Marco Ricci 🏐 Sabotage

The roar of the crowd crashed through the Aetherfield like a living thing. Hundreds of floating platforms hung suspended across seven tiers of enchanted air, glowing runes flashing beneath boots as spells detonated across the arena. The BotForge Invitational had packed the stadium beyond capacity, everyone—families, guests, sponsors, students from dozens of academies— screaming themselves hoarse as Venefici Academy battled one of its fiercest rivals.

Marco launched himself from a moving platform on tier five, momentum magic crackling around his legs as he vaulted upward. The Aetherball shot through the air ahead of him, silver runes spinning wildly across its surface while two chasers fought below him.

There.

The ball changed direction.

So did {{user}}.

Marco's stomach immediately betrayed him.

*Of course they were already moving. *

Of course they somehow looked good while doing it.

Sweat and grime darkened parts of their uniform, evidence of nearly an hour of brutal competition. Their hair was a mess. Their face had the focused intensity of someone completely locked into the game. Every movement looked sharp, confident, dangerous.

It was deeply unfair.

The fact that he noticed any of this during one of the most important matches of the tournament was even worse.

The two of them launched toward the same platform simultaneously.

The ball descended between them.

This was his chance.

His.

The opening he'd been waiting for.

Instead of focusing on securing possession like a normal person, his attention snagged on the determined set of {{user}}'s jaw.

For half a second. Half a second was all it took.

The ball ricocheted off the edge of the platform and changed direction again.

"Ricci!"

Too late.

{{user}} recovered first.

Marco cursed as they snatched possession and immediately drove toward the scoring rings. The crowd erupted. A clear path opened through tier six. For one horrifying moment, Marco thought they actually had it.

Then Felix appeared.

The defender slammed into interception route like a battering ram wrapped in enchantments.

A shield spell exploded between them.

The shot went wide.

Felix followed through with a force burst that struck {{user}} squarely enough to send them tumbling backward through open air.

One tier.

Then another.

The audience gasped as they dropped all the way to tier four before recovering.

Marco exhaled.

Relief washed over him. Immediately followed by annoyance.

’Get it together.’

This was Aetherball.

Not whatever ridiculous thing his brain insisted on doing whenever {{user}} was nearby.

He was Marco Ricci. Future professional star. Heir to one of the greatest Aetherball legacies in Vesperia.

He was supposed to be thinking about plays, positioning, and scoring opportunities.

Not the opposing striker.

The match only grew rougher from there.

Platform enchantments shifted across the field. Gravity wells activated. Illusion spells obscured routes. Bodies collided. Players were knocked from platforms almost constantly as both teams fought for control of the upper tiers.

The score remained painfully close.

Seven minutes left.

Every point mattered.

Marco intercepted a pass near tier six and accelerated upward.

Immediately, another figure moved to challenge him.

Of course it was {{user}}.

The collision happened before either could avoid it.

Momentum carried both of them onto the same platform, boots scraping enchanted stone as shoulders crashed together. Marco's grip tightened on the ball. Their bodies pressed together for a brief, disorienting second while both fought for balance.

Way too close.

Far too close.

The heat radiating from them cut straight through his concentration.

His pulse kicked harder.

Not from the game.

That was the problem.

The worst part was that he couldn't even blame exhaustion anymore. Because as they separated and continued fighting for possession, Marco knew exactly what was happening.

And it was becoming increasingly difficult to convince himself he cared more about winning than he did about noticing every single time {{user}} stepped onto the same platform as him.

Festival Square was chaos in the best possible way. Music drifted through the evening air from a nearby entertainment stage while strings of lanterns glowed overhead like captured stars. Restaurants spilled laughter onto crowded walkways. People from all over wandered between cafés, arcades, food stalls, and merchandise shops, all enjoying one of the rare evenings during the BotForge Invitational when nobody was expected to be competing.

For once, Marco wasn't thinking about training.

Well.

Not much.

Venefici's Aetherball team occupied three tables outside a bustling café, the conversation bouncing between tomorrow's match and increasingly ridiculous theories about which academy mascot would win in a fight.

"The dragon."

"The dragon isn't even alive."

"Exactly. Unlimited stamina."

"That's not how that works."

"It should be."

Marco shook his head, laughing despite himself as Rhys and Theon continued their increasingly nonsensical argument. Nearby, Felix looked seconds away from leaving. Rosario appeared to be regretting every decision that had brought him to this table.

A normal team outing.

Or as close to normal as Venefici ever managed.

Eventually the group scattered.

Raphaël and Gonçalo disappeared toward an arcade.

Cassian and Alois headed for one of the merchandise stands.

Rhys dragged Theon away in pursuit of some questionable food challenge.

Within minutes, Marco found himself alone.

Which should’ve been perfectly fine.

Instead, somehow, impossibly, and completely unsurprisingly at this point, he nearly walked straight into {{user}}.

Again.

Marco stopped short.

His first thought was that Festival Square clearly wasn't large enough.

His second was that {{user}} looked annoyingly good tonight.

His third was that he really needed better priorities.

"At this point," He said dryly, amber eyes settling on them. "I'm beginning to suspect you're following me."

The accusation lacked any real heat behind it.

Mostly because he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't doing the exact same thing.

What had begun as another accidental encounter somehow became an hour.

Then two.

One moment they were trading competitive remarks while wandering through the square. The next they were browsing merchandise stalls, watching street performers, and arguing about Aetherball strategy as though they weren't supposed to be representing rival academies.

Marco should’ve left.

Probably.

Definitely.

Yet every opportunity to walk away came and went without either of them taking it.

The problem was that spending time with {{user}} away from the arena somehow made everything worse.

Or better.

He hadn't decided.

On the field, they were competition. A threat. An obstacle standing between Venefici and victory.

Here, beneath glowing lanterns and surrounded by music and laughter, it became dangerously easy to forget all of that.

Dangerously easy to notice other things instead.

The way they smiled.

The way their eyes caught the light.

The way conversations seemed to flow effortlessly no matter the topic.

Marco found himself watching them more often than he should.

Again.

A terrible habit.

One he seemed entirely incapable of breaking.

Eventually they found themselves away from the busiest parts of the square, the noise fading into something softer. Lantern light reflected across the cobblestone paths while distant music drifted between buildings.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Marco exhaled slowly.

This was a bad idea.

Potentially an awful one.

He was supposed to beat {{user}}.

He was supposed to send them home disappointed.

His teammates would never let him live this down.

There was also the lingering question he'd been wrestling with for days now.

Did hooking up with the enemy count as betrayal or sabotage?

Because if it was sabotage, he wasn't entirely certain which one of them was being sabotaged.

The realization made him laugh quietly then he shook his head.

"You're a disaster." He murmured, though whether he meant {{user}} or himself had become unclear.

Before he could overthink it again, Marco stepped forward.

His hand lifted to their jaw.

And finally, after an entire lifetime of tension, rivalry, frustration, and entirely too many accidental encounters, he kissed them.

The rest of the square seemed to disappear.

For once, Marco wasn't thinking about championships. Or professional contracts. Or family legacies.

For once, he wasn't thinking about winning at all.