Blaze (Dante Anderson) didn't usually come to Jason's office before training, he hated the office was too quiet . Everything in this room felt too controlled, too neat, too formal. It didn't fit the chaos of the field or the rhythm of competition. But today Jason had asked for him specifically, and something about his tone didn't sound optional.

The sky outside the wide glass windows looked tired. Gray light soaked through the clouds, giving the whole campus a dull, washed-out glow. Students moved across the courtyard below like they were walking through fog. Maybe that was just Blaze projecting, because his head wasn't any clearer.

He stood near the window, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, foot tapping against the floor in a restless rhythm. He didn't pace, but he kept shifting his weight like he wasn't sure if he should stay or bolt out the door.

Jason stood behind his desk, half facing Blaze, half staring at a document projected on his lens. The air felt thick, like the room was slowly filling with something neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

"Close the door," Jason said at last and he did just that.

Blaze reached back and shut it. The click sounded too final.

He turned, waiting for Jason to launch into whatever this was. Normally Jason didn't waste time. He always spoke with clarity, with purpose. This time… nothing. Just silence stretching between them.

"So?" Blaze said, trying to inject some ease into his voice. "What's going on?"

Jason didn't answer. He powered off the lens projection, then pressed both hands flat on the desk, head bowed. When he finally looked up, Blaze saw something he had never seen on him.

Not worry.

Not anger.

Weight.

"You're not going to like this," Jason said quietly.

The silence that followed felt heavier than his words. Blaze swallowed, impatience tugging at him.

"Then don't drag it out."

Jason nodded. He straightened, grabbed a small pad from the desk, then set it down again like he didn't trust himself to hold it.

"Aurion Capital filed a transfer attempt."

The words didn't make sense at first. Blaze blinked, then blinked again.

"A… what?"

Jason leaned back against the desk, arms crossed. "A forced talent review."

"Forced?" Blaze stepped forward. "That's not even legal."

"It is. It's just so rare nobody talks about it." Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It's a clause for high-value athletes. If an investor believes your projected market value exceeds what your development institution can reasonably offer, they can request an international review."

Blaze stared, stunned. "And Aurion filed that on me?"

"Yes."

Blaze felt the room tilt slightly. He'd heard of big corp investors before, but they were distant things — rumors, headlines, scandals involving athletes he'd never met. Not something that touched him.

Jason went on, voice low. "They submitted metrics. Performance data. Scouting reports collected without our consent. They've built a case that they can accelerate your rise in ways Veridion can't."

Blaze let out a short, humorless laugh. "Wow. So I'm a stock now? A future investment? Do I get dividends too?"

Jason didn't smile. "Blaze, I'm serious."

"I know." Blaze paced once, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. "And that's what makes it worse."

Something colder slid into Jason's voice. "I didn't tell you the worst part."

Blaze looked up sharply. "There's more?"

Jason hesitated, then nodded. "Aurion sent someone. An official representative. He's already here."

Blaze went still.

"You're kidding."

"I wish I were," Jason said. "He arrived last night. I stalled him as long as I could, but he's been asking for you since morning."

"And you're only telling me now?"

Jason didn't snap back. He didn't get defensive either. He just gave Blaze a tired, honest look.

"I wanted to make sure I understood every angle before dropping this on you. You're fresh off an injury. The academy is tense. Investors are sniffing around. I was trying to protect you from more pressure."

Blaze folded his arms. "I don't need protecting."

"Everyone does sometimes," Jason said. "Even you."

Blaze looked away, jaw tightening.

Before either of them could say more, the office door swung open without a knock.

A man stepped inside like he owned the place. Tailored suit, glossy shoes, hair slicked to perfection. Everything about him screamed polished corporate power. Even the air around him felt expensive.

Blaze didn't need introductions.

Aurion.

"Director Hale," the man said smoothly. "Your assistant told me you were available."

Jason didn't move. "She lied."

The man chuckled softly, unconcerned. Then his eyes slid to Blaze, and Blaze hated the calculating interest he saw there.

"And you must be Blaze."

Blaze didn't bother faking politeness. "Who are you?"

"Call me Mercer." He extended a hand.

Blaze stared at it. Didn't take it.

Mercer withdrew the hand without losing his smile. "We've followed your progress since the Rift Cup qualifiers. Tremendous growth. Tremendous potential. I've reviewed hundreds of rising athletes, but you… you're something exceptional."

Jason stepped forward. "He's not interested."

Mercer didn't even look at Jason. "I wasn't speaking to you."

Blaze's brow twitched. The disrespect wasn't surprising, but it was bold. Too bold.

Mercer continued, voice low and persuasive. "You're being wasted here, Blaze. Veridion can't offer what you need. What you're destined for."

Blaze met his gaze evenly. "I didn't realize my destiny was something investors had clearance to choose."

Mercer smiled like Blaze had said something adorable. "Let me rephrase. Athletes who stay in environments that can no longer challenge them eventually plateau. And once they plateau, the world moves on. You have one chance to take the leap before that happens."

Jason's voice sharpened. "Enough."

Mercer ignored him. "You're talented enough to reshape the leagues. But Veridion doesn't have the infrastructure to keep up with you. We do. Training labs, sponsorship pipelines, elite coaching teams… you'd evolve in ways you can't imagine."

Blaze clenched his hands. "And what do I lose in exchange?"

Mercer's eyes softened, like he truly believed what he was about to say.

"Nothing you weren't already meant to outgrow."

Jason took one step closer, placing himself squarely between Blaze and Mercer. "I'm done letting you talk."

Mercer finally glanced his way. "Of course you are."

Then he reached into his jacket and set a slim datapad on Jason's desk.

"The digital contract is active. Review window is seventy-two hours."

Blaze stared at the pad. It looked small. Harmless. Like it couldn't possibly hold the power to tear a future apart.

Mercer buttoned his jacket neatly. "Good afternoon."

And he walked out like he'd already won.

The silence after he left felt thick enough to choke on.

Blaze didn't move. Jason didn't either. The datapad sat between them like a live grenade.

Jason finally sighed. "Don't touch it."

Blaze nodded automatically, though his eyes kept drifting toward it. "What happens if I reject it?"

"They'll escalate," Jason said. "Smear campaigns. Market pressure. They'll try to undermine your confidence or mine. They've done it before to other athletes."

Blaze stared at the window instead of Jason. "Lionel's improving faster than ever. Grim's holding our backline alone. Aya, Zara, Anastasia, Kenji, Diego… everyone's pushing harder. Maybe too hard. And I'm… floating."

Jason frowned. "Floating?"

"I'm not on the field. I'm not fully in analysis. I'm not training the way I used to. They're growing around me, with or without me. Maybe Mercer's not wrong."

Jason stepped toward him, voice firm. "You don't judge your worth based on one rough month."

"It's not one month," Blaze said quietly.

Jason opened his mouth to answer—

—but the door slammed open again.

Lionel barreled in first, followed by Grim and Anastasia.

"Blaze!" Lionel's eyes went straight to the datapad. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."

Grim cracked his knuckles. "Did that corporate parasite say something to you?"

Anastasia crossed her arms. "Because if he tried to manipulate you, we'll handle it. Right now. Just say the word."

No one spoke.

Jason didn't answer for Blaze. Blaze didn't answer either.

Lionel finally looked at Blaze's face, really looked, and his whole expression shifted. The fire in his eyes dimmed into something like fear.

"You're… thinking about it," Lionel whispered.

Blaze didn't deny it.

And that silence hit harder than any answer he could have given.

Grim stepped forward, jaw tight. "Blaze. Don't do this."

Anastasia's voice softened. "We're a team. You don't leave because someone waves shiny things in your face."

Blaze looked away. "It's not about shiny things."

"Then what?" Lionel asked. "Because right now it looks like you're slipping away from us."

Jason placed a hand on Blaze's shoulder. Blaze didn't shrug it off, but he didn't lean into it either.

And that tiny hesitation told the whole room something.

Something none of them were ready to hear.

Something Blaze himself wasn't ready to admit.

This wasn't just about a contract.

This was about the first crack forming in the Titans' unity.

And everyone could feel it.

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