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Ace’s more of a “facts and proof” guy, highly preferring subjects that make actual sense like math and physics, chemistry reigning supreme as his top favorite. He opens his mouth to protest but is met with Luffy’s warm stare and Ace’s shit morning immediately gets at least ninety-nine percent better.“I mean, I know I’m messy, but holy shit, Ace,” Luffy doesn’t bother to say hi since they are way past that stage, brushing past the older boy to shove his face into the locker. He crouches down, turning over a heart-stamped letter and folding it in half before shoving it into his empty English notes.
He receives those letters daily and only out of respect for their feelings, Ace reads all of them.
Ace struggles connecting with the current team full of snobby newbies, literally every single one of them thinking that they’re the hot shit compared to the rest.
Whatever, the first game will undeniably clip their ruffled wings, the same way it clipped Ace’s back when he was a freshie himself. He isn’t too sure why or how he hasn’t quit lacrosse yet.
He stops by to chat with his classmates and smoothly evades the more obnoxious people, sparing them a stiff nod or a wiggle of fingers in acknowledgment and heads towards the locker to shove his backpack inside.
His first period is history and that alone makes Ace sigh in aggravation – he does not like the teacher nor does he enjoy history all that much in general. Thinking that it’s bound to be bad regardless, Ace resigns himself to his fate and punches in the code of his locker – his mom’s birthday.
Who even cares about who killed some random guy or started some revolution hundreds of years ago? The moment he peels the metal door open, a shitton of folded letters and heavy books fall down on top of him, various contents of his lockers spilling out at his feet, letters scattering in the air. Never failed to make him uncomfortable, like he was a piece of meat put on display.
Only a third of those events influenced their current society so Ace sees no point in cramming useless information related to possibly bullshitted facts. Ace audibly groans and quickly refuses the help of the more than eager freshmen girls giggling into their palms and elbowing each other whenever Ace so much as passed by, as though he was an object rather than a human being with actual feelings and a sense of awareness. Ace picks up his calculus books and shoves them back inside however the fuck – no wonder this happens at least twice a week, he really needs to clean this place up – and he’s about to bend over yet again to pick up his homework reading when someone beats him to it, holding it up for Ace. ” he’s already reaching towards it, fingers twitching in excitement, grin wide as though he’s just discovered a gold mine.“Knock yourself out, Lu,” Ace smiles, stretching out his leg to bring the remaining notes closer – he’s not about to give those girls the satisfaction of seeing him bent over yet again.
The team barks out a perfectly synchronic “yes, sir!
Individuality will get them nowhere – Ace knows that lacrosse is, first and foremost, a team sport.
However, it seems that some of his juniors are having a hard time grasping that concept in particular.“You may have a thick skull, son, but nobody would’ve volunteered to drag your sorry ass to the nurse’s office at asscrack o’clock.”Beckmann is, of course, right.
Some guys shoot condescending looks over their wide shoulders, snickering – it’s rare to see Ace get into trouble with the coach. Beckmann finally gives up on acting like a picture-perfect image of a healthy lifestyle-supporting coach and whips out the pack of cigs hidden in the folds of his navy tracksuit.
He offers Ace a smoke because there are no such things as secrets between sportsmen and their respective coaches, but the freckled-teen refuses, balancing the stick and leaning against it.