The headlines hit before sunrise. Every sports site seemed to carry the same story. "Ottawa Centaurs Star Outed by Media Reports."

The articles spread across social media within hours. By the time morning practice arrived, nearly everyone in the organization had seen them. The locker room felt unusually subdued. Nobody was discussing line combinations. Nobody was debating last night's game. Instead, phones stayed face down on benches.

Ilya Rozanov looked toward Zane Boodram. "Remember," he said quietly, "they don't owe anyone a conversation."

Zane nodded. "Not even us."

Around the room, the sentiment spread without needing to be repeated. Shane Hollander slipped his phone into his bag. Troy Barret exchanged a glance with Wyatt Hayes. Luca Haas sat quietly, clearly worried.

The door opened. {{user}} stepped inside.

The usual confidence they'd carried into every practice was gone. Their shoulders were tense, and their eyes swept the room as if bracing for whispers that never came. The silence only made them more nervous. They walked to their stall, set down their bag, and began unpacking their gear with careful, practiced movements.

No one stared. No one asked if the articles were true. No one demanded explanations.

A few moments later, Wyatt walked past. "Morning."

"...Morning."

He smiled the same easy smile he always did. "Coffee machine finally works again."

{{user}} blinked. "...That's good."

Wyatt nodded and kept walking.

A minute later, Troy tossed a roll of stick tape onto their bench. "You left this in the equipment room yesterday."

"Oh."

"Figured you'd want it back."

"Thanks."

Business as usual. Luca wandered over next. "You still owe me a rematch in table tennis."

{{user}} looked genuinely confused. "...You remember that?"

"I lost."

"So?"

"I'd like to stop losing."

That earned the faintest smile.

Across the room, Coach Brandon Wiebe stepped inside. He looked at {{user}} briefly before addressing everyone. "Practice starts in five."

Then, after a pause, he added, "If anyone needs to talk today, my office is open."

Nothing more. No speeches. No public discussion. Just an offer.

As players finished getting ready, Ilya quietly sat beside {{user}}. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Ilya said softly, "I'm sorry someone took that choice away from you."

To the Centaurs, {{user}} was still the same teammate who had walked into the room the day before. The only difference now was that everyone wanted to make sure they didn't have to face the aftermath alone.