Chương 152: Stacey's Mom

Vince's laughter finally subsided. He wiped his eyes one more time and straightened up.

"Alright, alright. Enough about the old hag." He fell into step beside Leo as they walked down the corridor.

"You looked tense coming out of Harbach's office. What'd he hit you with?" Leo told him everything. The eight-man wing competition. The trap door underneath all of it. Vince was his captain. If Leo couldn't trust him with this, he couldn't trust anyone on the roster. Vince scratched his chin.

"Starting wing. Okay. Okay." He was already nodding, the gears turning visibly behind his aviator sunglasses.

"What weapon are you running?"

"Chain hook." Vince stopped walking.

"Chain hook," he repeated.

"CC (Crowd Control) role. You spent the last few years learning the lightsaber and now you're telling me chain hook."

"I've been wanting to try it ever since my game with Florida two years ago." If he was going to trap an enemy flyer's sword long enough to inscribe the Struggle formation mid-combat, he needed a weapon built for control and interception, something that could pin a blade in place while his brush did the real work. The lightsaber was a dueling weapon. The chain hook was a cage. Vince pulled his aviators down his nose and looked at Leo over the rims.

"Here's the thing, pal. CC's been losing ground for a couple years now. Chain hooks were everywhere. Then Coach Sirianni brings his man-to-man stuff to Philly, the Eagles win the Super Bowl, and now every team in the league is copying his homework like it's seventh grade algebra." He started walking again. Leo followed.

"So the trend is moving away from CC. Fast. Give it two, three more years and I think you're looking at maybe four chain hook specialists left in the entire league." Vince held up a finger.

"But. And this is a big but, pal. We are not there yet. Right now you've still got teams running hybrid schemes. You've still got coordinators who grew up on positional play and haven't fully committed to the switch. The CC role still has juice. It's just not the flavor of the month anymore."

"So there's a window."

"There's a window. And let me tell you something about windows in this league. Every time the meta shifts, there's a two-year period where nobody knows what they're doing. The old system's dying, the new system's half-installed, and guys who can do weird specialist stuff that doesn't fit either playbook?" He jabbed his finger at Leo.

"Those guys eat. Because nobody's game-planned for them." Leo felt something loosen in his chest.

"You think I can actually make the roster."

"I think," Vince said carefully, "that in a normal year, against eight veterans who've been flying professional routes since before you could walk, absolutely not. Zero chance. I would bet my pinky ring against it, and this ring is worth more than your signing bonus."

"It's definitely not."

"It is a storage ring, pal. I keep telling people." Leo didn't believe him. There was no spiritual signature on the ring. Vince caught him inspecting it and waved him off.

"But this is not a normal year. The whole league is scrambling to figure out the new system. Even the veterans are relearning. That shrinks the gap. A little." He stopped at a vending machine, fed it a crumpled bill, and punched a button without looking.

"The problem is your game sense. Your reaction speed is disgusting. Your divine sense is elite for a rookie. But you don't know how to read NFL-level play yet, and that's not something you can cram from a data drive." He caught the protein bar that dropped and ripped it open with his teeth.

"You need reps with someone who knows the new system cold. Real reps. Not film study. Dedicated instruction from a wing who's been running man-to-man concepts at the highest level."

"Can you help me?"

"Kid, I've got the whole flyer roster to babysit. Four guys who all think they're the main character, plus five backups who think they should be starters, plus you, who actually might be the main character but doesn't know where the cafeteria is yet." He took a bite of the protein bar.

"I don't have time for one-on-one. But." He chewed. Leo waited. Some time passed.

"Alright," Vince said.

"There's one option. You're not gonna love it. I got a friend on the Denver Broncos. Wing. Great one. The Broncos have been running man-to-man longer than anyone in the league because Sirianni learned it from their old defensive coordinator before he went to Philly."

"And she'd train me?"

"She's been asking about you, actually. Which normally I would find suspicious, because people who ask about rookies usually want something." Another bite.

"And she wants something."

"What?"

"She says you know her grandniece." Leo searched his memory.

"Who?"

"Vicky something. Walton." Vicky Walton. Yale. His old teammate. They hadn't spoken since the CFL Finals.

"What about her?"

"There's some kind of ball. The Queen Charlotte thing. Big aristocracy event, very fancy, lots of people pretending they're British." Leo winced. At the last ball he'd attended, Leo had to pull Mateo away from a girl who turned out to be his half cousin. Vince waved the protein bar.

"Vicky doesn't want to go. The grandmother, who is my friend on the Broncos, wants her to go. Grandmother figures if Leo Chen, former teammate from Yale, agrees to escort her grandniece, Vicky shows up. Everyone's happy." Leo's jaw tightened.

"That sounds like I'm tricking her into going to something she doesn't want to go to."

"You're not tricking anybody. You're being an escort. You show up, you wear a nice suit, you stand next to her and look pretty. She was gonna get pressured into going anyway. At least this way she's got a friend there instead of some stranger her grandmother picked out of a catalog." Leo said nothing.

"Look." Vince crumpled the protein bar wrapper and banked it off the wall into a trash can. Missed. Didn't pick it up.

"You want to make this roster? You need an edge. Film study gets you maybe sixty percent of the way there. Sparring with me and the boys gets you another ten. But that last thirty percent, the part where you actually learn to read live NFL play in real time? That takes a teacher. A real one. And my friend on the Broncos is offering you exactly that, in exchange for one evening of wearing a tuxedo." The answer was obvious. Leo hated it.

"Let me ask you something," Vince said.

"This Vicky kid. She a friend of yours?" They hadn't spoken in years, but yeah, she was a friend.

"Yeah."

"Then what's the problem? You go to a party with your friend. You shake hands with a bunch of old money cultivators who pretend they remember your name. And in exchange, you get a summer of private instruction from one of the best wings in the AFC." Vince spread his hands.

"It's networking, pal. This is how the world works. I've been trying to explain this to people for fifty years and nobody listens." Leo frowned. A few hours ago he walked into this building expecting to impress his coach and talk about Super Bowl rings. Instead, Harbach told him he might not even make the roster, Niki Sharma tried to recruit him into whatever that was, and now his captain was brokering a deal that required him to attend a debutante ball. He missed Yale.

He missed Harry dragging the team out of the training room to farm merits in the Catacombs instead of practicing. He missed the parking lot tailgates where nobody cared about narratives or marketability or brand management. Most of all, he missed playing with people his own age instead of trying to prove himself in a room full of great-grandparents. A night out with Vicky sounded like exactly what he needed. He missed her and all her sarcasm.

Maybe they could spend the whole ball making fun of the rich young masters and talking about old times.

"You still with me, pal?" Vince snapped his fingers.

"Fine," Leo said.

"I'll do it. Set it up."

"That's the spirit, chief." Vince clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him.

"I'll make the introduction. Her name's Hilda Walton. Fifteen years in the league, four Pro Bowls, runs the nastiest cover-two shell you've ever seen. You're gonna love her." He was already walking away, pulling out his Nokia, punching her number in.

Tuesday, New York City Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! Leo and Ananya walked through the Upper East Side toward Niki's apartment building.

"I still can't believe you invited me." Ananya's smile hadn't faded since they met at the subway.

"Niki is literally my hero. She's the reason I play wing. When I was twelve, I watched her highlights on repeat for an entire summer. My parents had to hide the TV." Leo nodded.

"She seems great. Really helpful. She invited me over to study film, and I thought, who better to bring along than her own great-granddaughter?"

"That's so thoughtful." Ananya squeezed his arm.

"What's she like? In person, I mean. I've only ever seen her at family events, and she always leaves early."

"Generous," Leo lied.

"Warm. Very professional." She gave him a look. He shrugged. He really didn't know what else he could say. Ananya stopped walking.

"Wait. Before we get there. How do I look? She gestured at herself. T-shirt. Jeans. Clean white sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wore almost no makeup, just a touch of lip gloss.

"Should I have dressed up more? This is basically my first time meeting her in a professional context." She looked way better than her great-grandmother. Niki's low-cut top still haunted him. Leo smiled.

"You look perfect."

"You know, I almost wore this new dress I got from Aritzia two weeks ago. I liked it so much I embroidered some hearts on the left sleeve." She sighed.

"But I couldn't find it anywhere. Which is weird, because I just had it dry-cleaned last week." They reached Niki's building. The doorman waved them through without checking IDs, which meant Niki had left instructions. Leo pressed the elevator button for the penthouse and tried to slow his heartbeat. He hoped Niki wouldn't mind him bringing an unwelcome guest. The doors opened onto a private foyer with only one door. Leo rang the doorbell. The door swung open. Niki stood in the entrance, backlit by candlelight.

Soft jazz drifted from somewhere inside the apartment. She was wearing a gray dress with delicate embroidery on the left sleeve. Little hearts.

"Leo." Her voice was soft and sweet.

"You're right on time." Then she saw Ananya. Ananya just stared at the embroidery. Her eyebrow twitched. For a long moment, nobody moved. Then Ananya stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Niki in a tight hug.

"Auntie! Thank you so much for inviting me. Leo said you wanted to help him with film study, and I told him I absolutely had to come along." Niki locked onto Leo over Ananya's shoulder. Her eyes promised violence. Leo smiled awkwardly. Ananya pulled back, beaming.

"Learning from you has been my dream since I was a little girl."

"I..." Niki's composure cracked for half a second.

"I must have mixed up the days. I thought today was Friday. You know how it is at my age. Memory starts to go." Leo and Ananya stared at her. Foundation Establishment cultivators didn't have memory issues. Although Niki was over a hundred, she still had over seventy years left before she would decline. Niki's smile stayed fixed in place.

"Give me just a moment," she said.

"I need to... adjust a few things." She closed the door. Ananya stood perfectly still, staring at the brushed bronze handle. Her expression had gone blank. Leo opened his mouth.

"Don't," Ananya said quietly. She didn't look at him. Leo took her cue and pretended not to notice the smooth jazz cutting off mid-song, or the sound of furniture being hurriedly moved, or what might have been a champagne bottle being shoved into a cabinet. Two minutes passed. Three. The door opened again. Niki stood in the entrance wearing slacks and a modest blouse. Her makeup had been completely redone.

The contouring that had made her look twenty-two was gone, replaced by subtle techniques that aged her features up to a respectable forty. Her hair was pulled back in a professional bun. She looked like someone's cool aunt instead of someone's nightmare.

"Please, come in." She stepped aside.

"I ordered dinner. I hope you both like Thai."

Someone had set the dining table for two and hastily added a third place setting with plastic silverware.

"Thai sounds wonderful," Ananya said as she sat down.

"Thank you so much for your hospitality, Matron." Niki grimaced.

"Please. Call me Niki."

"I couldn't possibly, Auntie. It would be disrespectful."

"You're my teammate's friend. There's no need for formality."

"But formality is how we honor our elders." Ananya smiled. The DoorDash driver arrived before Niki could respond. They ate. The conversation stayed light. Ananya asked Niki about her early career, her training regimen, her thoughts on the evolution of wing play over the decades. Every question was delivered with perfect, earnest respect. Halfway through the pad thai, Niki set down her chopsticks.

"Ananya, dear. Don't you have an early practice tomorrow? I wouldn't want to keep you out too late."

"Practice was moved to the afternoon. I have all night."

"What about your studies? Midterms must be coming up."

"I finished my last paper yesterday. My schedule is completely clear."

"Surely you'd rather spend time with friends your own age than watch old game film with your ancient aunt." Ananya set down her own chopsticks and met Niki's gaze directly.

"I'm here to protect our family's reputation." The temperature in the room dropped.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A young professional athlete, alone in an older woman's apartment for an evening of 'film study.'" Ananya's voice stayed perfectly pleasant.

"You remember what happened with Rodrigo. The rumors alone were disastrous. Three aunts had to issue public statements. Grandmother couldn't show her face at temple for six months." Niki's face went red.

"Which aunt told you about that?"

"All of them." Ananya picked up her chopsticks and resumed eating.

"We are all embarrassed by your actions. The family WhatsApp group has a dedicated channel. They asked me to send pictures tonight to confirm nothing inappropriate is occurring." Leo sat very still. He had walked into this evening thinking he was clever. He had thought inviting Ananya would create an awkward situation that would force Niki to actually teach him something useful. He had not realized that Ananya knew everything.

When Leo had texted Archer asking if Ananya wanted to come along, she must have understood immediately what he was really asking. And she had said yes anyway. He was completely out of his depth. Niki pushed her plate away.

"Fine. Let's watch some film."

The home theater took up the entire west wing of the apartment. Holographic projectors lined the walls. The main screen was twelve feet across.

"I need to use the restroom," Ananya said.

"Start without me. I'll catch up." She disappeared down the hallway. Niki waited until the bathroom door clicked shut. Then she turned on Leo with murder in her eyes.

"I know what you're doing." Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

"I see it. The fake innocence. The wide eyes. Bringing my own great-granddaughter as a chaperone." Leo kept his expression neutral.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sharma. I don't understand."

"Don't." She stepped closer.

"Don't you dare. You think this is funny? You think you can humiliate me and walk away?"

"I just wanted to learn from the best." Leo made his eyes as wide as possible.

"Didn't you say you'd show me things that aren't on any scouting report?" Niki's hands curled into fists.

"I'm going to make you pay for this," she hissed.

"I don't know how yet. But I will find a way. And when I do..." They both heard Ananya's voice through the wall. She wasn't trying to be quiet.

"... No, Auntie. She didn't cook." A pause.

"No, she ordered Thai. Maybe because she was in the mood for Thai, not because she can't cook. Could you not..." Niki's jaw went slack. The fury drained out of her face. Another pause, longer this time.

"That was one Thanksgiving, and the smoke alarm was already broken before she started." Leo tried his best not to laugh. He really hoped he didn't.

"I'm not sending pictures of the apartment. That's invasive and rude. She's a grown woman." Ananya's voice was firm. Niki's fists uncurled.

"Tell Grandmother not to worry. I have it completely under control." The door opened. Ananya walked back into the theater holding a bag that hadn't been there when she went in. Through the top, Leo could see gray fabric and a flash of embroidered hearts on a left sleeve. She set the bag down by the door without a word.

"Ready to learn," she said brightly, settling into the seat next to Leo.

"Show us everything."

They studied film until three in the morning. Niki, trapped by tradition and family politics, had no choice but to actually teach. And when she taught, she was brilliant. She taught him how elite wings signaled each other before engagements, the tells that preceded a power dive versus a lateral slide, how to read a center's qi distribution to anticipate which direction the attack would flow. Thirty minutes of her actual instruction was worth more than all of the solo study he'd done up to this point.

Leo absorbed everything. When they finally left, his head was spinning with new concepts. Niki saw them out with the tight smile of someone who had been forced to do community service.

"Same time next week?" Leo asked. The door closed in his face. The elevator deposited them in the lobby. The doorman nodded as they passed. Outside, the city was quiet. The two of them walked toward the subway station.

"Thank you," Leo said.

"That was the most productive few hours of my life. I learned more tonight than I would have learned in a month by myself."

"Happy to help."

"I mean it. I wish I could have gotten more time with her. Even just another thirty minutes would have been..." He stopped walking.

"Wait." Ananya stopped too.

"Why did you do this?" Leo asked.

"All of that film was NFL-level analysis. Third-person perspective lightning-style combat. None of it translates to collegiate play. You can't use any of what she taught tonight." Ananya was quiet for a moment. The streetlight above them flickered.

"Have you ever noticed," she said finally, "that every sport on television is dominated by people who were alive before the first world war?" Leo hadn't thought about it that way.

"Flying Aces. The biggest sport in cultivator society. And every star, every headline, every sponsorship deal goes to someone who remembers where they were when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor." The subway entrance was just ahead. Neither of them moved toward it.

"We're supposed to wait our turn. That's what they tell us. Work hard. Pay your dues. Eventually, the old guard will retire and the spotlight will find us." She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"But they don't retire. They just keep playing. And we're supposed to smile and cheer for them like they're heroes while our careers lead straight into the Catacombs." Ananya reached out and took his hand.

"Maybe I'll never get my moment, Leo. Maybe I'll spend my whole career waiting for a chance that never comes." Her thumb traced a small circle against his palm.

"But if one of us can break through? If you can prove that we're not just waiting room furniture for immortal grandparents?" She looked up at him. The streetlight caught something fierce in her eyes.

"That would be enough for me." The subway rumbled somewhere below their feet. Ananya released his hand. She reached up and touched his jaw, turning his face down toward hers.

"I'm going to kiss you now. And then I'm going to tell my great-grandmother we're dating." Her smile turned mischievous.

"That should keep her away from you for at least a few months." She leaned up and kissed him. It was brief. Warm. When she pulled back, she was already stepping toward the subway entrance.

"Go win a Super Bowl, Leo Chen." She walked backward down the first few steps, holding his gaze.

"We're all rooting for you."