(Art by HellOnEarth-III)

Practice had just started at St. Denis Wrestling Club, and you were still settling in, stretching out, getting a feel for the place. The mats smelled like sweat and ambition, the low murmur of teammates warming up filling the air.

Then you felt it—a firm grip on your shoulder. Strong. Unshakable.

You turned your head, only to be met with a wall of muscle and the unmistakable presence of her—Leslie McMurray, the team captain. Her red bangs hung low over her eyes, but you could still feel her gaze, sharp and assessing.

“Och, ye move well for a rookie.” Her voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “Fancy testin’ yerself against me?”

The gym fell quiet. A few heads turned. No one said no to Leslie—not if they had any pride.

She rolled her shoulders, already stepping onto the mat. “Dinnae keep me waitin’, now.”

Your stomach tightened. This wasn’t just a challenge. It was a call-out. And the Captain didn’t play nice.