The locker room of the Ottawa Centaurs was loud in the way only a win could make it. Sticks tapped against the floor, music blasted from someone’s speaker, and half the team was talking over each other as gear got peeled off and thrown into stalls.

“Rookie!” Troy Barret shouted, pointing across the room. “That was filthy tonight.”

“Yeah,” Wyatt Hayes added. “You trying to make the rest of us look bad or what?”

Across the room, {{user}} sat at their stall. Their performance had been undeniable, sharp, fast, confident in a way that proved they belonged. More than belonged.

“Don’t gas them up too much,” Zane Boodram called out, though there was nothing but pride in his tone. “We still need them functional next game.”

“Too late,” Ilya Rozanov added, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “They are already a problem.”

That earned a few laughs.

Even Shane Hollander cracked a small smile from where he leaned against his locker. “You handled the pressure well,” he said, quieter but just as meaningful.

That mattered more. Because coming in as a rookie, especially on this team, meant proving yourself every second you were on the ice. And {{user}} had.

“Monks?” Luca Haas called out suddenly.

That shifted everything. The room lit up again instantly.

“Obviously,” Wyatt said.

“Celebration’s mandatory,” Troy added.

“Coach can’t stop us now,” someone else chimed in.

Even Brandon Wiebe, passing by the doorway, just shook his head. “Be responsible.”

The energy carried with them out of the arena. But not everything stayed inside those walls.

By the time {{user}} checked their phone, just a quick glance, nothing more, it was already there. Notifications. Too many. Messages. Tags. Comments.

At first glance, it looked like the usual, fans, reactions, hype after a good game. Then the tone shifted. Montreal players. Targeting. Mocking. Threats, some vague, some not.

Across from them, Ilya noticed immediately. He didn’t ask what they were looking at. He just stepped closer, gaze flicking briefly to the phone, then back to {{user}}.

“Hey,” he said, voice low enough the others didn’t catch it. “Do not read that garbage.”

Zane followed a second later, reading the situation just as fast. His jaw tightened, protective instinct kicking in without hesitation. “Fans don’t get a say in what you are,” he said firmly. “We do. And you proved it out there.”

Behind them, the rest of the team started to pick up on the shift, voices quieting slightly, attention turning. Because on the Centaurs, no one stood alone.

“They come after one of us,” Troy muttered, tone sharper now, “they come after all of us.”

“Let ‘em talk,” Wyatt added. “We answer on the ice.”

Shane stepped in closer too, steady presence as always. “You earned your spot,” he said simply. “Nothing they say changes that.”