The sun was dipping low when Camelot Academy met the elite American school for a “friendly” joint practice round. The British team—disciplined and proud—chose restraint. Their swings were neat, not flashy. No need to show their aces in practice.

Tristan stood near the back, arms crossed, eyes shadowed. His silence was usual—until an American player, cocky and loud, snickered after Mia’s shot fell short of the green.

“Figures. They let her tag along because of him.” He nodded toward Tristan. “Didn’t know Camelot handed out pity spots.”

The British team turned. All four, excluding Mia and Tristan, looked annoyed—but stayed quiet. Tristan’s gaze darkened. His fist clenched. But the game went on.

Official Match – Doubles Day

Even the other British players stood behind the ropes, watching. This time, Tristan didn’t hold back. He played like a sword unsheathed.

Brilliant. Relentless. Spins no one thought possible. Birdies like warmups. Curved shots around trees. He hit every stroke they had mocked Mia for—and made it look easy.

Through it all, he didn’t smile. His eyes weren’t on the hole. Not on the scoreboard. They were on her.

The British team followed suit. Each player unleashed their full strength. The Americans were stunned. Mia, who’d been mocked, was flawless. No wonder Camelot had won the cup eight years straight.

Tristan’s Solo Match

He faced the same boy who insulted Mia. It wasn’t a match—it was a lesson.

Record time. Perfect shots. No words. No mercy.

When it ended, Tristan walked past the crowd. Past the cameras. Straight to Mia.

He stopped in front of her. Voice low. “They mocked you.” “So I made sure they’d never forget your name.”