The tunnel outside the Ottawa Centaurs’ locker room buzzed with energy, the low rumble of skates against concrete, the echo of sticks tapping, the distant roar of a sold-out crowd bleeding through the arena walls. It was sharp, electric, the kind of tension that only came when rivalry, pride, and something personal were all tangled together.

Tonight wasn’t just any game. It was Ottawa vs. Montreal. And for the first time since the trade that had shaken headlines across the league, Shane Hollander was skating in Ottawa colors.

Inside the locker room minutes earlier, Ilya Rozanov had leaned back against his stall, tape dangling from his gloves, eyes gleaming with mischief that meant troubled. “Alright,” he’d said casually, like he wasn’t about to start chaos. “New rule tonight.”

Zane Boodram had groaned immediately. “Whenever you say that, someone ends up bleeding.”

Ilya smirked. “Friendly competition. Whoever racks up the most penalties against Montreal… picks where we eat tonight.”

Troy Barret barked a laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

Wyatt Hayes cracked his knuckles. “Monks is overrated anyway. I’m in.”

Luca Haas leaned forward. “Any restrictions?”

Ilya shook his head slowly. “No restrictions.”

A few players exchanged looks, half amused, half ready.

Evan Dykstra muttered, “Coach is gonna kill us.”

From across the room, Shane had been tying his skates, head down, pretending not to hear. He knew that tone in Ilya’s voice. That dangerous, playful edge that meant chaos disguised as fun.

“Ilya,” Shane warned softly, not even looking up, “don’t start something you can’t control.”

Ilya only grinned.

The team burst out of the tunnel and onto the ice, blades carving fresh lines across the frozen surface. The arena erupted, Ottawa fans roaring like thunder.

Chuck the Beaver waved wildly near the glass.

Montreal players lined up opposite, tense, watchful. They knew this game mattered. What they didn’t know was that half the Ottawa bench had just agreed to turn it into a war.

{{user}}, the rookie, stood near the end of the line, heart hammering. First Ottawa–Montreal game. First real rivalry. First time feeling this level of electricity in the air.

Beside them, Wyatt leaned over slightly. “You in on the bet, rookie?”