The Rogue Dome B was not a place for silence, yet a strange, heavy quiet fell over the caged pitch. It was the calm before a storm the crowd had been hungry for since the first whistle of the UFL season: a match built on pure, concentrated hatred. Team Strays (Marcus, Troy, Luca) against Team Reign (Kenji Sato, Jules Meyer, Marek Lenz). The air smelled of damp concrete, cheap cigarettes, and the metallic tang of blood already spilled earlier that night.
Marcus stood beside Troy and Luca, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Across the pitch, Kenji Sato was a rigid figure of focused resentment, avoiding Marcus's eye, saving his fury for the moment the ball rolled.
The distorted voice of the announcer was swallowed by the crowd's roar, but the rules were clear: 15 minutes, first to three goals, no mercy.
The whistle shrieked. The ball was in play.
Team Strays, surprisingly, started with the kind of clean, structured movement that hadn't been seen since their academy days. They moved the ball with intent, a temporary truce holding their fragile team together. Luca, quiet and steady, intercepted an early long ball and slotted a precise, grounded pass to Troy. Troy, using his strength, held off a defender and looked up, spotting Marcus peeling away down the left wing.
Troy didn't hesitate. He launched a fifty-foot aerial diagonal pass, a powerful kick that sailed above the melee, arcing toward Marcus's run. Marcus, feeling the adrenaline flood his veins, leaped, cushioning the fierce pass with a single, expert touch of his chest, trapping the ball instantly. He drove into the final third.
A defender closed, forcing Marcus to pull back. He chipped a quick, lofted cross back toward the penalty spot. It was a risky delivery, but it found its target. Luca, having sprinted the length of the pitch after his initial pass, soared above the Reign defender. He met the ball mid-air with a vicious, accurate header. It was a missile, a surprise of power from the quietest player, that hammered past the keeper before the crowd could even gasp.
1-0, Team Strays.
Troy roared, pulling Marcus into a fierce, sweaty embrace. Luca merely gave a small, rare smile. It was a moment of perfect, fleeting teamwork.
The goal had the opposite effect on Kenji. He didn't just look furious; he looked betrayed by his own defense. His face contorted, his teeth bared in a silent, predatory snarl. He snatched the ball from the net, slammed it onto the center spot, and demanded immediate restart.
Kenji took the restart himself. From that moment, his performance became a solo act of destruction.
He didn't pass. He didn't look for teammates. He ripped through the center, a blur of legs and motion. Troy stepped in, relying on his size, but Kenji dipped his shoulder, a flash of agile movement, leaving Troy sliding on the concrete floor, cursing.
Kenji now faced Luca. Luca braced himself, expecting the shoulder barge, but Kenji used his own forward momentum, kicking the ball ahead and suddenly cutting back, sending Luca stumbling slightly off balance before darting into the open space.
And then, there was only Marcus.
Marcus backed up, anchoring his stance, knowing this was the moment of truth. He feinted slightly to his right, covering the obvious line. Kenji reacted by dragging the ball far to his left, committing his body fully to the move. Marcus's eyes tracked the ball; his stance broke slightly, his feet opening just a fraction to adjust.
In that instant, Kenji stopped. He didn't touch the ball with his foot; he used his heel to rake the ball sharply across his body, guiding it through the space Marcus had just created between his legs.
NUTMEG...
The humiliation was instant, searing, absolute. Marcus froze, the shame burning his ears.
And then, the Glitch.
The world fractured. It wasn't just a physical failure; it was a sensory download. Marcus felt the precise tension in Kenji's calf, the millisecond timing of the heel flick, the subtle shift in weight that made the maneuver inevitable. The blueprint for the Fake-Left Nutmeg was burned onto his synapses, an arrogant, perfect piece of mastery, downloaded at the exact moment of his defeat.
Kenji, knowing the kill, didn't shoot. He stood just three feet from the open net, the ball resting obediently at his studs. He waited. He waited for Marcus to recover, to lunge in desperate defense.
When Marcus stumbled forward, jaw clenched with rage and humiliation, Kenji exchanged a dark, contemptuous smirk with him. "Shitty ass player," he hissed, before smashing the ball into the net.
1-1.
The goal was a formality, the act was a declaration of war.
Marcus could barely breathe. The Glitch had left him with the blueprint, but the sting of the taunt fueled a frantic need for instant payback. He ignored Troy's shouts, he ignored Luca's tired glance. He only saw Kenji's mocking gaze.
Moments later, Team Strays regained possession. Troy passed quickly to Luca, who then slotted the final ball to Marcus. Kenji rushed to meet him, a wide, predatory smile plastered on his face.
Now, Marcus thought. I have the blueprint. I have the move.
He went for it, attempting to execute the move he had just acquired. He faked left, committing his body, just as Kenji had.
But Kenji wasn't a random defender. He was the architect of the move. He didn't fall. He hadn't just performed the nutmeg; he understood the nutmeg. He read Marcus's attempt like an open book, anticipating the exact second Marcus's stance would break. Kenji lunged, not for the ball, but for the space Marcus was trying to exploit, effortlessly stealing the ball and leaving Marcus stumbling.
The crowd howled with laughter at the failed revenge. Marcus had the knowledge, but not the feel.
Kenji carried the ball deep into Strays' half, then, without warning, unleashed a long, curving strike that flew high, dipping just under the floodlights and crashing into the net off the underside of the crossbar.
2-1 to Team Reign.
Marcus sagged, his lungs burning. Five minutes remained. He had played a horrible game, a personal disaster marked by humiliation and a desperate, failed attempt at redemption.
The defeat felt imminent. Strays were broken; Marcus was a liability. The ball was given to Reign, but Troy, driven by frustration, won it back with a violent, borderline-illegal shoulder charge.
"Give it to Luca!" Troy screamed, breathing raggedly. "Just give it to Luca!"
They passed the ball back to their quietest teammate. Luca Moreno took the ball and something shifted in his demeanor. The nervous tension evaporated, replaced by a smooth, cold focus.
He drove forward. The first Reign player, Jules Meyer, rushed him. Luca didn't use a complicated trick. Instead, he simply dropped his shoulder, creating a burst of acceleration so blindingly quick and fluid it seemed he was moving on a different plane of existence. The ball stayed glued to his boot as he vanished past Jules.
The second defender committed hard, attempting a slide tackle. Luca used the defender's momentum against him, flicking the ball cleanly over the slide with a soft, balletic touch, collecting it again on the other side without breaking his stride. His speed was incredible, effortless, his control a masterclass in clean movement.
He faced the final defender. He was already shouting, positioning himself. Luca, instead of trying to dribble, opted for pure power. He unleashed a sudden, vicious low strike. The shot was a blur, skimming the metal floor, rocketing into the net with a deep, echoing thud.
2-2. Two minutes left.
The Rogue Dome exploded. Luca had single-handedly dragged his team back from the brink. Marcus looked at Luca, seeing not just a teammate, but a skill he desperately needed to survive.
The restart was a frantic mess. The ball zipped between the Reign players near the center line. Marcus, driven by a new wave of desperate clarity, slid in, ignoring the pain in his shin, intercepting a crucial pass. He was up in a flash, the ball at his feet.
One and only defender rushed him. This was it. No more failure. He had the blueprint. He had seen Luca's raw commitment.
He went for the Nutmeg again, but this time, he let go of the emotional need for revenge and focused only on the download. He faked right, a subtle, sharp move that was the inverse of Kenji's original fake. The defender bought it, committing slightly. Marcus then executed the corrected, flawless heel-rake nutmeg.
The ball sailed cleanly through the defender's legs. Marcus spun, the space opening up perfectly. He was in. Open goal.
Victory, redemption, and the streak, all within reach.
Marcus took a final touch and fired the shot. It was perfect, aiming high, far from the anyone's reach.
It was going in.
But Kenji Sato was not human tonight. Driven by pure, spiteful will, he launched himself from the opposite side of the pitch, a desperate, career-threatening slide clearance. He reached the goal line an impossible tenth of a second before the ball crossed it, his boot connecting with the sphere with a deafening thwack.
The ball deflected, smashing violently off the metal cage, and ricocheted back toward midfield.
The Strays team froze, disbelief etched into their faces. The Reign player who recovered the rebound didn't hesitate; he launched a massive, desperate long ball into Strays' half.
Kenji, already sprinting toward the Strays' goal, received the ball. He had outrun his own teammates and defenders. One on one with Troy, the final defender. He didn't use his feet. He drove his tired, aching body forward and met the ball with a diving header.
The ball slipped, bouncing once, and rolled agonizingly into the net.
3-2. Team Reign wins.
The final whistle shrieked, swallowed by a manic roar of triumph and disbelief.
Marcus collapsed onto the floor, his successful nutmeg and perfect shot forgotten, overshadowed by Kenji's impossible, winning save and goal. He had failed.
Kenji walked toward the Strays' huddle, his chest heaving, his face a mask of sweat and savage satisfaction. He stood over the defeated Marcus.
"Not so easy, kid," Kenji spat, his voice heavy with malice. "You might be a cheat sheet, but you are a liability. And liabilities belong at the bottom."
Sable, walked onto the pitch, holding his tablet. "Team Reign secures the victory. Team Reign may now select one player from Team Strays to join their roster."
Kenji's eyes, burning with victory, scanned the three defeated figures. Troy, Luca, and the prone, broken Marcus. The cruel silence returned, thick with Marcus's fear. The loss meant more than just a zero on their streak; it meant losing a piece of their foundation, strengthening their tormentor.
Kenji smiled, a slow, dark smile that held all the promise of future pain. He raised his hand, pointing at one of the Strays.