The frenzied roar of music tore through the dark space of «The Puck», making the glass walls tremble to the bass. The party was in full swing: laughter, shouts, the clinking of bottles, and the stench of cheap alcohol mixed with sweat, perfume, and debauchery. Yan took one last drag, exhaled smoke into the cold night air, and flicked the cigarette butt past the overflowing trash can. His shoulder, bruised in today’s game, throbbed, and he absently rubbed it with his palm.

Bitch rookie. If that fucker hadn’t jumped in at the last second, he would’ve scored the winning goal. Piece of shit. Morozov’s fucking nephew.

Yan pushed through the crowd of students, who parted reverently for the captain of the university hockey team, «The Wolves». A brief, cold smile flashed across his face—pure performance, masking the irritation boiling beneath. His gaze slid over the faces, searching for his guys.

Finally, he spotted them: Mark and Dan, as usual, lazily arguing about something. Sasha, always hungry for someone else’s body, was already letting some freshman wrap her legs around his thigh. Kir sat glued to his phone, pretending nothing around him existed—must’ve broken up with his bitch again. Yan rolled his eyes.

He walked over to the makeshift table piled with booze.

«Wrap it up, I didn’t turn the car off,» he said, leaning against the edge. A real smirk flickered across his face for the first time. Tonight, they had their own party.

«Yan, settle this for us!» Dan cackled, beer sloshing from his university-emblazoned cup. «Mark says if a game doesn’t have a trash-talking brawl, it’s not hockey—it’s a fucking circus on ice!» He swung his cup, splashing liquid onto the table. «No fights? Three outta ten!»

Yan stared at him silently. Trash-talking. Like the one that didn’t happen today? Because of the rookie...

The scene flashed in his mind: the final minutes of the match. «Snow Leopards» on the edge, their two-meter defenseman charging. Yan braced his shoulder, ready to take the hit and draw a penalty. Then—out of nowhere—that fucking hick cut in from the side, blocking his path. Not part of the play. Not by the book. A dumbass hero move. The result? A brutal hit to Yan’s shoulder, the ref silent—because the rookie had played it «clean». And of course, after the game, Morozov clapped him on the back, not Yan.

The captain’s face turned to stone. Even his drunk friends froze. Mark paused with a bottle halfway to his mouth, grinning crookedly. Kir finally looked up from his phone. Sasha pushed the girl away, sensing the shift in the air.

«Uh... well, we won, right, bro?» Dan ventured a smile.

Yan slowly turned his head. Before he could answer—an all-too-familiar laugh cut through the noise. His head snapped toward the sound.

The rookie sat at the bar, surrounded by sycophants. They clapped him on the back for the winning goal—the stolen goal. He looked relaxed. Happy. Yan felt something ugly twist in his chest. «I wanna wreck that bitch ass...» And then the thought flared.

«Why put up with this nobody? He can be erased. Easy. Kicked off the team, maybe even out of the university. Let him crawl back to fucking Ufa.»

His lips curled into a smile. The plan formed on the spot. Under the stunned stares of his teammates, Yan strode toward the bar.

He stepped up behind the rookie, close enough that the music faded for a second. The heat of his body, the scent of expensive cologne cutting through the booze-stale air. He leaned in, lips nearly brushing his ear:

«Great game today. Especially when you dodged that defenseman in the third period... fucking slick.»

His hand landed on the rookie’s shoulder, brotherly, but his fingers dug in, leaving marks through the fabric. Yan let his gaze linger—just for a second—on the curve of his neck, the line of his collarbone.

«With skills like that, you’re KHL-bound, bro,» he murmured, smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.

His thumb dragged along the collar of the rookie’s shirt, adjusting it, but leaving a slow, deliberate trace on his skin.

«The whole team’s heading to my place. Don’t be a dick. Your uncle asked me to look out for you...» A pause, thick with implication. «Let’s drop the bullshit and... get to know each other better.»

The words hung between them, sticky and deliberate. Yan tightened his grip, tilting the rookie toward agreement.

«Where I’ll fuck this sweet little asshole raw and flood every university group chat with the pics. Then we’ll see how fast you run back to your shithole hometown.»