The scoreboard glowed in the rain.
BARNSLEY 1 - 2 TOTTENHAM
Eighty minutes played. Nine men on the pitch.
Most teams would have parked the bus. They would have protected the respectable defeat.
But the Misfits were not most teams.
Michael Sterling stood on the touchline. The rain soaked his suit, but he didn't feel it. He felt the electricity. The Fortress was not just a stadium anymore; it was a living, breathing creature, and it was screaming for blood.
"ATTACK! ATTACK! ATTACK!"
The chant was simple. Primal.
On the pitch, Kai Sora stood over the ball. He had just scored a Panenka penalty. He looked tired, but his eyes were sharp.
"Arda," Kai said to the Turkish midfielder. "Can you run?"
Arda Guler was holding his ankle. "It hurts, Kai. It hurts a lot."
"Ignore the pain," Kai said. "Pain is just information. Run into the space."
MINUTE 82
Tottenham had the ball. They tried to keep it. They passed it around the back, trying to kill the game.
