AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 51: capture the flag
season 2 has officially began
CAPTURE THE FLAG TOURNAMENT
The roar of engines was replaced by the roar of people cheering across the stadium
"Good morning , ladies and gentlemen!" the presenter’s voice thundered through the arena, amplified by towering speakers that made the ground itself vibrate. "Welcome back to another thrilling event of the Reagents Tournament!, i hope you are all excited for another event that will send your pants wet and all your bones trembling ..... because that is how excited i am right now, especially from such a long break , im expecting the best of show from the bikers"
The crowd erupted, a sea of banners, flashing lights, and raised phones. The giant screens circling the stadium flickered to life, replaying highlights from the previous round , crashes, narrow escapes, daring overtakes. Every near-death moment was celebrated like a victory.
"First of all before we go any further with our show," the presenter continued, pacing the center platform with theatrical excitement, "let’s congratulate the remaining 40 bikers who survived the Cat and Mouse Game!, we all knew how challenging it was for them to reach here, especially after surviving the best riders "
Cheers followed, louder than before.
"And now... let’s welcome our top dogs!"
The spotlight snapped on one by one.
"Bulldozer!"
A massive figure strode out, helmet tucked under his arm, lifting a fist. The audience roared.
"Spike!"
Another massive rider stepped forward with a casual salute, confidence dripping from every movement.
"its time to crush some skulls " Spike roared as the crowd followed
"save the energy for the show big guy " Bulldozer said with a smirked
"Timothy!"
He walked in with his usual lazy swagger, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the arena as if measuring every exit and every rival at once.
"Hunter!"
The cheers doubled. He emerged last among those present, posture straight, expression unreadable, a prince walking into a battlefield he already owned.
"And finally... Ethan!"
The screen behind them lit up with Ethan’s profile , statistics, past wins, a slow-motion clip of his bike slicing through smoke.
But the entrance gate remained empty.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd.
Hunter glanced at the empty space before looking ahead
"Well, well," the presenter chuckled smoothly, recovering without missing a beat, "looks like one of our players is running a little late, ladies and gentlemen! Let’s hope he doesn’t miss the fun!"
Laughter scattered through the stands, though curiosity lingered in the air.
"But before we proceed," the presenter raised a finger dramatically, "let us give a warm welcome to our special guest, all the way from the Meadows family, she is a modeler that is adored by thousands of fan , she is hot , she is perfect , everything a man can adore , Hunter’s future fiancée... Tracy Meadows!"
The camera swung toward the VIP section.
Lights flashed. Applause thundered.
Tracy lifted her hand gracefully, offering a practiced smile and a gentle wave. From afar she looked flawless , the embodiment of elegance, poise, and composure. The screens magnified her image until it towered over the arena like a living billboard of perfection.
Then the camera moved on.
Her smile dropped the moment the lens shifted away. Her shoulders sagged ever so slightly, the exhaustion returning like a weight she could no longer shrug off.
"Was it even necessary for me to come here?" she muttered under her breath, eyes still fixed on the stage below.
Her manager leaned closer, voice low but firm. "It’s important to show face, Tracy. The world needs to see what a supportive wife you’ll be in your man’s arena."
Tracy let out a slow breath, her gaze drifting downward again , landing on Hunter.
For a brief second, his eyes met hers.
Cold. Detached.
Then he looked away as if she were nothing more than another banner in the crowd.
She scoffed quietly. "Supportive fiancée? When my future husband doesn’t even look impressed that I’m here."
Her eyes shifted behind her instinctively , and there sat her mother.
Straight posture. Neutral expression. Watching.
No smile. No encouragement. Just expectation.
Tracy swallowed and gave a small nod, a silent confirmation that she understood the unspoken command: Stand tall. Smile. Be perfect.
She looked back at the stage , its going to be a long day , she thought to herself
Below, engines began to rev again, the sound rising like thunder rolling across the stadium. Above, Tracy sat between applause and pressure, between spotlight and shadow , a guest of honor who had never felt more like a prop in someone else’s show.
Lucian sat on the worn metal chair in the garage, the faint smell of oil and gasoline lingering in the air as the live broadcast flickered across the small mounted screen. The cheers from the stadium echoed through the speakers, distant yet loud enough to fill the quiet space. His gaze stayed fixed, unblinking.
"Ethan hasn’t appeared...?" he murmured under his breath. "That’s unlike him.", he said whats really going on inside of his head at the moment
The door creaked open behind him. Mason stepped in, carrying two cold drinks, the bottles clinking softly against each other. He handed one to Lucian before dropping onto the old couch with a casual sigh, stretching his legs out as if he had all the time in the world.
Lucian accepted the drink but didn’t open it. His eyes drifted sideways toward Mason for a brief second.
And it’s even weirder that he’s here, he was also here on the cat and mouse tournament, Lucian thought. Mason had never cared much for tournaments, hell he will even come up with excuses in the past , never bothered to watch them live unless there was something personal at stake. The question sat on Lucian’s tongue, but he swallowed it back down. Some things were better left unspoken.
Beside him, Mason’s posture looked relaxed, but his fingers moved quickly over his phone screen, hidden just below his line of sight.
Where the hell are you?
They started an hour ago.
Is it cuz of last time?
Just answer the call you stupid jerk
The messages were short, impatient, almost frantic , sent to Ethan, one after another, with no reply. Mason’s jaw tightened slightly before he locked his phone and leaned back, pretending to watch the screen like nothing was wrong. I came to apologise and you dont show your face here you stupid jerk , he thought
"Now, onto the rules of the game!" the presenter’s voice boomed from the broadcast, cutting through the garage like a siren. "We will have four teams, each consisting of ten members or more. The rules are simple!"
Graphics exploded across the screen ,- - red, blue, orange, and purple banners flashing as digital bikes sped across the display.
"Each team will have a spawn point with their own flag set out , red, blue, orange, and purple! During the game, no player is allowed to get off their bike under any circumstances. Getting off leads to automatic elimination! And if all members of the same team are eliminated... that’s an automatic loss!"
The camera zoomed out to reveal the massive course layout , hills , abandoned structures , tight turns , and open stretches designed for both speed and ambush.
"Only three teams will advance to the next event , sounds fair right ? " the presenter continued dramatically. "Meaning if your team loses its flag and it gets claimed by another , it’s over! Now, without further ado... let’s look at the lineup ! "
Names and profile pictures began to scroll across the screen.
Lucian leaned forward slightly , eyes narrowing as he scanned each team. Then he froze.
One particular profile picture appeared, a helmet tilted slightly, visor dark, posture unmistakable even in still image.
Ryven. The name was written under the profile , and Lucian didn’t need to look at the name
"It’s him..." Lucian whispered, memories flashing back to the mysterious rider who once moved like a ghost on the track , the one who had been hunted like prey yet never truly cornered, the person he felt that chill when he passed by him , Seeing that name again stirred an uneasy familiarity in his chest.
"Purple team," he muttered. "And... Timothy’s with him, thats an rather absurd match , but i think his other members are not bad at all"
"No way," Mason suddenly said, sitting upright. "Look at the red team."
Lucian’s gaze shifted quickly.
His eyes widened.
Ethan — Hunter.
Red Team.
For a moment, the garage felt smaller, the air heavier. Two names that rarely aligned , two forces that clashed more often than they cooperated — placed side by side under the same banner.
Lucian’s grip tightened around the unopened bottle.
"Red team... no way Ethan and Hunter are on the same team" he repeated quietly, disbelief laced with something deeper , concern, maybe even dread. Because if Ethan really was there... and paired with Hunter of all people... then this match wasn’t just another game. The last time this two met was blood and to think they have to work together . . . . . . .
It was a collision waiting to happen.
