The match day had come.
By 3:00 PM, HSV II was already on the pitch, warming up under the faint spring sunlight. The stands buzzed with the soft murmur of early-arriving fans, scarves and flags fluttering in white and blue.
Julian stretched by the sideline, wearing the same white kit as his teammates — the HSV II crest glinting faintly on his chest.
His boots, the now-iconic gray pair some fans online called "the default shoes," dug lightly into the grass.
He bounced a pass off Mageed's foot, feeling the ball's weight, its rhythm.
"Is this team strong?" Julian asked, voice steady but curious.
Mageed chuckled, juggling once before passing back. "Not really. They're middle of the table, same as us. Kickers Emden were tougher, for sure."
He adjusted his shin guards, glancing toward the opposing side warming up across the field. "But, you know what they say — football's round. You can win, you can lose. The game's unpredictable. One mistake, one spark, that's all it takes."
