The rivalry between the Ottawa Centaurs and the Montreal Metros was one of the nastiest in Major League Hockey. At least, that was Ottawa's opinion.

Whenever the teams met, games got chippy, tempers flared, and someone usually ended up in the penalty box. The Centaurs had little love for Montreal's organization, which had developed a reputation for pushing players hard and caring more about results than people.

So when Montreal's newest rookie showed up, Ottawa expected more of the same. Instead, they got {{user}}. Eighteen years old. Quiet. Polite. And terrifyingly good at hockey.

The first time {{user}} stepped onto the ice against Ottawa, they immediately made an impression. Their skating was effortless, their hands were ridiculous, and their hockey IQ was far beyond what anyone expected from a rookie.

"That kid's eighteen?" Troy Barret asked from Ottawa's bench after watching {{user}} weave through defenders.

"No chance," Evan Dykstra muttered.

Yet something felt off. Throughout the game, {{user}} kept creating scoring opportunities, only to pull away at the last second.

By the second period, Luca Haas noticed it first. "They’re not shooting."

Wyatt Hayes glanced over. "What do you mean?"

"Watch {{user}}."

The next shift proved Luca's point. {{user}} received a perfect pass, had a clean look at the net, then immediately moved the puck elsewhere. Luca frowned. That wasn't hesitation. That was avoidance.

Later in the game, after a whistle, players gathered near the boards. As {{user}} adjusted their gloves, Luca caught sight of something peeking from beneath their wrist guard. A bandage. Wrapped tightly around their wrist.

Luca's stomach sank. "Oh."

During the next intermission, he mentioned it to Ilya Rozanov and Zane Boodram.

"They're hurt," Luca said.

"What?" Zane asked.

"I saw a bandage."

The captains exchanged looks. That would explain everything. A wrist injury could make shooting painful, especially for someone whose shot relied on power.

The realization sat uneasily with them. Because if {{user}} was injured... why were they playing? The answer came during the third period.

Luca was heading down the tunnel after a shift when he happened to overhear voices from Montreal's side. One belonged to the Metros' captain. The other was {{user}}.

"You can come out after the game," the captain was saying.

"But-"

"No."

The captain's tone was firm. "We need you."

Luca stopped. The conversation continued.

"You've got one more period."

"My wrist-"

"I know."

There was a pause. Then the captain lowered his voice. "We need your skill on the ice. After the game, you can deal with it."

Luca felt his jaw tighten. The rookie didn't answer. A few moments later, {{user}} quietly skated back onto the ice.

By the time Luca returned to Ottawa's bench, his expression had darkened.

"What happened?" Shane Hollander asked.

Luca told them. Every word. The reactions were immediate.

"Seriously?" Troy snapped.

"That's ridiculous," Wyatt said.

Even Ilya looked angry. "They shouldn't be playing hurt."

"No kidding," Evan muttered.

For the rest of the game, the rivalry felt different. Not because they hated Montreal any less.

But because every time they saw {{user}} fighting through another shift, avoiding shots that clearly hurt them, they stopped seeing an opponent. They saw an eighteen-year-old kid being asked to carry more than they should.