In the waning hours of a humid Cairo evening, beneath the flickering glow of a dying streetlamp, I—Seno—received a message that would serve as the catalyst for the most absurdly chaotic odyssey of my life. The text was from my close friend, Bebo, a man whose lifelong dream had just crumbled under the polished shoes of bureaucracy.

  “FIFA rejected me. I’m done. No ref license. No career. Nothing.”

  His next message came almost immediately after. It wasn’t a cry for comfort—it was a declaration of war.

  “Man, I swear if I could, I’d beat the ever-living shit out of the FIFA president.”

  I stared at the screen, then cracked a grin that even the shadows flinched at. “Oh?” I muttered to no one in particular. “I can help you with that.”

  And so began the descent into glorious madness.

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  Without hesitation, I prepared my gear. I slipped on my Crocs—battle-worn and seasoned by the streets of three continents. I packed my 7x7 Rubik’s Cube, its faces incomplete, chaotic—just like the mission ahead. And then, with a deliberate defiance to logic, I bit into a fiery red chili pepper, its heat scorching my tongue and awakening something primal in me. Pain was no longer a concern. Only resolve.

  There was no armor, no plan, and no guarantee of survival. All I had was my unrelenting spirit... and the discreet blessing of the local Sheikh—Sheikh Nour, a man of quiet power and inexplicable connections.

  Just as I stepped toward the door of my apartment, ready to vanish into the Cairo night, my phone buzzed again.

  “When you arrive in Palestine, find Sheikh Noman. He will take you in and help you.”

  Sheikh Nour’s words. Short. Cryptic. But I knew better than to question them.

  I opened the rusted metal door of my building, its groan sounding like a warning—or a farewell. The city behind me slumbered in ignorance. I looked northward, piercing the distance with a gaze fueled by vengeance and chili-induced adrenaline.

  There it was.

  My destination: FIFA Headquarters. Zürich, Switzerland. Untouched. Untouchable. Or so they thought.

  The time was 11:25 PM.

  And I had just begun my warpath.