The sun blazed down that Tuesday afternoon, casting sharp shadows across the field.
The coaching staff of Birch Freeman High School slowly made their way to the stands, their eyes fixed on the pitch. It was the fifth match of the tournament—and Brandol High's first.
With the home crowd behind them, Brandol had the advantage. But Birch Freeman High wasn't the kind of team to be fazed. Their reputation for versatility on the pitch preceded them.
At the heart of it all was their captain, Odesanya Olamilekan —the most composed defensive midfielder in the entire Surulere region. His sharp, intricate passes could slice through any formation, feeding the wings and igniting their attack. But what made him lethal was his agility. He could read and shut down a counter before it even began.
The energy in the crowd was electric. Everyone was ready. All eyes were on the field.
Game time.
Brandol High wasn't exactly known for their football prowess. They hadn't won a single match in their last seven outings. Their record was shaky at best, and despite the home advantage, the odds were stacked heavily against them.
Still, hope lingered. They had trained hard, their coach was solid, and somewhere deep down, they believed—just maybe—they could pull off something special.
At exactly 12:01, the referee's whistle pierced the air. The match was on.
From the first touch, Brandol were on the back foot. It was a 60-minute game—shorter than the usual 90—but every minute felt like a mountain to climb. By the 25th minute, they were already trailing.
A thunderous header from Tayo Adebayo, Birch Freeman's No. 4 defender, had found the back of the net. It was clean. Brutal. Inevitable.
The predictions weren't kind—most expected a four-nil thrashing before the final whistle.
As the half-time whistle blew, Brandol's students and staff began to file off the pitch, their faces painted with quiet dread. It was clear—the second half would demand something extraordinary.
It had been a rough showing. Brandol High was struggling—disjointed in attack and shaky in defense. If they wanted a shot at making the knockouts, something had to change. Fast.
Michael sat on the bench, anxious and ready. His cleats tapped nervously on the turf with every second that passed.
Five minutes into the second half, Birch Freeman's press grew even tighter. The pressure was relentless.
Segun, the coach stood up, scanning the field with a grim expression. "Michael, get ready," he said, voice firm. "You're going in."
Michael nodded, heart pounding as he jogged toward the sidelines. The substitution was made in the 20th minute of the second half.
Only three minutes after stepping onto the pitch, Brandol conceded a corner.
Birch Freeman's captain, Odesanya, stepped up to take it.
He launched the ball into the box—a perfect, spinning cross. But just as it curved toward its target, Brandol's own David Ajayi leapt high, his timing perfect. He met the ball with a solid header and cleared it out of danger.
The crowd gasped. Hope stirred.
Brandol wasn't out yet.
The ball ricocheted toward the left wing of Brandol's half. A flurry of feet charged after it—but Michael got there first. He stepped on the ball, shifted his weight, and took off like a bullet down the sideline.
The counterattack was alive.
Cheers erupted from the crowd as he blazed past the halfway line. Khalid Hassan—the last defender—closed in, but Michael cut inside, dropped a shoulder, and left him in the dust.
He approached the box, eyes locked on the target. With a swift touch, he unleashed a rocket—top left corner.
The goalkeeper didn't even move.
GOAL!
Brandol High exploded. The stands went wild. The noise was deafening.
The rookie had equalized. One-one.
Hope surged like lightning through the veins of the home team. They were back in the game—and now they believed.
With only minutes to go, Birch Freeman's goalkeeper fumbled a back pass. It was a rare mistake—and Michael was there in a flash. He intercepted, scanned, and spotted Elijah sprinting in.
A crisp, low pass. One touch. A clinical finish.
Elijah slotted the ball under the keeper.
GOAL!
Two-one.
The underdogs had turned the tide.
Brandol High was on fire.
At exactly 1:24 PM, the final whistle blew.
Brandol High had won.
The crowd went wild—cheers erupted like fireworks. Students stormed the field, screaming one name:
"Michael Richards!"
His teammates lifted him high, chanting as they carried him on their shoulders. He felt the rush—the fire he hadn't felt since Hawkins. In that moment, with the sun on his face and pride in his chest, Michael was a king. They set him down, but everything had changed.
He was back.
Michael spotted Olivia by the exit. She wore a smile he hadn't seen before—not like that. It was soft, proud, radiant.
He jogged over, breathless with excitement.
"We won, Liv! Did you see that? We actually won!"
She nodded, her smile deepening.
"You won, Michael. You stepped in and turned the whole game around. I've never seen anything like it. You were… unreal out there."
He scratched the back of his neck, grinning.
"I couldn't have done it without you. Really. Thanks for believing in me."
"I'm glad you listened. If you hadn't, we wouldn't be here right now. So maybe start taking the All Knowing Goddess a bit more seriously, hmm?"
They both burst into laughter—giddy and golden, like the kind that comes after a win that changes everything.
"Hey," Olivia said, walking up to him with a grin. "If you're not busy, we could go celebrate… grab some food? I know a really nice place."
Michael's face lit up for a second before he sighed.
"Um… I can't today. I gotta head home right after school. But maybe this weekend? I'm free then."
She gave a playful nod.
"Cool. I'll hold you to that."
"Aight. I'll see you tomorrow. But first, I seriously need a shower."
Olivia took a step back and made a face.
"Yeah, you do. You reek of sweat. Phew! Go fix that. Bye!"
"Bye." He said, still smiling as he walked off.
It was a few minutes past four when Michael arrived at the L.S.D.P.C Phase IV football field. The place was buzzing like always—sweaty guys running drills, couples tucked away in corners, a few smokers hanging around, and the usual crowd of gamblers yelling at the sidelines.
He spotted Tosin sitting a few meters from the exit and made his way to her.
"What's good, T?"
She looked up and grinned.
"Ohhh… it's you. What's up, champ? When did you get here?"
"Just now."
He pulled towards the rusty bleachers, gave it a quick dust, and sat down.
She raised an eyebrow.
"This one that you're looking all pumped and shiny… what's going on? Something happen at school? You're giving off a vibe I don't usually get from you."
"Nothing happened," Michael said, a bit too quickly. Tosin narrowed her eyes—she could tell he was lying. The way he nodded gave him away.
"Come on, spill. What happened?"
He didn't respond immediately. There was a stern look on his face now.
"I can't believe you forgot my match," he finally said.
"I told you I had a game today. My first game."
Her eyes widened.
"Holy shit… I forgot. My bad."
"That's all you've got to say?" he asked, clearly disappointed.
"What?... What do you want me to say?"
Michael just gave her a long look, tilted his head slightly, then picked up his bag and started to walk away.
She hesitated, then sighed and went after him.
"Michael, can you stop?... Please."
He kept walking like he didn't hear her. She jogged ahead and blocked his path.
"What's with the attitude? Okay, I'm sorry for forgetting. I've got a lot going on too, you know. I didn't realize it meant that much to you. So... tell me how it went?"
He kept his eyes away, lips pressed.
"Come on, I already said I'm sorry. Why are you acting like such a baby?"
"Fine. We won."
"No shit. That's amazing! Tell me everything."
"I scored the equalizer… and assisted the winning goal," he said with a quiet chuckle.
"Stop talking, let's go celebrate. Drinks are on me."
"Where are we going?" Michael asked.
Tosin smiled. "Somewhere fun." She turned to the field.
"Hey Rod! Can you handle things here? I'm out for today, thanks!"
She didn't even wait for a reply before grabbing Michael's arm and pulling him toward the exit.
They walked for about 15 minutes, chatting and laughing, until they reached Glovid's Tavern—a gray, two-storey building tucked in the heart of the estate.
Michael raised a brow. "Wait… is this a pub? You brought me to a pub to celebrate?"
He was still staring up at the building when Tosin tugged him inside.
"Well, this is my favorite place in the city," Tosin said with a grin. "I come here when I'm angry, happy, or need some extra cash. It suits every mood."
"Let me guess. Gambling?" Michael asked, eyebrow raised, as if he already knew the answer.
"No, shithead. I do gamble sometimes, but I also do evening shifts on Wednesdays and weekends as the bartender."
Michael scanned the room —people dancing, smoking, drinking, and gambling. Typical Tosin. The chaotic energy of the place almost felt like home to her. They made their way to the counter.
"What's good, Solo? Can we get some tequila?" Tosin asked, leaning over the counter.
Michael shot her a curious glance. "Tequila."
"Michael hesitated. "Nah, I don't drink. No way."
"Come on, there's a first time for everything."
"Hard pass."
The bartender poured tequila shots, watching their back-and-forth. Tosin leaned in, grabbing his shoulders.
"Look, you're embarrassing me. One shot won't kill you. You had your game today—now it's time to live. If you don't, I'll lose my reputation here. Please... for my sake."
"Fine. For your sake. Just one round."
"That's what I'm talking about!"
It was late at night, around eight. The traffic in Lagos was at its peak. Cars and public transport filled the roads as people made their way home from work and errands, creating a chaotic and sometimes dangerous congestion. For most, this signaled the end of a long day, a time to relax. But for many teenagers, the night was just getting started. They flocked to nightclubs, dancing, drinking, and living out the thrill of a carefree night.
Michael was drunk, swaying as he made his way out of the club, and Tosin was right behind him.
"I've never been this drunk in my entire life," he muttered, his words slurred.
"It's good to step out of your comfort zone sometimes," Tosin replied, steadying him with one hand. She wasn't as drunk—just lightheaded. It clearly wasn't her first.
"We need to get you home. Your mom's probably losing her mind right now," she said, guiding him toward the exit.
"I don't wanna go home," he whined.
They reached the pedestrian crossing, standing under the dull glow of the streetlight while waiting for their Uber.
"Hey… I think I left my keys at the counter," Tosin said suddenly. "Can you wait here? I'll be right back."
"Sure," Michael mumbled, wobbling slightly on his feet as she slipped back inside.
She crossed the road and disappeared into the bar. Just two minutes later, she stepped back outside—only to find a crowd clustered at the entrance.
Voices echoed. Horns blared. Something wasn't right.
Her eyes scanned the chaos as she pushed her way through the wall of bodies, her heartbeat quickening with every step.
Then she saw him.
Michael. Sprawled across the pavement, motionless.
Her keys slipped from her fingers as a scream tore from her throat.
"Michael!"