The referee blew the whistle, signaling the end of the first half. Brasseries Academy led 2-0, with both goals scored by their young star, Ignatius Ganago. Despite Dragons FC matg them in shot attempts with seven each, the difference was clear—Brasseries Academy had been ical, while Dragons FC had yet tister a single shot on target.

  Dragons FC had spent most of the half on the back foot, struggling to keep up with the relentless, well-coorditacks of their oppos. Jean had been a defensive ro his side, shutting down every attack that came his way, but Brasseries had quickly adapted. Seeing they couldn't break through on his fnk, they shifted their py to the left, relentlessly targeting Dragons FC’s weaker side. Even wheried to help, Brasseries moved the ball swiftly, switg fnks with precision, f Dragons FC to chase shadows.

  Marcel had started the match, his dribbling causing stant problems for the Brasseries defenders. Every time he got the ball, he could break through, but something was missing. His crosses cked precision—some were too wide, others to. And when he did mao deliver a perfect ball into the box, the finishi him down. His teammates sent shots flying over the bar or wide of the post, wasting every opportunity.

  More than that, Marcel had pyed differently. He dribbled less, passed more, and ook a shot himself. He had multiple ces to goal, but each time, he chose to pass. He was trying to correct his mistakes from the st match, trying to follow the coach’s instrus. But in doing so, he had held himself back, afraid of repeating his previous errors.

  The locker room was silent. No one spoke, no one moved much. Sweat dripped from every pyer’s face as they sat on the benches, heads down, processing the situation.

  Marcel sat with his head down, sweat dripping from his forehead as he repyed the first half in his mind. Should he have taken more shots? Should he have trusted himself more? But in football, there were no ifs. All that mattered was what happened .

  The door creaked open. Coach Emile stepped inside, walking to the ter of the room. His eyes sed the pyers, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing. The silence was almost worse than yelling.

  Then, finally, he spoke.

  "What did I just witness, boys?" His voice was sharp, trolled—but filled with disappoi.

  His gaze shifted to the striker. "Did you fet how to take a shot?" His tone was ced with frustration. "Seven shots—same as Brasseries Academy. A, not a single one on target. Do you think that’s good enough?"

  Marcel tensed as Coach Emile turo him.

  "And you, Marcel. Where was your fir today? Where was your fidence?" His voice wasn’t angry, but it cut deep. "Last game, you tried to do too mu your own. Today, you did the plete opposite."

  Marcel swallowed hard.

  "I old you to stop dribbling," Emile tinued. "And shooting? You didn’t even try. Not once. Are you going to tell me I asked you to stop shooting, too?" He shook his head. "You had ces, but you passed them away. Football isn’t about overthinking—it’s about bahe best pyers know when to take responsibility and when to trust their teammates. Find that bance, and you’ll have everything you o be a pro."

  He turned sharply toward the defenders. "And you guys… what was that?" His voice was colder now. "You’re sevewo years older than that kid Ganago, yet he made you look like children. He fooled you, outran you—like it was nothing."

  The defenders remained silent, some looking at the floor.

  "If you ’t outrun him, py smart!" Emile snapped. "Anticipate! Position yourselves better! If it weren’t for Jean, we’d be 4-0 down by now."

  Jean, sitting on the bench, exhaled slightly. His hard work was reized, but it wasn’t enough.

  "In this sed half," Emile tinued, "I want focus. I want more direct attacks. And I want more pressing. Don’t give them time to breathe, don’t let them pass freely. That first half? They pyed rondo with you like you were school kids. That ends now."

  His sharp eyes locked onto Marcel again.

  "Take them on muy Kima thinks he's fortable now—make him unfortable. Humble him. Show him he’s not untouchable. But that doesn’t mean pying alone. Find the right moments. Find the bance."

  He sed the room o time. "We’re 2-0 down, but we turn this around. I need more from you. You need more from yourselves."

  A brief silence.

  Then, Jean stood up.

  "Let’s go, boys!"

  The team huddled together, one hand in the ter.

  "WE ARE?!" Jean shouted.

  "DRAGONS!"

  "DRAGONS!"

  Their voices thuhrough the room.

  It was time for the sed half.

  ......

  ......

  The pyers stepped bato the pitch, their faces unreadable, but their focus sharp—like lions stalking their prey. Brasseries Academy’s pyers, oher hand, were visibly rexed, their fidence evident in their movements. Their striker, Ignatius Ganago, was all smiles, fshing his teeth as he cpped his hands.

  "Let's go, guys! We bag two or three more, and it’s over!" he shouted.

  His teammates responded with ughter and cheers, their energy almost mog.

  The Dragons FC pyers ched their fists in frustration, but they didn’t let their emotions take over. They would show them—och.

  The referee's whistle pierced the air.

  Fweeee!

  The sed half was underway.

  Dragons FC started in possession. Their striker tapped the ball back to the defensive midfielder, who quickly assessed his options. Almost immediately, the two Brasseries forwards charged forward, pressing aggressively. With a siouch, the midfielder shifted the ball wide to the right-back before the press could close in.

  The right-back, sensing the urgency, took a trolled touch forward before offloading it to the right-winger. As soon as he passed, he sprinted down the fnk, exeg a well-timed overp. The right-winger reized the movement aurhe ball, bypassing Brasseries’ left-batirely.

  For a brief moment, space opened.

  Instead of crossing into a crowded box, the right-back cleverly cut a low-driven teral pass to the edge of the penalty area, aiming fons FC’s attag midfielder.

  But the pass wasn’t strong enough.

  The midfielder sprinted forward, stretg to meet the ball, but at the same time, Brasseries’ ter-back Guy Kima lunged in. The two cshed—shoulder to shoulder—just as the midfielder struck the ball.

  The shot flew high, well over the crossbar.

  The Dragons FC right-back raised his hand in apology, frustrated with his mispced pass.

  "Good job, boys! Keep going! ime, we bury it!" Coach Emile shouted, g his hands.

  The match tinued, with Brasseries looking to reassert trol through possession. Dragons FC pressed high but cked cohesion—often overitting, pressing at the wrong times, or leaving gaps in behind.

  That pyed straight into Brasseries’ hands.

  Several times, they exploited the space, threading through balls into the box where Ganago lurked dangerously. The young striker timed his runs perfectly, but Dragons FC’s defensive discipline had improved. Led by Jean’s anding presehey stayed pact, blog shots, making st-ditch tackles, and f Brasseries to take low-pertage ces.

  Despite Brasseries’ trol, they weren’t finding the .

  Yet Dragons FC struggled offensively. Every time they tried to transition forward, Brasseries intercepted their passes or forced them backward. Marcel, their biggest attag threat, was pletely shut out—a defender shadowed his every move, cutting off passing nes before the ball could even reach him.

  For nearly twenty minutes, Dragons FC were trapped in their own half.

  As the game reached the 65th minute, Coach Emile called Marcel over during a brief stoppage for a foul.

  "You’re dangerous, Marcel. Your oppos know that—that’s why they’re stig to you. But listen, if you just stay wide, you make it easier for them to mark you. Move more. Drop into midfield, ask for the ball, force them to follow you. If they track you deep, they leave space behind. If they don’t, you’ll have time to turn and run at them. Make them suffer."

  The coach patted Marcel’s bad sent him off with a firm nod.

  The game resumed.

  Marcel, instead of staying isoted on the left wing, drifted deeper into his own half, making himself avaible. Jean spotted him and fired a pass his way.

  Ganago was already closing in, pressing aggressively.

  Marcel anticipated him early. Just before receiving the ball, he faked an iurn, as if he was about to cut into the middle.

  Ganago took the bait.

  At the st sed, Marcel let the ball roll past his body, spinning the other way towards the left fnk. Ganago lunged in, but by the time he realized the trick, Marcel was already gone—exploding forward down the wing.

  A roar erupted from the Dragons Fch.

  Marcel sprinted down the left fnk, his speed electric. Brasseries’ right-back stepped up to intercept, but Marcel slowed down, throwing in rapid step-overs. He feinted inside, baiting the defender into shifting his bance.

  Then—boom.

  Marcel pushed the ball past him oside and burned past with a burst of acceleration.

  He was free.

  Charging into the final third, he spotted his striker making a run toward the box. Marcel cut a precise pass across the face of goal just as he himself darted toward the penalty area.

  His teammate attempted a delicate chip back towards him, aiming for a owo bination—but the ball was too heavy!

  It turned into a high aerial duel between the goalkeeper and Marcel.

  The keeper, already in motio up, reag for the ball. Marcel, knowing he wasn’t tall enough to challenge fairly, still made a desperate attempt to flick the ball on.

  The ball slipped through the keeper’s fiips!

  It bounced awkwardly right in front of Marcel—empty goal in front of him.

  Without hesitatioruck it ly into the .

  GOAL!

  2-1!

  The stadium erupted.

  But Marcel didn't stop to celebrate.

  He ran straight into the goal, snatg the ball and sprinting back toward the ter circle, motioning for his teammates to hurry.

  "One more! We just need one more!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the cheers.

  As he pced the ball at the ter spot, he cpped hands with his teammates, urging them on.

  Marcel g the scoreboard. 2-1. They had closed the gap, but there was still work to do.

  Despite g, Brasseries Academy remained in trol, dominating possession and dictating the tempo. However, they struggled to create clear-cut ces, as Dragons FC’s defensive shape had improved. Jean, anding at the back, orchestrated a pact defense, cutting out dangerous through balls and making life difficult fanago. The young striker, though electri the first half, now found himself stantly challenged, uo break free as easily.

  Oher hand, Dragons FC, while still under pressure, looked far more threatening when they tered. Every attack carried i, and their transitions were being sharper.

  Ih minute, Marcel found himself in a rare one-on-one against Kima on the left fnk. Feinting towards the sideline, he suddenly cut io his right foot, opening up space at the edge of the box. With a quice at goal, he curled the ball towards the far top er.

  The execution wasn’t perfect.

  He didn’t his foot around the ball enough, meaning the shot cked the necessary bend. Instead of curling away from the keeper, it floated more trally, making it an easy catch for Brasseries' goalkeeper, who calmly plucked it out of the air.

  Marcel clicked his tongue in frustration. That was a wasted ce.

  In the 73rd minute, Brasseries threatened again.

  Ganago, receiving the ball just outside the box, turned sharply and fired a low-driven shot toward the bottom er. Dragons FC’s goalkeeper reacted instinctively, diving at full stretch to parry it away.

  Before anyone could blink, he was already on his feet.

  Seeing Jean in space, he threw the ball out quickly, sparking an immediate terattack.

  Jean calmly trolled and sed the field. Dragons FC moved the ball swiftly from defeo midfield, patiently pulling Brasseries from side to side. The ball eventually came to Marcel.

  This time, he drove trally, advang just outside the penalty area. With defenders stepping up, he slid a delicate through ball into the box, threading it perfectly between two defeo find his striker.

  The angle was tight.

  Instead of f a shot, the striker smartly cut the ball back across the six-yard box to a te-arriving midfielder.

  The midfielder struck first time. Low, e.

  The entire Dragons Fch jumped in anticipation.

  But Brasseries' goalkeeper exploded to his right, reag in a fsh to cw the ball away.

  Coach Emile threw his hands in the air, half-celebrating before smming his palm on the ground. "Why is this keeper suddenly so good?!"

  On the field, Dragons FC pyers stood frozen in disbelief, hands on their heads.

  But there was no time to dwell on it.

  Brasseries' keeper wasted no time—he stood up instantly and unched a long throw to midfield. His teammate took ooud pyed a direct through ball to Ganago.

  It erfect transition.

  Ganago sprihrough the pitch arriving outside the box, ready to strike.

  Jean, the only one who had stayed back, timed his tackle to perfe.

  Sliding in ly, he hooked the ball away at the st moment, sending it out for a er as Ganago tumbled over him.

  "No foul!" the referee signaled.

  Jean sprang to his feet, standing face-to-face with Ganago, who was still on the ground.

  He let out a defiant roar.

  Brasseries might have been leading, but Dragons FC were fighting back with everything they had.

  The game remained a tense bad-forth battle, but Brasseries had shifted their approach. Instead of f attacks, they started to hold possession, moving the ball around the back to kill time.

  The 82nd minute ged everything.

  A Dragons FC midfielder intercepted a loose pass, instantly igniting a terattack.

  Quick passes moved the ball through midfield before it reached the striker, who turned and pyed it out wide to the left—straight to Marcel.

  Marcel, one-on-one against Kima once more, paused.

  He started small feints, left... right... left again—keeping Kima guessing.

  Then, in a fsh, he executed a brilliaico—the ball snapping right before flig left, nutmegging Kima in the process.

  He was through.

  The goalkeeper rushed out aggressively to close the angle.

  Marcel, instead of shooting, simply rolled the ball terally into the six-yard box.

  The striker was already there.

  A simple tap-in was all it took.

  GOAL!!! 2-2!

  Marcel turned and embraced his striker teammate, and sooire team swarmed together, shouting in unison:

  "GOOOOOAAAAALLLLLL!"

  Ooue, Coach Emile was jumping and g furiously.

  "Good job, boys! We tied it up! One more—push harder and take this match!"

  Dragons FC smelled blood.

  As soon as py resumed, they pressed relentlessly, keeping Brasseries locked in their own half.

  But Brasseries held firm, moving the ball cautiously, waiting for their ce.

  Then came the 90th minute.

  Brasseries, under pressure, passed it back to their goalkeeper, who sent a long clearaoward midfield.

  Jean leaped high, winning the header and direg it toward a midfielder, who trolled and quickly looked up.

  Marcel was making a diagonal run down the left.

  The midfielder spotted it and unched a pinpoint long ball.

  Marcel trolled beautifully.

  Once again, Kima stood in his way.

  This time, Marcel started with slow step-overs, watg his oppo closely.

  He faked an i to the right.

  Kima hesitated, shifting his bance slightly.

  Marcel saw the opening—but it was a trap.

  As he pushed wide to accelerate down the left, Kima, still on one knee, extended his right leg backward, flig the ball away while keeping his eyes on Marcel over his shoulder.

  A perfectly timed st-ditch tackle.

  Before Marcel could react, Brasseries' right-back recovered the ball and booted it high and long intons FC’s half.

  A deadly mistake.

  Ganago was already in motion, his speed unmatched.

  Jean and the other defenders raced back, but Ganago was too quick.

  Coach Emile was ooue, screaming for his pyers to drop back.

  The Dragons FC goalkeeper rushed out, desperate to close the space outside the box.

  Ganago saw it.

  A perfectly weighted chip sailed over the diving keeper.

  The ball rolled slowly into the .

  Ganago peeled away, arms wide in celebration, as his teammates mobbed him.

  At that exaent—

  Fweeeeeee!

  The referee blew for full-time.

  Dragons FC had lost.

  Marcel dropped to the ground, his hands gripping his knees, his chest rising and falling heavily.

  He felt sick.

  If only he had passed instead of dribbled. If only he had been more careful.

  His mind was flooded with regret.

  One by one, Dragons FC pyers colpsed onto the pitch, heads down, feeling the sting of defeat.

  Marcel stayed there, staring bnkly at the turf, until a shadow loomed over him.

  Kima.

  The defender extended a hand.

  "Well pyed," Kima said, pulling him up. "Since I started pying, you’re the first to give me that much trouble. Every one-on-one was a nightmare."

  Marcel met Kima’s gaze and nodded. "Thanks. You’re the toughest defender I’ve faced."

  Kima smirked. "But in the end, I won."

  Before Marcel could respond, Ganago appeared, grinning wide.

  "Hey, hey! Don’t fet me. I scored three goals. I’m obviously the best today."

  Marcel forced a smile, still feeling the weight of defeat.

  "Today, you won," he admitted. "But ime, I will."

  Kima chuckled. "See you in the final, then. If you make it that far."

  Marcel just nodded, g his fists.

  This loss would drive him.

  He would never feel like this again.