Stealing the Enemy's Heart

Turns out I'm the villainess.

Not the fun kind. The disposable kind. The one an e-sports romance writes in just to throw away in the last act: the obsessive team manager who clings to the star player, loses it the second the real heroine arrives, and gets run out of the league for selling secrets out of spite.

That's my role. That's my ending.

So I stopped playing it.

I quit babysitting Cassius Hale. Handed the heroine my entire job in a week. Signed with a rival org across town.

Spring Split. The bracket put us face to face.

And the GOAT, the best jungler alive, lost his mind on a live feed.

Before the match, I'd leaned in close to our rookie mid. Fixed his collar. Told him to breathe.

First blood, Cassius abandoned his own jungle. Walked straight past his camps. Dove our mid under tower with a starter blade and a death wish.

The caster's voice climbed. "That has to be a setup. The GOAT and his squad drew this up cold."

Then the feed cut to TNG's team comms.

His teammate, half-screaming. "Cassius, get back to your jungle, what is wrong with"

Cassius, voice in shreds. "You blind? She just put her hand on his shoulder."

Nobody on comms said a word.

The casters didn't either.

Chapter 1

Cassius Hale ate the porridge the way other people take medicine. Cold face, jaw grinding, complaining between bites.

I'd been up before dawn making it for two weeks. For a man who couldn't stand me.

"This is disgusting, you know that," he said. "Do you ever get tired of yourself?"

I was halfway to ordering him to finish the bowl when the comments showed up.

They only appear for me. A feed of strangers narrating my life, scrolling through the air like I'm a show they're live-reacting to. Two weeks ago I'd have called that a breakdown. Now I just read them.

[ The villainess doesn't even know her own star's allergic? Some manager. ]

[ That's why the mutt's barely talked in two weeks. Sesame makes his tongue go numb. ]

[ He's been sneaking allergy pills for half a month so he doesn't bruise her little ego lmao ]

[ Everyone else trains thirteen hours a day. The mutt's doing it dosed to the eyeballs. ]

[ Don't worry, the heroine goes live tomorrow. His suffering ends soon. ]

I looked at the bowl. Then at him.

Sesame. I'd been finishing it with toasted sesame every morning for two weeks, and he'd swallowed every spoonful with a dead tongue rather than say one word.

That was the part the feed kept circling. I'm the villainess. The manager who clings, who smothers, who gets written out the moment the real girl walks in. My ending's already drafted: dumped, disgraced, run out of the league for secrets I never sold.

Up before the sun. Down after midnight. All of it, so I could end with nothing.

Fine.

My hand moved before I decided anything. I lifted the bowl out from under his spoon.

Eli was passing with an armful of keyboards. Sweet kid, second-string, looked like he'd dropped a few pounds.

"Eli. Eat. You've gotten thin." I pushed it into his hands.

The room went quiet.

Cassius sat there with his spoon in the air.

A few seconds passed. His shoulders came down, slow, and he sank back into his chair. The corner of his mouth pulled into something cold.

"Great," he said. "Dodged a bullet."

Which, frankly, stung. Does anyone know how much sleep I lost over that porridge? Who suffers in silence for two weeks?

I took the spoon out of his hand too, and gave it to Eli.

Eli slurped a huge mouthful. His whole face lit up.

"Coach, this is unreal, it's so good," he said. "Can I just have his from now on? Whatever the GOAT doesn't want?"

I opened my mouth to tell him there wouldn't be a from-now-on.

Cassius went still.

His chair shot back and cracked against the floor.

Eli and I both turned.

He crossed the room in three strides and pulled the bowl out of Eli's hands.

"That's enough out of you," he said. "I haven't eaten."

Then he tipped the bowl to his mouth and ate. All of it. Cheeks packed, throat working, swallowing down a full bowl of the one thing that turned his tongue to rubber.

I stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

The feed went rabid.

[ ?? why's the mutt panicking. addicted to the allergy pills now?? ]

[ pretty sure that's rabies ]

[ my dog knows not to eat chocolate. THIS dog volunteers for the sesame ]

He kept chewing, jaw set, eyes locked on mine the whole way down.

Daring me to say a word.

Chapter 2

I spent the entire next day not going near him. Small act of rebellion. If the script wanted me clinging, I'd sit on my hands.

It lasted until eight, when Marty called. Cassius had walked out of practice. Go get him.

So I drove.

People assume I babysit him for the paycheck. They're right about the babysitting.

What they miss: Cassius is the best thing that ever happened to my career. First real star I built, a wall of trophies, six times the salary. He's also low blood sugar, a bad wrist, a stomach that quits the second he's stressed. Skip one meal and I picture him face-down at his station.

So I keep him alive. That's the job. That was all it was supposed to be.

His bar was the usual one, Halcyon, a high-end lounge where the city's trust-fund kids go to be seen.

I found him sunk into a corner booth, that long body folded into the leather, a whiskey he wasn't drinking loose in one hand. He can't actually drink. He just holds the glass like a prop.

[ ok the mutt is unfairly hot, this is harassment ]

I didn't get the chance to roll my eyes, because someone was already talking.

"Cass." One of them, loud enough for the whole room. "That porridge girl from your org still chasing you around?"

Porridge girl.

I considered, briefly, unscrewing his head and using it as a ball.

But the script still had a hook in me, and my hand slowed on the door. Just for a beat. Long enough to hear whether he'd correct them.

He didn't.

His friend filled the silence first. "If it weren't for the org, Cass wouldn't put up with her this long. Right, Cass?"

Cassius's hand paused on the glass. He didn't deny it.

Exactly what I expected. I dug a nail into my palm, shoved the door open, and walked in. Every head turned.

For half a second his face locked. Then the cold slid back over it.

I pretended not to see. Crossed the room. Dropped his jersey on the table.

"Eight a.m. review tomorrow. Up. We're going back."

He raised those heavy eyes to me and didn't move.

A bleached-blond kid beside him blew a ring of smoke and laughed through his nose.

"Coach. Serious question. What even are you to him," he said. "His own mother doesn't keep him on this short a leash."

The booth laughed.

I didn't. I tapped my watch, twice, and looked at Cassius.

His glass came down hard enough to splash.

The laughter stalled out.

He stood, scooped up the jersey, and put himself between me and the blond. Cold all the way through, voice loose and lethal at the same time.

"I pay good money to be managed," he said. "Best money I spend. You got a problem with my budget?"

He didn't wait for the kid's face to recover. He took my wrist and walked me out.

Down in the garage he got in first, dropped his head against the seat, and tugged at his collar like it had offended him.

"Could you not," he said, "manage me like a toddler in front of people."

"Don't worry," I said, quiet. "It won't happen again."

I didn't do what I always did. I didn't slide in beside him and fuss.

I shut his door for him. Then I got in front.

"Base, please," I told the driver.

The car was quiet for a few seconds.

His brows pulled together, and somehow he came out more irritated, not less.

"What's with the face now. Over one lousy bowl of porridge? I ate the whole thing in the end, didn't I."

He thought I was sulking about this morning.

I turned to the window and watched the city smear past, and didn't bother correcting him.

Let him think it was the porridge.

Chapter 3

The truth is, I don't want him to die. I don't want anything happening to him at all.

Somewhere along the line I started cooking for him, switching up the menu, coaxing every bite down. He resented all of it.

The whole scene admired my patience.

"You've earned every cent, Wren," they'd say.

Even Cassius asked me once.

"You cling to managing me like this," he said. "Scared I'll drop dead and leave you with nobody to win your paychecks?"

They all think I traded my dignity for the money.

Truth is, most of it goes to Marty and the players anyway.

I take care of him, all on my own, for one real reason.

I owe him. Two years' worth.

Back then the org was brand new and everyone wore four hats. Marty used to drag me to sponsor dinners to take the drinks no one else would.

There was one backer. A family-of-four photo for his profile picture. He liked sliding into the DMs of every young woman at the table.

He wrote big checks in the end. I couldn't block him, so I muted the thread and stopped looking.

Cassius hadn't been with us long when he caught the messages open on my laptop.

He looked away. Brows knotted hard enough to crush a coin.

"Why don't you just delete those," he said. "Is Marty making you keep that open?"

I didn't look up from my work. "He's a backer. No point making an enemy. I just don't answer."

He held my eyes for a long second, then let it go.

Then came the victory banquet after the international tournament.

The backer was there. He clapped Cassius on the shoulder, gushing about the young prodigy. He didn't care about the results. He wanted Cassius for a rung up to the Hales.

Cassius sat at the head of the table and didn't so much as touch his glass.

Then his gaze cut across the room and found me. He arranged his face into something innocent and faintly put-upon.

"Coach," he said. "Am I allowed to drink?"

I'd been a thousand miles away. Every head at the table swung to me at once.

I caught his eye, and I understood the assignment.

"No," I said. "Your stomach just settled."

He didn't hesitate a beat. The corner of his mouth tipped up, voice all mock regret and zero real effort.

"Sorry," he told the table. "Coach has spoken. I do what she says."

The backer's jowls stiffened. Then the smile oiled its way back on.

"Of course, of course. Young Mr. Hale's health comes first. No need to drink."

From that night on, my DMs stayed silent.

I know it cost him nothing. He's probably forgotten it ever happened.

But he handled it. No blood, no scene. He took a problem that had its hooks in me and made it disappear, just by deciding to.

So I owe him. And I throw myself at being good to him.

The comments call it simping. They say I'm a weight around his neck.

The truth is I don't really understand it myself. Why my version of being good to someone comes out so clumsy. Maybe I never learned how to thank a person, or how to love one.

Nobody ever taught me.

My phone buzzed and dragged me back. Marty.

[ Marty: The Shaw girl wants to come hang around the org for a bit. You'll take her? ]

I opened the attached resume on autopilot.

Tansy Shaw. A small face, eyes like she'd swallowed a couple of stars.

The name matched the heroine's.

Chapter 4

Next morning I'd barely cleared the door when Cici latched onto me like I was a rescue boat.

"Coach, oh thank god, you're here," she said, half-crying. "The GOAT's been sitting there like a thundercloud all morning, one hand clamped on his stomach, not a word. He pulled another all-nighter and it's flaring up again, I just know it, and the second-squad kids are too scared to even touch their keyboards. Please. Go smooth his fur."

The frosted door to the practice room slid open before she finished.

Cassius came out in an oversized gray hoodie, face like winter.

The room went dead. Six heads dropped and started hammering keyboards.

He walked straight up to me, leaned down, tired face close enough that I could count how little he'd slept.

"You're fifteen minutes late," he said.

Then he held out one long hand, palm up.

"Where's my porridge?"

[ wait there's a SECOND round? this man thinks he's a poison taster now ]

[ ah yes. the male lead's hunger arc ]

[ wasn't he the one with no appetite? don't tell me she gave the brat a taste for it ]

I took a half step back and put safe distance between us.

"There's no porridge," I said. "There won't be again."

I dug a strip of stomach tablets and a half-pack of soda crackers out of my bag and pressed them into his chest.

He looked down at the handful. His face went blank.

"You're serious," he said.

His knuckles paled around the crackers. Something urgent crept into his voice.

"What did I even do to you?"

[ donate that brain, the mutt's clearly not using it. forget how his buddies trashed her behind her back last night?? ]

[ peak oblivious male lead. honestly, let the poor woman move on ]

[ anyway can the villainess log off already, I want the cute romance ]

He stood there with his brows drawn tight, staring.

The old me would have ached over that look for hours. Slept it off. Talked myself right back into clinging.

This time I pressed the sting flat and kept my voice level.

"Cassius. I'm your manager. Not your nanny."

"Porridge isn't in my job description."

"If that's everything, I have work."

I went around him without looking back, straight for the office.

The whispering started behind me.

"Is Coach in a mood today?"

"You didn't see the group chat? The Shaw heiress signed on. Coach is about to get benched."

I pushed the office door open.

The Shaw heiress they were all whispering about was sitting in my chair like she owned it, spinning in furious circles.

She heard the door, stamped a foot to the floor, and the chair screeched to a halt.

She stretched her neck, flipped her whole expression in under a second, and went baby-fierce.

"So you're Coach Wren. I hear you've got Cassius spoiled absolutely rotten."

[ the heroine just redefined the word spoiled ]

[ if dosing him every morning counts as spoiling, lock up every poisoner in history, total miscarriage of justice ]

[ WIFE so cute, the fake-tough act is going to end me ]

[ who could ever guess this gremlin grows up into a championship coach ]

Meeting her big, manufactured glare, I lost the fight with my own mouth. The corner of it curved.

"You. What are you smiling at."

She shot up like I'd stepped on her tail, palm flat on the desk.

"You think I'm some baby-faced pushover too, don't you. Just like all of them."

Chapter 5

I didn't answer her.

I walked over, cracked open a bottle of orange juice, and put it in her hand.

Tansy's fingers closed around it on reflex. The fight she'd just worked up drained out of her face.

"...thank you," she mumbled.

I slid a folder across the desk to her.

"Looks don't tell you anything," I said. "I think you're going to be very good at this."

She held the juice to her chest and went pink to the ears.

"Really? How do you know that?"

I glanced at the comments and kept my face flat. "I just do."

[ wait why is she being NICE. where's the evil villainess we were promised ]

[ am I hallucinating?? the villain and the heroine have weird little chemistry ]

[ real talk, so far the villainess has done exactly one wrong thing and it was an allergy she didn't know about ]

Tansy gave up the act entirely. She edged around to the side of the desk and stood there like a kid in time-out.

"I'm sorry," she said. "My mom made me come give you a hard time. I didn't actually mean to talk to you like that."

She tugged my sleeve.

"So can we still be good coworkers?"

I looked at her guilty face and sighed.

I get it. They're all just paper dolls the plot is pushing around.

"Coworkers isn't going to happen," I said. "You need to get up to speed on what's in there. Fast."

I nodded at the folder.

Her eyes went wide as she read the cover.

"'TNG Team Strategy Breakdown'..."

"I already turned in my resignation," I said, and met her eyes. "Once the handoff's done, I'm gone."

She panicked and grabbed my wrist.

"That's so sudden. Is it because I showed up? Do you have to leave because of me? Does Cassius know?"

I dropped my gaze. "Nothing to do with you. Low pay, high hassle. I'm done waiting on people."

I reached over and patted her shoulder.

"Keep this to yourself for now. Please."

For the next month I stopped sitting in on practice.

I came to the base less and less, handed every scrap of core data and daily ops over to Tansy.

Marty paced his office, raking both hands through his hair. Three separate times he slapped a new contract with a raise on my desk.

Three times I pushed it back, untouched.

The day I officially left, I stood at the front gate with one small box in my arms.

Eli and the others came to see me off. Cici cried so hard she hiccuped.

Tansy clamped onto my arm, eyes rabbit-red.

"Wrennie, can't you please take me with you," she wailed. "That broken jungler sulks all day long, I don't want to babysit him anymore, waaah."

[ LMAO the heroine defected. the whole world is dumping the mutt ]

[ Cassius voice: what did I even do, even the canon ship is leaving with the villainess?? ]

[ somebody write the villain-and-heroine friendship spinoff already ]

She got a laugh out of me. I nudged her with a half-joke.

"Next time we see each other, we'll be on opposite benches. Cry for me then, okay?"

Tansy sniffed, balled up her fists, and swore she'd take me down on the broadcast someday.

The front hall was packed with people there to say goodbye.

Only the practice room at the far end of the hall stayed shut.

It was unnaturally quiet in there.

Out of everyone in the building, Cassius was the one who didn't come.

Chapter 6

I didn't get long to rest.

TNG's biggest rival came at me with money I couldn't pretend not to hear. It wasn't until I read the headhunter's posting that it clicked. This was the org. The one the comments said I'd sell TNG's secrets to.

Marty took me to a last dinner. Cried into his napkin, swore up and down he wouldn't put a non-compete in front of me.

"Wren, I mean it. I think of you as a comrade. I trust you."

I sat there weighing how much of that was real, and landed on the obvious. He wanted to keep me on a leash without paying for it.

I had no interest in walking the road the plot had already paved.

A few days later I signed somewhere else, on purpose. A scrappy little startup org called KAG. Broke down to the studs. Their base was a converted warehouse out past the edge of the city.

My first day, six players with serious bedhead lined up shoulder to shoulder and bowed at me in unison, dead earnest, loud enough to rattle my teeth.

"Coach Wren!"

For the next month I ran them into the ground. Sleep schedules, jungle matchups, pressure drills past the point anybody enjoyed.

Then the Spring Split was on us.

A brutal gauntlet, game after game, no mercy built into the format. KAG clawed through it like a dark horse and forced our way into the top eight.

The bracket for the top four came down, and the draw was almost funny.

We'd pulled TNG. First seed. The team nobody in the league could touch.

Match day. The backstage corridor.

I was crouched in front of my rookie mid, who was shaking too hard to sit still, twisting the cap off a water bottle for him.

"Don't panic," I said. "Keep it level."

He nodded, ears going red, and took the water.

Down at the other end of the corridor, the air went dead.

I felt it before I understood it, and looked up.

Cassius stood a little way off in that familiar black-and-gold jersey, a knot of people around him.

Our eyes hit for exactly one second. Then he slid his away like it had never happened.

Half a year, and he looked at me the way you look at a stranger.

Tansy, beside him, lit up and bounced on her toes, both arms going.

"Wrennie! Go crush it out there, okay!"

I smiled and waved back. That part was easy.

"Coach," my rookie asked, curious, "you know the GOAT's team or something?"

The kid lives inside the game and never touches gossip. He had no clue the people across the stage used to sign my checks.

I packed the ache back down behind my eyes.

"Not really," I said. "We worked together for a while. That's all."

One-thirty. The match went live.

I closed my hand around a palm gone damp.

KAG had come a long way. But TNG's dominance was a fact, and nobody in that building understood it better than me.

Then I glanced at the minimap, and froze.

Cassius's pathing was wrong. All of it.

He hadn't finished his own jungle. He hadn't even started it. He picked up a starter blade and drove straight into the mid lane, right under the tower.

The caster's voice climbed over the whole arena.

"And we're live, the director cuts straight to the GOAT's cam!"

"There he is, locked in, all killer instinct, hunting for the big play."

"Hold on. Did he just walk past his own jungle? He's going... he's going mid? Mid??"

Chapter 7