The screen flickered to life above the narrow tunnel gate as Marcus stepped into the underground hall. A faint hum filled the air, like static before a storm. Then his name appeared across the digital display in cold white text:
Rogue Record:
Match Type: Entrance Qualification (Cage Match)Team: Vale / Troy / Kenji / LucaResult: 3-2 WinGoals: 2Assists: 0Performance Tag: "Copycat" Notable Moment: "Back-Heel Flick Goal" (last-minute winner), Tackling own teammateStatus: Qualified as Rogue
Marcus winced. They didn't even need to replay it, everyone already knew. The clip had gone viral in the Rogue lobby within hours: Marcus sliding into his own teammate, stealing possession from Kenji, and somehow spinning back up to score off a backheel flick. A miracle goal wrapped in humiliation.
Now the footage looped again on one of the training walls, projected for every Rogue lounging around the lower-level pitches to enjoy.
"Yo! Look, it's the guy who tackled his own man!" someone called out from a bench.
Another Rogue whistled mockingly. "And pulled Rico's backheel like he invented it. Bold move, rookie."
Marcus ignored them. He just tugged at his gloves, shoulders tense. The hall smelled of turf and burnt coffee, the scent of obsession. Around him, screens displayed dozens of other Rogue Records, names, win streaks, and recruitment calls. Every stat here was a story. Every player, a survivor of rejection from the world above.
But Marcus didn't come here for approval. He came to climb.
The Rogue Grounds were vast, five interconnected pitches laid deep under the city's derelict sports complex. Each ground had its own rank board glowing above the center dome, showing the teams, streaks, and open challenges.
A heavy metal door slid open, revealing a dim chamber filled with rows of benches and flickering holograms. Dozens of players sat inside, most wearing old jerseys, tape around their wrists, bruises on their shins.
At the front stood a tall, scarred man with an earpiece, Sable, the overseer. His voice cracked through the speakers.
"Listen up, fresh Rogues! You've all earned your entry. But don't get too comfortable."He paced slowly, boots echoing against the metal floor."You're at the bottom of the pit. From here, it's three wins in a row, or you're nothing. Win three, and you get a chance to challenge the Contenders, the upper dogs."
Someone raised their hand. "And if we lose?"Sable smirked. "You lose one of your own. Winners pick who they want from your team. You drop to minimum two players, and if you can't field that, you're out."
A murmur spread through the room. The brutality of the system was clear, survival of the most ruthless.
"The match format's simple," Sable continued. "3v3, 2v5, 3v4 etc., we have many combinations to that. No refs. No offside. No mercy. Fifteen minutes or first to three goals. You want glory? Earn it. You want respect? Take it."
The holographic board behind him flickered, showing team names, rankings, and current win streaks.At the top: Team Havoc – 2 Wins.Marcus took mental note of that name.
"Five's the cap," Sable continued. "A Rogue team can't have more than five players. Two's the minimum. Once you've got five and your streak holds, you can move up and face the Contenders. Lose three times, you're back here again."
Marcus exhaled slowly. The rules were brutal, but fair in their own twisted way. Every match was a test not just of skill, but of trust. And trust was already something he'd burned.
He started walking through the crowd of Rogues, trying to strike a few conversations.
"Yo, you looking for a third?" Marcus asked one pair.
They exchanged glances and snickered. "We're good. We don't need a guy who tackles his own side."
He turned to another trio, one of them watching replays on his datapad.
"Hey, I'm Marcus Vale. Just cleared the entrant match yesterday."
"Oh, you're the Vale guy." The player smirked without looking up. "Man, your highlight reel's comedy gold. Nice backheel though, shame about the betrayal thing."
Marcus clenched his jaw. "It wasn't a betrayal. It was instinct."
The guy raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Tell that to the guy you floored."
The rest of the Rogues laughed. Marcus walked off before his temper got the better of him.
Everywhere he went, whispers followed.
The tackle guy.
Copycat.
Glitch-footed freak.
By the time he reached the corner cage, his patience was hanging by a thread. He kicked a loose ball against the wall, hard enough for it to ricochet past two benches and hit a goalpost.
"Still got anger issues, huh?"
The voice came from behind him. Marcus turned. Troy stood there, arms folded, smirking like always. Beside him was Luca, his dark hair tied back, hands in his pockets.
Marcus hesitated. "You guys probably don't wanna talk to me either, right?"
Troy scratched his chin. "Well, what you did to Kenji was kinda messed up."
Luca added, "Yeah, man. That tackle was wild."
Marcus sighed. "Told you, it wasn't ..."
"But," Troy interrupted, "Kenji's a pain in the ass anyway. So you actually did us a favor."
Luca chuckled. "You scored the winner, remember? That's all I care about."
Marcus blinked, then laughed quietly. "So we're good?"
Troy smirked. "We're good. Just don't tackle us next time. I'm still sore from that fall."
Marcus grinned. "Deal. Then… what do you say we team up?"
The two exchanged a look.
Luca shrugged. "Why not? We've got chemistry. Sort of."
"Fine," Troy said. "But we're not calling it Team Vale or something lame like that."
Marcus extended a hand. "Then what?"
Troy's eyes glinted. "Team Strays. Fits the kind of personality you've built here."
Marcus grinned and shook his hand. "Team Strays it is."
Minutes later, the holographic registration board updated:
New Team Registered: Team Strays
Members: Marcus Vale / Troy Reed / Luca Moreno
Status: Active
Next Opponent: TBD
A soft chime followed. Then the next match appeared.
Match 01: Team Havoc vs Team Reign
Reign Members: Kenji Sato (C), Jules Meyer, Marek Lenz
Arena: Pitch 2 – Rogue Dome B
The moment the name Kenji Sato flashed across the board, Marcus froze.
Luca blinked. "You've got to be kidding me."
Troy let out a low whistle. "Well, look who fate dug up."
Marcus stared at the glowing letters. Kenji Sato. The same teammate he had tackled, the same guy whose fury burned brighter than the goal Marcus scored that day.
"Guess he made his own team too" Luca said quietly.
"Of course he did," Troy muttered. "He was never gonna sit out after that. You humiliated him in front of everyone."
Marcus didn't answer. His eyes drifted across the dome toward Pitch 2, where players were warming up under silver floodlights.
And there, near the halfway line, stood Kenji.
Same sharp jawline. Same restless energy.
Their eyes met.
The crowd noise seemed to fade, replaced by a dull heartbeat in Marcus's ears. Kenji's gaze was cold, not furious, not wild, just… focused. The look of someone who'd been waiting for payback.
Luca nudged Marcus. "Well… this is awkward."
Troy smirked. "Awkward's one word for it. Revenge match sounds better."
Marcus's lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. "Then let's make sure he remembers why he hates me."
The announcement voice echoed through the dome:
"Next match — Team Havoc versus Team Reign! Players to Pitch 2. Ten minutes to kickoff!"
Marcus took a deep breath.
This wasn't just another match. It was unfinished business wrapped in the cruel humor of the Rogue League.
And as he stepped toward the tunnel, the screens behind him updated once more, flashing his old highlight in slow motion. The tackle. The rebound. The backheel.
A mistake and a miracle, looped into legend.
Now, he was about to find out which one would define him.