Chapter 80 – Ruby Class
Titus walked beside Damián toward the rugby field behind the school. The afternoon sun stretched across the grass, making the white lines of the field glow. Titus had never really been here except during physical education, and even then he barely paid attention. Today felt different. He could feel the weight of Damián's confidence, the calm way he walked as if he already owned the field.
The girls followed close behind. Cristal, Sofía, and Sarah sat on the benches near the sideline as soon as they arrived. They didn't say much, but their eyes stayed fixed on Titus. There was curiosity, concern, maybe even a little confusion about why he suddenly wanted to try a sport he had never mentioned before.
Sofía crossed her legs and leaned forward with her elbows on her thighs. Cristal rested her arms on the back of the bench. Sarah kept her hands clasped, excited to watch him, always supportive.
None of them spoke to Titus. They just watched.
Farther away, near one of the metal fences at the edge of the field, Melanie stood alone. She wasn't with the other girls and she didn't try to get close to Titus, but her eyes were locked on him. She stayed in the shadows, but Titus noticed her anyway. He lifted his hand and waved at her. Melanie lifted hers back, a small, controlled gesture. The other girls immediately stiffened.
Cristal narrowed her eyes. Sofía pressed her lips together. Sarah tilted her head, trying to hide the sudden irritation she felt.
But Titus focused on Damián now.
"So," Damián said, clapping his hands once, "this is the rugby field. You probably figured that out, yeah?"
Titus nodded. "I've never played. Not even once."
"That's fine. Everyone starts somewhere." Damián stood in front of him and pointed toward the posts at the far end of the field. "First things first. You need to understand the basics. Rugby looks like American football, but it's completely different. The most important rule—never pass the ball forward. Ever. You can only pass sideways or backwards."
Titus blinked. "Backwards? How does that even work?"
Damián chuckled. "It works because the whole game depends on teamwork. You run forward, but you pass back to someone running with you. That's how the attack keeps moving."
He motioned for Titus to stand by his side. "Imagine you're running and I'm slightly behind you. If you're blocked, you toss the ball backwards to me. Not up, not forward—back. Like this."
He demonstrated with an invisible ball, swinging one arm back while still facing forward.
Titus imitated the motion. His first attempt looked stiff, but Damián nodded approvingly. "Good. Now try it again, more natural."
Titus tried again, and this time his shoulders moved more fluidly.
"Better," Damián said. "Now, about tackling. Rugby allows tackles, but they must be below the shoulders. No grabbing someone's neck, no pushing them from behind when they aren't expecting it. And you always have to wrap your arms when you tackle. No throwing your body like a missile. That's illegal."
Titus listened carefully. The girls watched him even more closely now.
Sofía whispered to Cristal, "He's going to break someone in half."
Cristal whispered back, "Only if he forgets what Damián said."
Sarah hugged her knees, smiling softly. "He won't forget. He learns fast."
On the field, Damián continued. "Here's another rule. When someone is tackled and falls to the ground, they must release the ball. Then both teams can fight for it, but only from behind their own teammate. That's called a 'ruck.' You can't just grab the ball from any angle. You must enter the ruck from behind your own team's line, or it's considered offside."
Titus raised his eyebrows. "That sounds complicated."
"It's not once you see it," Damián said. "I'll show you later. For now, let's start with something simple. Passing."
He finally picked up an actual rugby ball from the ground. Titus stared at its shape—oval, almost like an American football but smoother, heavier.
Damián held it with both hands. "You grip it like this, fingers wide. When you pass, the ball should spin horizontally, not vertically. A flat spin keeps it accurate."
He tossed the ball to Titus. It was heavier than Titus expected. Damián stepped back. "Throw it to me. Side pass."
Titus inhaled deeply and tried to mimic the movement. His first pass wobbled in the air, but it reached Damián, who caught it easily.
"Not bad," Damián said with a smile. "Now again. But relax your shoulders."
Titus tried again. This time the spin was better. The ball flew straight and firm.
Cristal leaned back, impressed. "Okay… maybe he won't kill anyone."
Melanie tilted her head from the corner, watching him with a small smile, almost proud.
Sarah cupped her hands around her mouth. "Good job, Titus!"
He tried not to blush.
Damián continued explaining. "There are two main ways to score. One is by grounding the ball in the opponent's in‑goal area. That's called a try. It's worth five points. After that, you get a kick at the goalposts, and if it goes through, that's two more points. The other way to score is by kicking the ball through the posts during play. That's called a drop goal. Three points."
Titus nodded slowly, processing everything.
Damián stepped closer. "What really matters is control. Rugby is aggressive, yeah, but it's controlled aggression. You hit hard, but you think. You run fast, but you stay aware. You don't just throw your strength around."
He tapped Titus lightly on the chest. "This is good for you. You need something that teaches control. You're powerful, but raw. Rugby will help sharpen that."
Titus swallowed. "Do you really think I can do it?"
"I wouldn't waste my time if I didn't," Damián replied honestly.
He motioned again. "Come on. Let's practice passing while jogging."
They began jogging in a straight line across the grass, passing the ball back and forth. Titus struggled at first, but each throw became a little smoother. Each catch felt more natural.
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Titus and Damián continued practicing the basic rugby movements on the field. They focused on passing the ball cleanly, running short distances, and learning the proper foot positions for kicking. The afternoon light stretched across the grass as they moved, repeating each exercise the way Damián instructed.
On the opposite side of the field, a small group of boys stood together. They were the same ones who used to follow Ken Cambiazo everywhere, always laughing loudly, always causing trouble around school. Even without Ken, they stayed together, carrying the same arrogant attitude they had when he was still the captain. They watched Titus and Damián from a distance, whispering to each other and laughing under their breath.
Among them was someone who immediately stood out—Bory Taskoski. He was massive, larger than anyone on campus, with a body built like a heavyweight bodybuilder. His shoulders were broad, his arms looked like carved stone, and his chest stretched the fabric of his school athletic shirt. Muscles layered his entire frame in thick slabs, giving him the silhouette of a giant out of old Eastern European legends.
He didn't laugh like the others. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he stared directly at Titus and Damián without blinking. His expression was unreadable—cold, heavy, calculating.
The rest of his group kept talking and joking, but Bory didn't move, didn't react, and didn't look away even once.
The boys around him were also rugby players, physically strong and well‑built from years of training. Most of them had the same mocking smirk they always showed when looking at someone they believed was beneath them. They were annoyed that the school was opening tryouts again. In their minds, the team didn't need new players, and the idea of bringing in someone inexperienced felt like an insult.
But Bory Taskoski wasn't annoyed—he was something else entirely.
There was something in the way he observed Damián, a faint recognition in his eyes, like he sensed something old, something familiar. He watched Damián's footwork, his posture, the way he handled the ball. And then he shifted his gaze to Titus, narrowing his eyes slightly. Something about Titus also felt strange to him—something he couldn't explain, but something he didn't like.
The other players nudged each other and laughed again when Titus dropped a pass.
"Look at him," one whispered. "He's going to break his own fingers before he even makes the team."
Another snickered. "Maybe they're letting children play this year."
But Bory Taskoski didn't join in.
He stood in complete silence, jaw clenched, muscles tense under his shirt. His presence was heavy enough that even his own group felt it. One of them glanced at him nervously.
"Hey, Bory… you good? You look like you're gonna break someone."
Bory didn't answer. He kept staring at the field with the same intense focus, like he was studying them, memorizing every detail of how they moved.
Something about Titus triggered a faint suspicion in him. And something about Damián felt even more familiar, as if he had seen someone like him before—someone connected to an old rivalry that stretched far beyond the school grounds.
He didn't smile. He didn't blink. He simply watched, arms crossed, like a silent mountain preparing for a storm.
The rest of the boys continued mocking from behind him, but Bory Taskoski stayed still, his eyes locked on Titus and Damián, his expression growing darker and more curious with every passing minute.
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Hook: What came next would be impossible to stop…