cbr, 2025, #nowplaying - The Rhythm, MNEK
In a dystopian United States, Caleb Matthews, a promising hockey player on the brink of joining the prestigious United Leagues, is given an unusual condition: to mentor a young boy embroiled in a political scandal. This boy, who is the same age as Caleb, comes from a high-society background and is caught in the turmoil of a genocide targeting his community. As Caleb and the boy form an unlikely friendship through virtual chats, Caleb becomes increasingly aware of the societal tensions and the weight of his responsibility. Torn between his hockey dreams and a newfound sense of social awareness, Caleb faces a pivotal decision that could alter the course of his life and the lives of those around him.

In the sprawling metropolis of New Aurora, where the skyline was a jagged silhouette against a perpetually overcast sky, Caleb Matthews laced up his skates with practiced precision. The chill of the ice rink seeped through his bones, a familiar sensation that had become as natural to him as breathing. At twenty-two, Caleb was a rising star in the world of hockey, his name whispered with reverence in locker rooms and on sports broadcasts across the nation.

The United Leagues, as they were now called after the great consolidation, were the pinnacle of professional hockey. Caleb had dreamed of donning the jersey of a United Leagues team since he was old enough to hold a stick. Now, as a key player for the New Aurora Nighthawks, a prestigious traveling team, he was closer than ever to realizing that dream.

The world outside the rink was a far cry from the controlled chaos of hockey. New Aurora, like many cities across the nation, was a study in contrasts. Gleaming skyscrapers cast long shadows over crumbling neighborhoods, while automated vehicles zipped past street corners where the less fortunate huddled for warmth. The gap between the haves and have-nots had widened to a chasm, and tensions simmered just beneath the surface of everyday life.

Caleb, however, had always found solace on the ice. Here, the only things that mattered were skill, strategy, and teamwork. The complexities of the world beyond the rink faded away when he felt the familiar weight of a hockey stick in his hands.

Coach Larsson's gruff voice echoed across the rink, cutting through Caleb's reverie. "Matthews! My office, now!"

Caleb's heart skipped a beat. A summons to the coach's office could mean anything from a reprimand to... He dared not hope. With quick strides, he made his way off the ice, his blades leaving crisp marks on the pristine surface.

The office was cramped, filled with trophies and memorabilia from Larsson's own illustrious career. The smell of leather and old sweat permeated the air, a scent Caleb had come to associate with authority and wisdom in the world of hockey. The coach's weathered face was unreadable as Caleb took a seat, the plastic chair creaking under his weight.

"Kid, I've got news," Larsson began, his tone neutral. "The scouts from the United Leagues have been watching you. They're impressed."

Caleb's pulse quickened. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for his entire life. He could almost feel the weight of a United Leagues jersey on his shoulders, hear the roar of the crowd as he stepped onto the ice in a professional arena.

"But," Larsson continued, and Caleb's elation faltered, "they've got an unusual request. A condition, if you will."

"Anything, Coach," Caleb said without hesitation. "Whatever it takes."

Larsson's eyes narrowed, his gaze boring into Caleb with an intensity that made the young player shift uncomfortably in his seat. "They want you to mentor someone. A young boy from... well, let's just say he's from a different world than ours. It's all very hush-hush, political even. You up for it?"

Caleb nodded, though confusion clouded his features. "Mentor? Like, teach hockey?"

"Not exactly," Larsson replied, sliding a tablet across the desk. The device looked out of place among the old-school trophies and framed photographs. "Take a look."

The screen flickered to life, revealing a face that Caleb would come to know intimately over the coming months. A young boy, surprisingly the same age as Caleb himself, with light brown skin and eyes that sparkled with an innate charisma. The image was grainy, as if taken from a distance or in secret. Despite the poor quality, Caleb could sense something in the young boy's expression – a mixture of wariness and determination that spoke of a life lived under constant scrutiny.

"Who is he?" Caleb asked, intrigued despite himself.

Larsson shook his head, his expression grave. "No names. That's part of the deal. What I can tell you is that this kid's caught up in something big. Political scandal, they say. The powers that be think having a... let's call it a 'positive influence' might help smooth things over."

Caleb's brow furrowed, his mind racing to make sense of the situation. "And they chose me? Why?"

"You're squeaky clean, kid. All-American boy next door. Plus, you've got the talent they want in the Leagues. It's a win-win for them."

As Caleb absorbed this information, a news alert flashed across the bottom of the tablet screen. "Unrest Continues in Southside Districts," it read. "Authorities Urge Calm Amid Growing Tensions."

Larsson quickly swiped the alert away, but not before Caleb caught a glimpse of crowds in the streets, faces twisted in anger and fear. It was a scene that had become all too common in recent months, as tensions between communities reached a boiling point. Caleb had seen similar reports on the news, but had always pushed them to the back of his mind, focusing instead on his training and the next game.

"So, what do you say, Matthews?" Larsson pressed. "This could be your ticket to the big leagues."

Caleb hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "I'm in, Coach. Whatever it takes."

Little did Caleb know that this decision would set in motion a chain of events that would challenge everything he thought he knew about himself, his sport, and the world he lived in.

The first video call was awkward, to say the least. Caleb sat in his small apartment, hockey trophies lining the shelves behind him, as he waited for the connection to stabilize. The room was sparsely furnished – a testament to the nomadic life of a traveling hockey player. A worn couch, a small kitchenette, and a bed that had seen better days were the extent of his possessions. But the trophies gleamed, a reminder of why he endured the long bus rides and cramped living conditions.

When the young boy's face appeared on the screen, Caleb was struck by how ordinary he looked. There was no hint of the political scandal that supposedly swirled around him, no indication of the high society he was said to inhabit. Instead, Caleb saw a young boy not unlike himself – perhaps a bit more polished, with carefully styled hair and what looked like an expensive sweater, but with the same mix of hope and uncertainty that Caleb often saw in his own reflection. It was strange to think that this boy was the same age as him; his demeanor seemed both youthful and oddly mature.

"Hey," Caleb said, attempting a friendly smile. "I'm Caleb. I guess I'm supposed to be your... mentor?"

The young boy on the screen returned the smile, though his eyes held a wariness that belied his easy demeanor. "Nice to meet you, Caleb. I've heard a lot about your hockey skills."

And so began an unlikely friendship, forged across digital waves and fraught with unspoken tensions. They never discussed the young boy's name or the exact nature of the "scandal" that necessitated this arrangement. Instead, they talked about everything else.

Caleb shared stories of life on the road with the Nighthawks, the camaraderie of the team, the thrill of the game. He spoke of long bus rides through the night, of the satisfaction of a perfectly executed play, of the roar of the crowd when the puck hit the back of the net. As he talked, Caleb realized how much of his identity was tied up in hockey – it wasn't just a sport, it was his whole world.

In return, the young boy spoke of his daily life, which seemed to consist mainly of long walks to yoga classes and frequent trips for ice cream. But beneath the mundane details, Caleb sensed a current of tension, as if the young boy was carefully editing his words, always aware of unseen listeners.

"You must really like yoga," Caleb commented one day, as he watched the young boy stretch in what looked like a high-end studio. The room behind him was all sleek lines and muted colors, a stark contrast to Caleb's cluttered apartment.

The young boy's laugh was tinged with something Caleb couldn't quite identify – perhaps a mix of irony and resignation. "It helps clear my mind. There's a lot to... process these days."

As the weeks passed, Caleb found himself looking forward to their daily chats. He began to notice things – the way the young boy's eyes would dart off-screen at sudden noises, the careful way he chose his words when discussing current events. It was as if he was constantly on guard, even in the supposed safety of his own home.

One day, as Caleb was recounting a particularly intense match, describing the last-minute goal that had clinched their victory, he noticed the young boy's attention wandering. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, pausing mid-story.

The young boy's eyes refocused, and he offered a wan smile. "Sorry, just... distracted. There's been some unrest in my neighborhood. Nothing to worry about."

But Caleb could see the worry etched in the lines of his face, the tension in his shoulders. He remembered the news alert he'd seen in Larsson's office, the crowds in the streets. "Is it... is it safe where you are?"

The question hung in the air for a long moment before the young boy nodded. "Safe enough. It's not me they're after."

The implications of that statement haunted Caleb long after the call ended. As he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something important, that there was a bigger picture he wasn't seeing.

As spring turned to summer, Caleb's life fell into a new rhythm. Mornings were spent on the ice, pushing himself harder than ever under Larsson's watchful eye. The coach had been unusually demanding lately, as if trying to prove that the mentorship arrangement wasn't affecting Caleb's performance.

Afternoons were devoted to his mentorship, which had evolved into something more akin to a friendship. Caleb found himself opening up to the young boy in ways he never had with his teammates. They discussed books, music, dreams for the future – always carefully skirting around the realities of the present.

Evenings were for team bonding, strategy sessions, and the endless pursuit of improvement. But even as Caleb went through the familiar routines, his mind often wandered to his new friend and the world he represented.

But beneath the surface, tensions were rising. The news was filled with reports of clashes between communities, of protests turned violent, of a nation teetering on the brink of something unthinkable. Caleb couldn't ignore it anymore, not when he saw the effects written so clearly on his friend's face.

One afternoon, as they chatted about a new flavor of ice cream the young boy had discovered, the sound of shouting could be heard in the background. It was distant but unmistakable – angry voices, the crash of something breaking.

"What was that?" Caleb asked, alarmed. He leaned closer to his screen, as if he could somehow reach through and protect his friend.

The young boy's face remained carefully neutral, a mask slipping into place. "Just some noise from the street. Nothing unusual."

But Caleb had seen the flash of fear in his eyes, the way his shoulders had tensed. "Are you sure you're safe? Maybe you should stay inside for a while."

The young boy's laugh was hollow, a sound that didn't reach his eyes. "And miss my daily walk? What kind of mentor would you be if you let me slack off?"

The joke fell flat, and they both knew it. For the first time, Caleb felt the full weight of the responsibility he'd taken on. This wasn't just about hockey anymore. This wasn't even about mentoring. This was about a young boy's life, about the turmoil that was tearing their nation apart.

As the call ended, Caleb made a decision. He needed to know more.

Research had never been Caleb's strong suit – he was more comfortable with the physicality of hockey than the intricacies of politics. But as he delved into news archives and social media feeds, a disturbing picture began to emerge.

The unrest that had been simmering for months was more than just isolated incidents. It was a systematic targeting of communities of color, particularly those with brown skin. The term "genocide" appeared with increasing frequency in underground news sources, though mainstream media shied away from such strong language.

Caleb's stomach churned as he connected the dots. The young boy he'd been mentoring, with his light brown skin and careful way of speaking, was part of the very community being targeted. The "political scandal" was likely nothing more than an excuse, a way to keep him isolated and controlled.

The realization hit Caleb like a body check on the ice, leaving him winded and disoriented. He'd been used as a pawn in a much larger, much more sinister game. His dream of playing in the United Leagues suddenly seemed hollow, a trivial pursuit in the face of such widespread suffering.

When their next video call connected, Caleb could barely meet the young boy's eyes. The weight of his newfound knowledge pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. "I... I think I understand now," he said quietly.

The young boy's face softened, a mix of relief and sadness washing over his features. "I wondered when you'd figure it out. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you directly. It wasn't safe."

"For you or for me?" Caleb asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"For either of us," came the reply, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.

They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of unspoken truths hanging between them. Caleb's mind raced, trying to reconcile the friendly, articulate young boy he'd come to know with the larger, more terrifying context of their relationship.

Finally, Caleb spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "What can I do? How can I help?"

The young boy's smile was sad but genuine, a glimmer of hope in a dark situation. "You already are helping, Caleb. More than you know. Just... keep being my friend. Keep reminding me that there's good in the world."

As the call ended, Caleb sat in stunned silence, the enormity of the situation settling over him like a heavy blanket. He thought of his teammates, of Coach Larsson, of the scouts from the United Leagues. How could he go back to worrying about power plays and penalty kills when he now knew what was really at stake?

As summer waned and the new hockey season loomed, Caleb found himself at a crossroads. The scouts from the United Leagues were circling, dropping hints about contracts and signing bonuses. It was everything he'd ever dreamed of, the culmination of years of hard work and sacrifice.

But every time he stepped onto the ice, every time he heard the roar of the crowd, he couldn't shake the image of the young boy's face. The careful smiles, the veiled references to the chaos outside his window, the quiet strength in the face of unimaginable pressure. Hockey, which had once been Caleb's entire world, now felt small and insignificant.

Coach Larsson noticed the change in his star player. After a particularly lackluster practice, where Caleb had missed easy shots and fumbled simple passes, the coach called him into his office. "Your head's not in the game, Matthews," he growled, concern mixing with frustration in his gruff voice. "What's going on?"

Caleb hesitated, weighing his words carefully. How could he explain the turmoil in his heart, the conflict between his lifelong dream and his newfound awareness of the world beyond the rink? "Coach, I... I'm not sure I can do this anymore."

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