marcos was there or not.
Kirk scoffed. “Yeah, if they don’t kill each other before we get to round one.”
A couple of the others laughed.
Not cruelly. Not yet. Just enough to make it clear the reputation had arrived before Sebastian had.
Players watched other players. Clips circulated.
People loved a rivalry when they did not have to stand in the middle of it.
Sebastian and Marcos had been easy content for two seasons.
Two young rucks, same draft year, different clubs, too much heat in every contest. Put them in the same colours, and everyone suddenly had a joke ready.
“Channel all that anger to the other teams, yeah?” Edgar said in a lower voice, accompanied by a wink.
Sebastian nodded. The ball came his way, and he brought it into his chest, then sent it straight to Phetmany with enough force to make the catch snap against his hands.
His gaze found Marcos.
Marcos was across the grass with a small group near the first line of cones, doing high-knee jogs.
His shoulders were relaxed, and his head was up, laughing at something one of the others had said.
The compression shirt stretched too tightly across his chest in a way that Sebastian didn’t appreciate noticing.
Then Marcos glanced over. Their eyes met, and he winked.
Sebastian’s fingers flexed at his side.
Attractive, smug asshole. The thought came fast enough that he almost missed the first word.
He didn’t.
He turned away and reset his stance before anyone in the circle had a chance to see his face shift.
Marcos had no right to show up here looking settled when Sebastian had barely had time to decide where he fit. No right to take ruck and then grin across the oval as though the whole thing was funny. No right to get under his skin before the first drill had even started.
Maybe Kirk was onto something.
Maybe they would kill each other before the season even started.