"That was actually good from them, still want to see more though!" #HallesSieger, #Getagoal!
"Could you imagine if he actually finished that?" #Parkerpower, #Littlebrotheronfire
"They're still four down, stop acting like it's gonna matter." #HallesSieger #Stillosing
Harriet looked away from the comments, of course even though that last play had garnered support, there were always going to be those who saw it as a fluke.
And they would continue to do so.
Until the end product was there, until they couldn't deny it anymore.
"Go, guys." Harriet whispered.
Paul glanced up at her, she had a somewhat indescribable character. Sometimes he didn't know if she actually cared for the team, was a realist, or just hated his guts, but right now as he watched her.
The answer was all but evident.
He looked onto the pitch.
51'
THE PLAY CONTINUED!
Eastleigh carried the ball forward more cautiously now. They weren't being high-pressed, if they had been, they would've broken through easily. Instead, Halles Sieger held the midfield line.
Bursting through would still be possible.
But no longer easy.
Jacob advanced with the ball, scanning the pitch. He raised a hand, motioning sharply.
"Alright, let's stop playing with our food. Let's make it seven." He whipped the ball to the right. "Isidre! Take it forward."
Isidre nodded, eyes flicking toward the ball, but his posture remained relaxed, no chest trap, no header. He let it drop, then calmly collected it with his feet.
Xavier glanced at him for a second, eyes scanning his posture, then in the next. He was on him instantly, arms out, foot stabbing in.
"What's the point of this?" Isidre muttered, dragging the ball back, then snapping it forward again, slipping past with ease.
"Crap!" Xavier hissed, already turning as Liam stared at him, before joining in pursuit. Both midfielders surged back.
Isidre was the danger man. His passing and shooting range were elite—lethal even. He was a player you couldn't afford to give space. But his flair made man marking a nightmare.
He ran with intent, eyes locked on the top corner.
Then Everest stepped in, a ways outside the box. The perfect range. He planted himself, calming his breath. He wouldn't lunge, wouldn't bite. Not this time.
He'd use his body, apply pressure simply by being there. That way the others could catch up and help.
"What kind of defender even are you?" Isidre muttered, taking one step back—
Then fired.
A curling shot, top corner.
Lance hadn't moved. Everest had screened his view, and by the time he saw the ball.
It was already gone.
The referees glanced to their boards.
The crowd began to rise, the cheer swelling in their throats.
Isidre's name already on it.
But just before the ball could curl into the net.
Further degrading the scores, further damaging morale.
Clovis was there, head crashing into the ball, sending it wide. He hit the ground hard. "Get it!"
Arun sprinted after it, stopping the ball just before it rolled out for a corner. But it was as if Eastleigh had anticipated everything. Isidre's shot had been just the start. In less than a few seconds, he'd been swarmed by them.
Arun exhaled, then burst forward.
Jacob came to press, but Arun stalled, shifted, then drove straight at him. It felt like running into a brick wall.
But he broke through.
He shoved past, momentum carrying him, then fired the ball inward... straight to Liam.
Liam paused, eyes scanning the field.
The lone striker was making his run, the flanks pushing up in tandem. Benjamin was still tightly marked, no easy lane to him. So Liam looked right—
Then sliced the ball forward.
A curling pass floated in over Shin's head.
A mid-air trap.
"I absolutely hate this," the winger muttered, launching upward with one awkwardly outstretched leg, bringing the ball down cleanly and continuing his run.
It was a semi-counterattack, the flank wide open. Shin surged forward, Elke and Benjamin crashing into the box in sync.
But Jamie Carter was closing in fast.
The wing-back barreled down like a tank.
Shin extended a hand, shielding the ball, bracing himself for impact.
Just below him, Daichi sprinted forward.
Shin laid it off to the one teammate with a passing range rivaling his own.
The Japanese-German curved the ball into the box, just skimming past Bruce Hamilton's head, and straight to Benjamin.
The 5'10" striker leapt, jet-black hair snapping as he met the ball, only for it to thud off the goalkeeper's outstretched glove.
Corner.
Paul stood at the sidelines now, alongside a wave of fans and every member of the bench. The match's momentum had shifted. Ten minutes remained, but in this moment, he couldn't have been prouder of the squad he fielded.
Shin stepped up for the corner from his flank.
He raised a hand. Then kicked.
The ball flew through the air, only to meet Bruce Hamilton again. The center-back thundered it nearly to midfield with a monster header.
Xavier controlled it, quickly laying it off to Daichi, who walked the ball forward as they reset the attack.
They were finding openings, but with Bruce in the box, headers were futile. They needed to go low and central.
Daichi looked across the pitch, then drove a deep pass back to Everest, who had pushed slightly higher.
Everest one-touched it to Arun, who slid it along to Mateo.
The inside forward was not instructed to stay wide. So carrying the ball, he drifted centrally but was instantly met by Charlie.
Mateo looked back, but didn't pass. Six defenders stood before him. Getting through was impossible.
But the clock read 87'.
If they lost the ball now, that was it. This was their last chance.
Mateo burst forward.
He flicked the ball around, spinning past Jamie, but just as he completed the turn, the ball vanished.
Gone.
Snatched by a blur of green hair.
Isidre.
He tore down the pitch, slamming the ball ahead. He surged past Liam and Xavier. Clovis tracked back and Everest held his ground, one leg braced.
Isidre didn't flinch.
He nudged the ball forward, sidestepped Everest, and kept running, past the midfield and now into a defense of only Clovis and an incoming Arun.
"Your attacks are a fluke," Isidre muttered.
He slowed at the 30-yard mark.
Clovis tensed.
He expected a drive into the box.
Forgetting the range of the midfielder.
"Crap—" Clovis lunged.
Too late.
Isidre swung.
But the ball didn't fly.
Everest's slide came like a blade, slicing the ball mid-shot and sending it spinning backwards, high and awkward.
"You really don't look behind you that much," Everest said, standing without a word from Isidre.
The ball dropped, right to Maximo who sat deep.
In one motion, He volleyed it back up to Isidre. A high, floating ball.
Isidre waited for the drop.
"So that's it!" Xavier shouted, stepping in with perfect timing. The ball struck his chest and died. "Someone can't jump."
As he fell, he nudged it right—to Daichi.
90'.
The game hadn't stalled once.
But the fourth official raised one finger.
+1.
One additional minute.
One minute to get something from this match.
Daichi surged forward. The entire Eastleigh defense dropped with him, scrambling into position. Their line wasn't thin, but it wasn't enough. Not with how many Halles Sieger shirts had flooded their half.
"Shin, again!"
Daichi slipped it wide.
Shin collected, sprinting down the flank.
Two defenders closed in.
He braced his body, absorbed the pressure, then calmly rolled it back to Daichi.
But Maximo had seen it coming. The hulking defensive mid lunged into a brutal slide tackle, just enough to knock the ball away, enough to let the clock bleed dry.
But Daichi wouldn't let it end like this.
At the very last moment, he kicked the ball upward—loose, off balance—but alive.
Then Maximo hit him.
Daichi fell, ankle twisted, teeth clenched in pain.
But his eyes searched.
Who got it?
Who—
Liam.
The midfielder held the ball. He inhaled, slowly. Then raised his head.
Everyone was near the box now. Every last player.
For the final play.
Their final shot.
The final second.
Fans gripped the rails, the benches, each other. The sidelines buzzed. Even Paul stood still.
Liam glanced once.
Benjamin was already on the move, neck craned back, eyes locked on him. Bruce Hamilton clung close behind.
It wouldn't work. It shouldn't work.
But Liam smiled.
And crossed.
A whipped ball through the air, high, then dipping fast.
Bruce reached a hand out just in front of the striker. Aaron too had dropped back. The both of them ready for the arcing ball.
Ready to clear it.
But—
"That's insane."
Bruce's eyes flicked to Benjamin.
The striker's eyes gleamed, stars shining within his iris. Bright and golden, like he'd just seen a glimpse of the otherworldly.
He pushed backward, they followed him. All three of them now in the box.
The ball came closer.
They defended, but they didn't grab him.
Doing that would've given away a penalty, and the ball was dropping just outside the box. Safer to let him take it, then go for the tackle there.
Benjamin left their grasp, pushing out, the ball hovering just above his head.
They both lunged.
Two defenders. Sliding. Cleats out. Ready to kill the play.
But the ball never dropped.
With his left leg stretched out, body almost horizontal in the air, Benjamin flicked the ball upward. It bounced lightly, hanging in the air as time seemed to freeze.
Then, he shifted, his torso twisting, face turned toward goal, leg coiling behind him like a spring.
The two defenders stared from the ground, eyes wide.
He wouldn't.
Not from here.
Not from this range—
Benjamin's leg snapped forward, his body folding inward like a scissor. He struck the ball clean in his descent and it soared through the air,
—straight into the top corner of the net.
Silence.
The crowd stilled.
A scorpion kick.
Everyone—on the pitch, in the stands, on the bench, at home—gasped the same thought.
A crazy shot.
A ridiculous attempt.
An impossible thing to try.
And he pulled it off.
GOAL!!!!!!
The stadium exploded. Fans screamed his name. Even the Eastleigh supporters, shocked into stunned laughter, couldn't help themselves.
Benjamin looked up.
The scoreboard flickered.
HAL (1) — ELS (4)
Scorer: Benjamin Parker, 90+1'
Assist: Liam Briar
Then he stood.
The fans beckoned him forward, arms raised, voices shouting his name, but he didn't move. He didn't feel like celebrating. It felt gauche. They were still down by four, after all.
But then, pounding footsteps echoed behind him. Screams, laughter, the sound of boots on turf.
He turned.
And suddenly, the entire team was on him. Lifting him into the air like he was weightless, like he'd just won them the league.
They carried him across the pitch, under the roar of the crowd that pumped their fists and called his name.
His first professional goal. It didn't feel real. Not yet.
When they finally let him down, all he could do was smile. Then turn to Liam, slamming his hand in celebration as the two of them pulled into a brief, breathless hug.
And then—
The whistle.
Full time!
The game was over.
Both teams began filing off toward their respective locker rooms. The Halles Sieger players headed for the sideline first, where their coach stood waiting.
"I have to do everything for this team!" Isidre snapped, boot striking the ground.
"We won 4–1," Ryan muttered. "What are you so pissed about?"
"Don't talk to me," Isidre shot back, brushing past him.
They gathered around the sideline, a few players still carrying the sting of what Paul had said earlier. Some crossed their arms. Others understood.
Paul took a breath.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," he began. "I needed to push you. To light a fire under you in a way I knew would provoke a reaction. To make you want to prove me wrong."
He looked down.
"I get it if you're upset. Maybe there was a better way I just didn't think of—"
"I'M SORRY, COACH!" Lance suddenly burst out, tears welling in his eyes. "I was mad I let in four. Mad that I wasn't good enough. I said things I didn't mean. I take it all back."
"Huh?" Paul uttered.
"I'm sorry too," Clovis said. "I should've stood up for you in the locker room. I didn't."
"Same here," Liam added. "Your plan worked. Putting Daichi and Shin wide took the pressure off the middle. That's the only reason I even had space to create."
"Me too," Elke said quietly. "I should've spoken up."
Paul looked at them for a moment, then smiled.
In each face, he saw it.
Not just potential.
Conviction.
They weren't flickers anymore. They were flames. Burnt into the pitch, into each other, into the game. They had what it took, not just to compete, but to become great.
Just not under him.
He straightened.
"You all did well," he said. "Every single one of you worked hard and not just today, but every day. You communicated. You covered each other's backs. You fixed your mistakes and punished theirs. That's what matters."
Then he exhaled.
"You're leaving, aren't you?" Xavier asked, hands clenched by his sides.
"We lost," Benjamin added softly.
Paul walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Most likely," he said. "But you made your statement. You showed that if someone gets you the ball—you score. And not just any goal, either. A scorpion kick? That's going to be replayed for years."
He smiled.
"You're going to be something special, Benjamin. Even if it's not under me."
Then he stepped back.
Stretched his arms.
And walked off the field, beneath the lights, beneath the cameras, beneath the eyes of the thousands who had come to watch.
He glanced up toward the stands, toward Ross, who stood watching with a phone pressed to his ear.
Then—
Last night you were in my room, and now my bed—
Paul brought his phone to his ear, staring into the managers eyes.
"Come to my office tomorrow."
Then the call disconnected, Ross walked away from the stands. Not giving him another glance.
He gulped.