Page 4 of Contested

“I wouldn’t complain if you spoke Korean.”

“I’m Vietnamese.”

Marcos bumped his shoulder gently into Sebastian’s. “I know. I’m just fucking with you.”

The contact was light. It sat wrong against Sebastian’s skin.

He slowed again and dropped his eyes to the grass. Ten metres passed with Marcos slightly ahead of him, enough distance that Sebastian could breathe without the urge to say something stupid. He kept his arms loose, shoulders down, stride even.

He couldn’t afford to make this worse. That was the thought he needed to hold. Not Marcos, or the ruck, or the fact that the Mustangs had signed him and then handed the position to the one man guaranteed to make him care too much.

The opportunity was what mattered. That was the part he could not let himself forget.

They finished the first lap and started the second. Marcos fell in beside him again.

“Cariño,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “We’re a team now. Que es una mierda. We need to work together.”

Sebastian kept his mouth shut. His boots hit the grass. His lungs stayed steady. His jaw did not.

“I mean,” Marcos continued, “ruck-rover. You’re basically my sidekick now.”

Sebastian turned his head.

Marcos was already watching him.

The words lined up in Sebastian’s mouth. Several of them. None of them useful. Before he chose the worst one, a whistle cut across the oval.

Both of them glanced toward centre field.

Jacob stood with the rest of the newer teammates gathered around him, one hand lifted, calling them in without bothering to shout. Marcos cut across Sebastian’s path and slapped his shoulder on the way past.

Sebastian stopped himself from reacting only because Jacob was watching.

He followed at a slower jog, biting the inside of his cheek until the first flare of anger settled into something he could carry without showing all of it. Marcos had gone straight to the front of the group and stood near Jacob. Sebastian took the outer edge instead and found Randal.

Randal raised an eyebrow at him, and Sebastian ignored it. Randal gave him one pat on the back anyway.

The group was smaller than a full training squad would be, which made everybody easier to notice. It was just the early-return players, a handful of staff, and the strange empty spaces of a club not fully back from break.

Jacob stood in front of them with his hands on his hips. Jeremy hovered several metres behind, near the cone setup, trying not to look too interested in the fact that half the group was still watching Sebastian and Marcos.

“Alright,” Jacob began. “Full squad’s still off. You aren’t. That means we keep it simple today. Touch, movement, repeat efforts, then inside. We’re here to see where your bodies are at and to get some measurements to set up training plans.”

A few players shifted. Someone near the back laughed under his breath.

Jacob did not look away from the group. “You’ve had a few weeks off. So, I hope you enjoyed them. Because we aren’t here to fuck around.” Jacob turned and gestured toward Jeremy. “Jeremy’s got the first block set. Agility, change of direction, repeat efforts. We’ll move through groups, then move on.”

Jeremy lifted one hand in a quick, awkward acknowledgement, then immediately dropped it.

“We’re going in five,” Jacob finished. “Warm yourselves up properly. I don’t want anyone tight because they spent the break sitting on their ass with their hands down their pants.”

The group loosened.

Conversation returned in pieces. A few players dropped into lunges. Others started rolling their shoulders or jogging small circles between the cone lines. The morning began to feel more recognisable now that there was instruction in it. The first sting of Marcos’ arrival had not gone anywhere, but it had been forced to make room for work.

Sebastian joined a loose circle with Randal and four others, the ball travelling between them by hand more than foot now, quick handballs into chests, catches taken cleanly, bodies shifting without needing much thought.

Corey stood opposite him, shorter, pale, with curly red hair and the kind of sunburn across the back of his neck that belonged to someone who had spent their break in Queensland and refusing to wear sunscreen. He caught the ball with both hands, offloaded too high, and winced when Phetmany had to reach for it.