— quatre ; four —

THE RAVENS HOME LOCKER room was pretty much what Henri was expecting; larger than the one in France and shadowy black, with blood red lockers as the only splash of colour in the entire place. It would have been funny if it wasn't so tragic, and Henri wondered how the Ravens hadn't all fallen into a deep depression being stuck in this place. He looked at Soren's sour expression and reconsidered that. Clothes were already strewn along the benches and Henri could hear voices echoing from further in the stadium, telling him the other Ravens had already changed out.

"You're all as consistent as you are are predictable," Henri said.

Soren ignored him. "This is your new locker," he said, striding across the room and rapping his knuckles against the metal. "Seeing as your transfer was as random as it was unnecessary — "

"You're not going to drop that, are you?" Henri muttered.

" — we have no gear or uniform prepared for you," Soren said, as if he hadn't spoken. It seemed the new technique he was using to tolerate Henri was just to pretend he didn't exist. "You'll have to borrow spares for today, along with a spare racquet and helmet."

Henri pulled open the locker and a small photo tucked away in the door fluttered free. He crouched to pick it up and turned it over in his fingers, staring at the two faces looking up at him. The first was one familiar with anyone who was an Exy fan, the haughty green eyes and inked #2 on the left cheekbone belonging to none other than Exy's Champion Kevin Day. Henri had seen photos of Kevin's new tattoo in photos released from the Foxes' winning match against the Ravens, a queen, but otherwise not much had changed about his appearance.

The man with an arm slung across his shoulder was the one Henri was staring at, the slate grey eyes so similar to his own. They looked a little older than Henri in the photo, no more than eighteen or nineteen, and the shot had clearly been taken after a victorious match. Jean wasn't quite smiling, but the curl of his lips held the same smugness that Kevin's grin did.

"This was his locker?" Henri asked, without looking away from the photo.

"Yeah." Something in Soren's voice made Henri look up at him, but his expression hardened the moment he felt Henri's gaze on him. "Consider yourself his replacement. Not that we needed one."

"Consistent as you are predictable," Henri reminded him.

Soren turned away but not before Henri caught the hint of a smile on his lips, and wondered whether there was hope yet for him. Maybe there was a sense of humour locked away behind his ice prince facade.

"Enough messing around," he said, already moving towards the door. "I need to get you on the court before the Master returns."

He got a quickfire tour of the rest of Evermore, given a brief glimpse into the relevant rooms and no more than a commentary for the others. The stadium was larger than other ones in the country due to the fact it hosted Court, and there were four towers, each for different associates and representatives. Henri knew one was used by the Moriyamas for their bloody business deals but Soren didn't pause to give him a chance to ask. There was the foyer, where Ravens stretched out during breaks and spoke to the press, and then they were in the inner court.

Ravens were already on court when Soren led him out, a blur of red and black streaking across the court as they worked through drills Henri didn't recognise. He paused at the court wall separating the court from inner court, pressing a hand against the thick plexiglass. He was awed despite himself as he watched them move. Henri knew they were the top class tier of Exy, that despite his taunts they were the best team in the nation and had seen that in all the matches he'd watched, but it was an entirely different thing to see it in the flesh. They moved as if they were one unit rather than individuals in a team sport, light on their feet and barely holding the ball for more than a few steps before passing.

He understood now why their rivals didn't even stand a chance when playing a force like this. Every rebound fired off the wall had perfect trajectory, every pass was not even an inch shy of the target, and the ball was flying so fast Henri was having a difficult time keeping up with it with his eyes. It was little more than a black blur. Henri had never played with anyone at a standard higher than high school, and even then it was just a fun past-time for most people. Watching the Ravens, he finally understood why people bled and died for Exy. He felt the thrill and wanted to be part of that thrill.

"Do you understand now?" Henri turned to see Soren leaning against the doorway, arms folded loosely across his chest. "This is Class I, and we are the top of the top. We are not a bunch of children tossing a ball around for fun. Exy is not a trivial hobby here — it is a way of life."

"It's just a game," he replied, not sure he believed those words even as he said it.

"Not where I'm from."

That caught Henri's interest. "And where are you from?"

"Irrelevant," Soren said, with a flick of his finger. "Don't miss my point. Someone such as yourself cannot, and will not, ruin what we have."

Henri gritted his teeth. "Just shut up and give me a racquet." 

It took ten minutes or so for Henri to sort through the spare gear and uniform on offer, having to mix and match in order to find sizes that roughly fit him. The gear was okay, if not a little large, but the only jersey that didn't completely swallow him up was meant for a female build. Soren said nothing, but Henri didn't miss the smirk on his face.

"Shut the fuck up," Henri said sourly, snatching up the jersey and pointing a threatening finger at him. "Don't forget I know where you sleep and I can use a knife."

"Oh?" Soren snorted. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

The truth was, Henri's father has taught him the most vulnerable points on a man by the age of three and how to use those points to cause maximum damage by age five. His homeschooling hadn't been restricted to the academic; he was trained in martial arts, holding a second dan black belt, and had trained using both knives and guns. If he wanted, he could knock a grown man out in a second by simply applying pressure to one of the many pressure points on the human body. His height and age put him at a disadvantage, but sports such as karate didn't discriminate. Folding and unfolding your opponent was about skill, not size.

Naturally, Henri said none of this to Soren. Instead he settled with, "Don't cry when you wake up with a knife in your back."

Soren rolled his eyes. "Hurry up and change out."

Henri had to change in the locker room with Soren, and there was little he could do to hide the bruises that had bloomed across his skin. His arms and legs had taken the worst of the hits, purple-blue shadows where Tetsuji's merciless cane had struck him for not moving fast enough. It wasn't unbearable, as Tetsuji hadn't hit hard enough to break skin or draw blood, but it didn't stop him looking like a battered ragdoll. Soren said nothing but Henri didn't miss the scrutiny of his green eyes, undoubtedly conjuring possible reasons for his appearance. Henri didn't offer up an explanation and Soren didn't ask.

The Ravens were in the middle of a scrimmage when the two of them returned to the court, but they came to a stop when their captain banged on the wall. He strode onto court and Henri guessed he was expected to follow.

"Where is the Master?" Soren asked.

"He hasn't returned yet," KJ replied, but he was glaring at Henri when he said it. "Here to show off your supposed skill, pretty boy? I don't care who's brother you are. You're not stealing starting line up from me."

Henri almost refrained from rolling his eyes before remember he didn't care if KJ saw. "That you're getting this worked up tells me stealing your spot would be easier than I expected."

The Ravens exchanged quick looks and KJ looked furious, confirming Henri's suspicion that he would be quick to anger into physical confrontation. Only Soren looked unsurprised, if not unimpressed, clearly having accepted Henri was a mouthy nuisance. The conditions of his time here was to win Championships and rake in revenue — nothing was said about fitting in or submitting, certainly not among these arrogant and pretentious players. Henri had no intentions of playing along nicely with people who had already written him off.

KJ took a threatening step towards him, but Soren held out his racquet between them to stop him going any further. Before the gesture could be mistaken as concern, Soren said, "Destroy him with your game, not your fists. Scrimmage on court. Aria and KJ with me, Jude and Xander take the rookie. The rest of you watch from inner court and take notes."

The looks Henri received from the Ravens filing off ranged from disbelief to disgust, not a single one sympathetic despite the fact they couldn't have missed KJ's snarled, "You'll regret ever coming here," before he stalked to his side of the court. Henri pulled on his helmet and didn't bother saying he already regretted it. He certainly hadn't been expecting support from the Ravens on his side, but Jude Williams shoved him roughly in the shoulder as he passed him. He had close to a foot on him and Henri wasn't expecting it, so he stumbled and just about managed to catch his balance by dragging his racquet across the floor.

"What the hell?" Henri snapped.

"Watch your back, midget." Henri couldn't see Jude's expression through the grating of his helmet but his voice was less than friendly. "We don't take things easy on rookies around here. Even less so on sixteen-year-old punks who don't know their place."

He walked off without another word and Xander followed silently, with a brief glance towards Henri. Henri had to take a moment to recollect himself, squeezing his borrowed black racquet so tightly he was surprised it didn't splinter between his gloved fingers. He knew coming here that he wouldn't be welcomed with open arms. He knew the Ravens weren't loving people and all considered Exy a breakthrough into fame rather than a place for friendships.

Yet this was different. This was their captain turning his nose up at him, their dealer fighting for dominance, and every other player cutting him off at the knees before he had a chance to play. This was Henri not making it onto the line-up or even to the end of summer, because without a team supporting him, there was little distance he could cover. And if he couldn't make something of himself and show to Tetsuji he was worth something, he'd be executed before the end of the year. The thought sent a chill of fear down his spine.

The bang of a racquet against the wall startled Henri out of his thoughts and back to the court, where they belonged. It was Soren, from his position at far court, waving a hand in a demand to get moving. Henri unfroze his feet and reminded himself to focus, because all eyes would be watching him and he had to prove somehow he was good enough, even if he knew he wasn't right now. He had to show something to the Ravens waiting for the slightest slip up to tear him apart.

Whatever issues Jude and Xander might have with him, they were too focused on victory to fuck him over in the scrimmage. That being said, Henri found it difficult to keep up with them. The pace the Ravens played with was intense. No one hesitated over which way to move, where to aim the rebound, when to take the shot — the game was played in seconds rather than minutes, and he barely had time to blink before their goal lit up with a shot from Soren. When he finally managed to snag the ball, he didn't make it more than one step before KJ bodychecked him so hard he slammed into the wall. It took him a good five seconds to regain his balance and force air back into his bruised lungs. By then, KJ had snagged the wall and it had already been passed twice.

"Asshole," Henri hissed under his breath in furious French, banging his racquet against the floor and pushing off for the fray.

For years, Henri had been playing kids his own size. Suddenly, he was thrown in the deep end with adults double his size, with double his experience and who already had familiarity with how each other moved. He didn't stand a chance. Every check felt like it would shatter his bones from the force and he swore countless times from the hot flare of pain up his wrist when his racquet was checked a little too hard from the forceful hit of another racquet against his own. Ravens favoured aggression and precision. The only reason he wasn't completely annihilated on their court was his speed; he was small and agile, and fast, faster than anyone on the court.

But speed alone wasn't enough. When Soren raised a hand to call the end of the scrimmage, he hadn't managed to make a single shot on goal and every shuddering breath hurt his throat. He hadn't played that intensely in his whole life and that was just one scrimmage. He didn't take his helmet off, not wanting the Ravens to see how exhausted he was, but it didn't matter. He felt that seem chill of fear, icy claws dragging along his skin as he trailed at the back of the group to the inner court. He knew he wasn't good enough to be here — he just hadn't anticipated how big the disparity would be. He'd been so desperately clinging to any threads that would keep him alive he hadn't considered how difficult maintaining the bargain would be.

"Starting line-up," Aria snickered, loud enough that the words carried. "Yeah right. I didn't realise the Master was one to make jokes."

"Clearly everything about the rookie is a joke," Jude said snidely.

Henri felt his face flush and was grateful for the helmet hiding his expression. He had no smart comment to make to their words, because it was all true, and he forced down the inexplicable flash of anger. His temper had no right to flare here. He'd spoken big words without thinking, just to get them off his back, and now he was failing.

Tetsuji was waiting on the inner court for them and his impassive expression gave nothing away. "Your style is too erratic and individualistic," he said shortly, addressing Henri, who had no choice but to yank his helmet off. He combed fingers through his sweaty hair and kept his eyes off the Ravens, not wanting to see their smug arrogance. "You are on this team, and you will play with them, as them. Understand?"

He didn't understand, but he nodded anyway. "Then swap out for Alixis and watch how a scrimmage is played at Edgar Allan."

Henri nodded again, his face burning with shame, and hung back as the others filed back on court. Soren looked at him as he walked past but his expression was hidden, not that Henri needed to see it to know what he was thinking. You aren't good enough to be here. Henri stared back at him, refusing to give in so easily.

"You should have stayed in France," one of the Ravens said, a nameless face. "Where you belong."

Henri bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, refusing to snap in front of these people. He swallowed the bitter taste and kept his eyes straight ahead on the court.

"Awww, look, he's gotten all tongue-tied," another taunted. "What happened, lost your balls, pretty boy?"

"If he even has any. He's still a little fresh-faced baby."

That comment earned snickers.

"Hey, maybe if we check him hard enough, we can make him cry?"

Henri shouldn't have done it. He should have held his tongue, no matter how much blood his teeth were drawing, and watched the scrimmage like Tetsuji had instructed. But this petty bullying, from adults no less, was making his blood boil and he could feel his body trembling with the effort of keeping his anger in check. That final comment was the last straw. He whirled around faster than any of them were expecting and shoved the Raven that made it, Benjamin Hurstfield. He was larger than Henri and probably wouldn't have budged if Henri didn't have the element of surprise.

He got over the initial surprise and laughed. "Oh, what's this? You do have balls? Don't worry, you'll end up just like your brother — scared and defeated."

One second, Benjamin was on his feet and taunting Henri. The next, Henri had twisted his arm sharply behind his back in a lock and used the momentum to force him to the floor on his knees. "Say shit like that again and see what happens," he hissed in Benjamin's ear, digging his fingers into the man's wrist. He didn't realise the words were French until he'd spoken and didn't care that Benjamin wouldn't understand them. The tone and intent was clear.

In his blind rage, he gave Hurstfield's arm a vicious yank to shove him down further and might not have stopped, if not for his low groan. Another inch and he'd break his arm. Taking a Raven out of commission would be unforgivable and he would be punished appropriately. As it was, before he could react further, Tetsuji had stepped forward with his cane raised.

Henri's flinch was instinctive and he released Benjamin, taking a step back. Benjamin collapsed to the floor and clutched his arm, shooting Henri a furious look but not daring to say anything else. Tetsuji didn't strike him, whether he was leery to do so in front of an audience or he was just dragging it out, but his gaze was black. Henri felt as if his insides were shrivelling as the man stared him down.

"You are nothing to us right now," Tetsuji reminded him. "Watch your place and do not cross the line, or you will regret it."

The warning was short but effective. Even though it was directed at Henry, the rest of the Ravens watched the scrimmage unfolding on court in silence. Benjamin sank onto the benches and carefully massaged his arm, as if working out any knots. Henri felt a vicious sense of pleasure at any pain he might have caused. He forcibly turned his attention bacck to the court and was quickly distracted from what just happened when he saw Soren.

Playing on court, Henri hadn't been close enough to see how he played. He'd been relegated to offensive dealer while Soren spent the majority of his time by Henri's goal, so they weren't marking one another. He'd been too focused on his own shortcomings and just trying to hold the ball for longer than a few steps to think about any of the other players or their style. Maybe that was what Tetsuji had meant in his criticism. Now that he was on the sidelines and had only the players on court to watch, his eyes were drawn unfailingly like a magnet to Soren again and again, even though he should have been studying the dealers Alixis and KJ.

He was untouchable. It wasn't that he was necessarily faster than his teammates, but he moved in a way that made it difficult to mark him — one step put him out of the backliner's check, and another out of his reach, manoeuvred in one heartbeat, giving him a free run to shoot. He favoured rebounds to himself often, shooting to the wall and reclaiming the ball in the same breath before anyone could even consider stealing possession from him. Henri found himself leaning forward to watch the seemingly effortless footwork that must have taken years to perfect and how he instinctively angled himself, so the ball flew true into the goal.

He understood now why Soren had been assigned captain, despite the fact most of the other Ravens had been on the team for longer. No matter how unbearable he could be, he was mesmerising to watch on court and Henri didn't want to look away. He couldn't quite explain the feeling in his chest and didn't get a chance to try picking it apart before the others returned to the inner court for feedback, delivered by the watching Ravens. Henri didn't realise he had been watching Soren, wondering how he could play like that and only be eighteen, until the older boy looked at him. Henri expected disdain or exasperation, but his green gaze was appraising.

"What's wrong with you?" Xander asked, and Henri turned to see he was looking at Benjamin, who was still holding his arm with a bitter expression.

"Leash your pet," Benjamin growled at Soren, "or I will."

"I'd like to see you try," Henri said coolly.

"Enough." Tetsuji's one worded command was enough to make the Ravens fall silent. "No more petty squabbling or you will all practice until midnight tonight. On court, drills until lunch and then back to scrimmages after lunch. Don't waste my time."

They all filed back on court and Henri vowed he'd push himself faster, harder, until he couldn't even breathe.