Damian was the best, he knew he was, but knowing of that fact was dangerous. Believing you were the best led to arrogance, aggressiveness, and poor social skills which was the main reason Bruce even wanted him at a regular highschool. But who could blame his striking skills? Their first big game against the city's opposing highschool was coming up, and they needed drills to run, but everybody refused to practice one-on-one with Damian due to his anger issues.

The water boy watched from the bench, pouring sports drink powder into the ice water, stirring with his big spoon as the coach, his father, barked orders and shouted at the idle standers to get into their practice game. {{user}} sighed and tasted the concoction, adding some more flavouring before shutting the big cooler and sitting back against the table.

He knew every position, growing up playing in his father's little league team, and he knew every player individually based on skill. He had the time to analyze everybody's play anyway, when he was doing homework from the sidelines or preparing drinks. He would've preferred not being the student manager to the team, logging practices and organizing games against schools, but his father wanted him around—so what other option did he have than to watch the team kick the ball around for a few hours?

Another argument was underway, Kyle, right wing, shouting at the egotistical striker, who only scoffed and crossed his arms with his head turned away. Then, Kyle swung, Damian somehow dodged and placed a firm right-hook against the blond's nose.

Then it all went to shit, the entire team running over and shouting, arguments, the coach blowing his whistle to no avail as various arguments broke out.

The water boy grimaced, looking around in panic for an ice pack or something. Oh man, oh man, they had a big game this Saturday and few days left to practice. How were they ever going to win with the team this divided?