When the door clicked shut, it felt louder than any stadium roar. Blaze sat at the edge of the clinic bed, his fingers locked together like he was trying to hold himself steady by force. The room smelled like antiseptic and warm metal, and for a few seconds nobody spoke. The doctor's words still hung there, heavy and unreal, like they were meant for someone else.

A fractured fibula. Ligament strain. Weeks of recovery. No training. No matches. No shortcuts, weeks with football or martial arts, just watching from the stands.

Jason stood the closest to him, but even he didn't know what to say. He cared about the kid more than he ever admitted, but he had always been the type who kept his emotions zipped up unless someone pushed him. Now he didn't have a script. None of them did.

Blaze didn't look up. "Coach… you don't need to sugarcoat it. I know what it means."

Jason exhaled through his nose, slow and tired. "I'm not sugarcoating anything. We'll get through it."

"We?" Blaze huffed a laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Coach, I'm benched. I'm not part of anything right now."

"That's not how this works," Jason said, softer than usual.

There was a knock at the door before Blaze could answer. The rest of the Titans filed in, still wearing the afterglow of the championship celebrations. The energy dipped the moment they saw Blaze's expression.

Marcus took two steps forward. "Bro… what happened?"

Jason nodded to the doctor, who stepped in and explained everything again. Blaze stared at the wall the entire time.

Rift Striker pushed them to their limit in the final. Every tackle felt like a war. Nobody blamed Blaze for going all out. He had delivered a goal that would be replayed for years. But the price came due, and now they were all dealing with that quiet ache that follows victory, but at least the galaxy had seen them fight and maybe that was enough.

When the doctor left, silence swallowed the room again.

Aya broke it first. "So what's the move now?"

Jason lifted his chin. "The move is simple. Blaze goes into full recovery. We support him. No debate." We cheer him up while he recovers.

"But the season continues starts soon," Aya muttered.

"Then we handle that when it comes," Jason shot back, we have Diego and everyone, we will need to work harder.

Blaze finally met his eyes. "Coach, you know I hate sitting still."

"I know. But this time you don't get a vote."

Blaze looked away, jaw set. He had the kind of ambition that refused to shrink when life shoved him. But right now, the thought of stepping off the field felt like a punch in the stomach.

Jason tapped Blaze's shoulder lightly. "Let me worry about the team. You focus on healing."

"But what about your decision?" Blaze asked.

Jason paused. The room tightened. Everyone knew what he meant.

Jason had been considering stepping back, maybe giving up coaching altogether. His old injuries were getting worse, and the physical strain of handling the team in a cross-world tournament took more out of him than he ever admitted. The championship had reopened questions he kept burying.

He pushed a hand through his hair. "I'll figure that out later."

"No," Blaze said quietly. "Figure it out now. Don't dodge because of me."

The honesty in his voice cut deeper than the injury.

Jason looked at all of them. These weren't just players anymore; they were family. And he knew if he walked away now, it could break something in them before they even reached their peak.

He sighed. "Fine. I'm staying. For the next season at least."

Relief spread through the room, but Blaze didn't smile. His chest felt tight in a different way now. Guilt, frustration, fear… all tangled together.

Jason noticed. "Blaze. You didn't make me stay. I chose that."

"But if I'm not on the field..."

"You're still part of the team," Jason said, voice firm. "And I'm not letting you disappear into your own head."

Blaze's breathing went uneven for a moment, but he nodded.

Rico stepped forward and slapped Blaze lightly on the back. "We're gonna be annoying about this recovery. You won't get a chance to mope."

Marcus added, "I'll even cook for you."

Blaze finally cracked the faintest smile. "That's not helpful, man."

Their laughter eased the heaviness just a little.

But underneath the jokes, the truth stayed sharp. Blaze's absence meant a hole in their formation. A shift in their chemistry. A wound that would take time to close.

Recovery Day One

The next morning came too fast. Blaze woke to a dull ache running from his ankle to his calf. He swung his legs over the bed and winced. The pain wasn't unbearable, just constant. A reminder.

Jason walked in holding two cups of coffee. "Morning. You look like you slept three minutes."

"Feels about right."

Jason handed him a cup. "Medical center cleared your treatment schedule. Physio starts today."

Blaze rubbed his eyes. "I thought I'd get a day to breathe."

"You can breathe during stretches."

"Coach…"

"You asked for honesty. This is it."

Blaze swallowed down his annoyance. The truth was, doing nothing would make him feel worse.

As they walked to the training facility, Blaze felt every step echo through him. The noise from reporters outside already spread through the halls. They wanted interviews. Updates. Photos. Titans had become overnight legends after bringing home the Rift League trophy.

Now the spotlight followed them everywhere.

Inside the physio room, Dr. Harlow greeted them with a clipboard. She had a calm presence that instantly made Blaze want to listen, even if he didn't want to be here.

"Morning. Let's take a look and start with some mobility diagnostics."

Blaze nodded, bracing himself.

The first stretch pulled at him sharply. He hissed through his teeth.

"That's normal," she said. "Don't push against it. Breathe through it."

Jason watched quietly. He wasn't the type to hover, but he stayed close.

Thirty minutes in, sweat lined Blaze's forehead. He wasn't used to this kind of struggle. He could run for ninety minutes at full speed. He could take on defenders twice his size. But here, lying on a mat while someone rotated his foot, he felt weak. Exposed.

Dr. Harlow placed a hand on his knee. "You're not losing anything. You're rebuilding."

Blaze didn't reply. He didn't trust his voice.

The Team Meeting

After physio, Jason called the Titans into the meeting room. Blaze limped in and took a seat near the front. Everyone knew better than to make him feel pitied.

Jason stood in front with a marker in hand. "Alright. New season prep starts now. We've got a target on our backs after the Rift League win. Teams are studying us."

Rico raised a brow. "You mean studying Blaze."

"No," Jason said. "Studying all of us. Because we didn't win by accident."

Blaze felt the weight of the glance Jason threw him. A reminder, not pressure.

Marcus leaned toward Blaze. "You good, bro?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

Blaze smirked faintly. "Yeah."

Jason continued. "Formation adjustments start next week. Blaze will assist from the tactical side while he recovers."

Blaze blinked. "Wait… what?"

Jason shrugged lightly. "You understand movement better than you realize. You'll help Alex with analysis and pattern breakdown."

Rico whispered, "Coach just promoted you."

Blaze looked down at the table. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"You are," Jason said. "And it keeps your head in the game."

He didn't argue.

Later That Night

The stadium field was empty, lit only by low security lights. Blaze stood at the sideline with his crutches tucked under one arm. Jason stepped out behind him.

"You're not supposed to be walking around."

"Just thinking," Blaze said.

Jason joined him. "Still afraid of falling behind?"

Blaze nodded. "I feel useless. The team is gearing up. The world's watching. Investors are talking deals. And I'm over here learning how to rotate my ankle like a toddler."

Jason chuckled. "Blaze, do you know how many players break mentally before they ever break physically?"

Blaze frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you got injured because you gave everything. Because you didn't hold back. That's not weakness. That's the cost of being the kind of player who changes games."

Blaze stared at the field, quiet.

Jason continued. "Your arc isn't ending. It's changing. And that scares you."

He swallowed. "Yeah. A little."

Jason clapped a hand on his back. "Good. Growth should scare you."

Blaze let out a long breath. "You're not going anywhere, right?"

"Not until you're back on that field."

Blaze managed a real smile this time. "Then I'll hurry up."

They stood there in the soft glow of the stadium lights, not as coach and player, but as two people who had carried each other through the fire and weren't done yet.

And tomorrow, the rebuilding would begin again.

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