Dust exploded as Malik lunged for the opening kick.The ball zipped to Jabari, his body remembering moves he thought forgotten.For a heartbeat, it felt like home.
Then Breno arrived.Chest trap, smirk, counter.One-nil.
The crowd roared, smelling blood.
Malik's palms stung. "Up!" he barked. "Not over!"
They fought harder, desperate, until Tariq found space down the wing, slipped the ball inside.Jabari struck without thinking—low, clean.
The net rippled.One-one.
For a second, silence—then the roar returned, darker now.Predatory.
Breno only smiled. "Walls always fall."
The next minutes blurred into collisions, grit, pain.Malik dove again and again, his ribs screaming.Finally, he saw the chance he'd been waiting for.
"Now!" he roared.
Rashid and Kwame sprinted in from the sideline as the ball skittered out of play.The switch was instant. The Arena shifted.
Kwame's first touch was a breath between notes — a rhythm the crowd didn't know but could feel.He pulled defenders like strings, fed Rashid, took it back, fed again.A hum built in the stands.
Then Breno charged.Kwame struck early, a drive that looked like panic.
But Rashid knew.He appeared from the blind side, met it on the chest, let it fall, struck clean.
The net screamed.Two-one.
For a long moment, the world stopped.Then chaos. Cheers. Fury.
Malik limped forward, face blank. "Deal's a deal."
Breno flicked two fingers. The boy stumbled free.
"For now," Breno said. "But remember — once you step into the Arena, it doesn't let you leave. Next time, it won't be me waiting."
They walked out under a sky gone silent.Someone near the fence spat into the dirt."Outsiders don't win twice."