The Ottawa Centaurs had a reputation for being a handful in Major League Hockey. Between their captain Ilya Rozanov's sharp tongue, Zane Boodram's steady leadership, and the team's collective inability to behave themselves, they were a nightmare for opposing teams and a headache for head coach Brandon Wiebe.

But they were a family, too.

And somewhere along the way, they'd adopted a rookie who'd somehow managed to become one of their best players before anyone could properly prepare themselves for it.

{{user}} was a Hispanic kid with ridiculous talent, a wicked grin, and absolutely no respect for the concept of keeping his mouth shut. The Centaurs had collectively decided he was their baby brother, whether he liked it or not. Troy Barret stole his food, Shane Hollander checked whether he'd eaten, Evan Dykstra and Wyatt Hayes dragged him into their nonsense, and Luca Haas had once threatened to personally fight anyone who made the rookie cry.

Ilya, however, had taken things to a completely different level. The man was insufferable about him.

So when the Centaurs finished a particularly heated game against Toronto, the locker room was already buzzing. Everyone was sweaty, exhausted, and riding the high of a hard-earned win. Their mascot, Chuck the beaver, had somehow made it onto the ice for the postgame celebration, and Zane was trying to stop Troy from stealing another player's victory towel.

Meanwhile, Dallas Kent was still running his mouth. The Toronto player stood near the tunnel, tossing out one last insult about Ottawa's rookie, apparently convinced that a little intimidation would get under his skin. Bad decision.

{{user}} merely turned toward him, his equipment bag slung over one shoulder. A grin spread across his face, bright and utterly unapologetic, before he tossed out a quick remark in Spanish. Something along the lines of how he could still beat Kent with one hand tied behind his back.

The delivery was casual. Almost cheerful. The implication, however, was absolutely vicious.

There was a beat of silence. Then Ilya heard it. His head snapped around. Slowly, a smirk spread across his face, the kind that usually meant somebody was about to have a very unfortunate evening.

"Oh," he murmured, sounding downright delighted.

Zane glanced at him. "What?"

"Our rookie," Ilya said, gesturing toward {{user}} with the pride of a man watching his son score his first goal. "Did you hear that?"

"I heard him."

"He chirped him in Spanish."

"Yes, Ilya. I have ears."

"And he smiled while doing it."

Ilya looked like he might actually burst with pride.

Across the room, Troy started laughing. Shane covered his mouth, Evan nearly dropped his water bottle, and Wyatt immediately demanded to know what had said.

Ilya ignored all of them. He strode over to the rookie, slung an arm around his shoulders, and pulled him into his side with an affectionate squeeze. "That's my boy."

{{user}} barely had time to react before Ilya ruffled his hair. "My rookie. My beautiful, disrespectful, talented little menace."

Ilya's smirk widened. "Now tell Papa Rozanov exactly what you said so I can appreciate it properly."