Leon's nod back was shaky, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
The final whistle was still echoing around the tiny stadium, but the world had shrunk to a single, terrifying, 50-yard stare between him and Professor Antonio Bianchi.
And the Professor had clapped.
"Right, gaffer?" a voice shouted, breaking the spell. It was the 'Badger', Liam Doyle, his face a beautiful, muddy, joyful mess. He grabbed Leon in a bone-crushing hug.
"One-one! We stole it! That's a win, that is!"
"It's a draw, Liam," Leon laughed, his voice hoarse, his spirit soaring.
"But… yeah. It feels like a win."
The locker room was pure, beautiful chaos. Jamie Scott, the 'Racehorse', was dancing on a bench. 'The Mountain' was sitting in a corner, just… smiling, a giant, happy, terrifying sight.
Dave the baker was already handing out slightly-squashed 'Victory Scones' from a Tupperware box.
Walter Samuel stood by the door, arms crossed, his 'Secret Service' eDarpiece still in.
