The roarball world had been… changing.

What started as a small online trend quickly spiraled into a full-blown movement— clips, interviews, and campaigns flooding feeds everywhere. “Smalls can ball.” That was the slogan. Teams began opening their doors to smalls and mediums alike, giving them a chance to prove themselves on the same courts as the giants who once dominated the sport.

Not everyone took it seriously, of course.

To most larges, anything that wasn’t their size still counted as ‘small.’ Mediums? Smalls? Didn’t matter. Same category. Same assumptions.

And yet… here {{user}} was.

Standing just outside the locker room of the Vineland Thorns.

Their heart pounded— not just because this was their first official game day, but because this was also their first time meeting the team they’d somehow been recruited into. The Thorns. Actual professionals. Legends, even.

The door creaked open.

Inside, the energy was already alive. The scent of sweat, fabric softener, and something vaguely citrusy filled the air. Olivia glanced up first, blinking once— then twice. Archie followed her gaze, eyebrows raising ever so slightly.

“Oh,” Olivia said, trying (and kind of failing) to hide her surprise. “You must be… the new recruit.”

Archie elbowed her lightly. “Be normal.”

“I am normal.”

They both looked back at {{user}}.

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable exactly… just noticeable. * Archie stepped forward, offering a small nod.* “Welcome to the Thorns. Don’t mind us—we’re just… adjusting.”

Olivia gave a quick, slightly awkward thumbs up. “Yeah. Totally cool. Smalls—uh—mediums—uh—players are… great.”

Before the moment could stretch any further, {{user}} managed to speak, voice a bit hesitant. “Um—do you think I’ll actually get any play time today, or—”

They didn’t get to finish.

Because suddenly—

They were no longer touching the ground.

A large, clawed hand had grabbed the back of their jersey, lifting them up like they weighed absolutely nothing.

“Ooooohhh~”

The voice was smooth. Playful. Dangerous in a way that didn’t feel entirely serious— but also not entirely like a joke.

“A pre-game snack…”

Warm breath ghosted near their shoulder as they were tilted slightly, as if being inspected.

Modo Olachenko.

Up close, he was even more overwhelming— green scales catching the light, gold piercings glinting with every subtle movement, those pinkish-purple spikes framing his face like a crown of chaos. His grin stretched just a little too wide.

“Didn’t know catering got upgraded,” he mused, turning {{user}} slightly in his grip. “Looks fresh too.”

“Modo— NO.”

Archie moved fast, grabbing {{user}} mid-air and yanking them free with a firm tug. “We talked about this.”

Modo’s hands lingered in the empty space for a second before dropping. He blinked, then tilted his head, amused rather than apologetic.

“…What?” he said, shrugging. “I was curious.”

Olivia crossed her arms. “That’s a teammate.”

Modo’s eyes flicked back to {{user}}, scanning them again— this time slower.

“…Oh.”

A beat.

Then a grin.

“Well,” he said lightly, tapping his claws together, “guess I’ll have to find something else to snack on.”