The crowd was roaring at Onikan Stadium, Lagos Island. It was a cold and windy Saturday afternoon, with no sun in sight. The weather couldn't have been more perfect.
The temperature hovered around 28°C—ideal for a football game. Kickoff was set for 3 PM, but by 2, the stadium was packed. The atmosphere was electric, buzzing with excitement and tension. The Kamria supporters were tucked into one corner of the stands, their chants echoing defiantly across the field.
Both sets of supporters were loud and passionate, joyfully singing the anthems unique to their respective teams as they filled the stadium with energy and pride. Each chant was a battle cry, each lyric echoing loyalty, pride, and the promise of victory.
It was the final match of the PepsiCo Soccer Tournament — the ultimate showdown between the ferocious giants of Kamria Academy and the unyielding dark horses, Brandon High School. No one—absolutely no one—could've predicted Brandon's Cinderella run. Making it to the last eight was a miracle in itself. Reaching the finals? Unthinkable. But goal after goal, match after match, they stunned the crowds, silenced the critics, and clawed their way to this very moment. And now, under the roaring skies of Onikan Stadium, they were ready to shock the world one last time.
The Kamria supporters, clad in their iconic green and red jerseys, turned the stadium into a pulsating sea of color and noise. On the other end, Brandon High's faithful proudly rocked their sleek new navy blue and white kits—scarves waving, hats tilted, and banners held high with unshakable pride.
The roar intensified as both teams emerged from the tunnel, walking shoulder to shoulder into the coliseum of noise. Flashbulbs lit up the stadium like fireworks. Players exchanged handshakes with each other, the match officials, and the young mascots, their faces filled with nervous excitement. The air was thick with tension and adrenaline. This was it—the final warm-up before everything was on the line.
At exactly three, the referee blew his whistle and the game got underway. The coin toss had gone Brandon High's way, and they kicked things off with a quick pass back into midfield. The energy was high, and both teams looked sharp.
Brandon held most of the possession in the first half, moving the ball around with purpose. They created a few solid chances—one shot skimmed just over the bar, and another forced a decent save from Kamria's keeper. You could hear the gasps and cheers from the crowd with every close call.
There were a couple of fouls here and there, and a few half-hearted penalty appeals that the ref waved off. Nothing too wild, just the usual tension of a big final. The referee, calm but steely, stood firm as waves of abuse poured from the stands. The atmosphere stayed lively, and both sets of fans made sure their voices were heard.
Michael's movements were a bit slower than usual, his footwork not as sharp. He had a good few touches early in the match, but it was clear he was still trying to find his rhythm. There was a certain hesitation in his game, almost like he was holding back, maybe out of fear that his body wouldn't be able to handle the intensity.
Segun, the coach, kept a close eye on him from the sidelines, his mind racing. He knew Michael was a crucial part of the team, but today he didn't look like the player who had dazzled the crowd before the accident. Segun could only hope that as the match went on, Michael would settle into the game.
But as the first half dragged on, it was evident that Michael wasn't the same. He was far from the "wonder kid" that everyone remembered, and Segun wondered if rushing him back into the starting lineup had been the right call.
Michael had missed three clear-cut chances with just thirty minutes into the game.
"If he continues like that, we might end up losing the match," the coach muttered to himself.
He was considering him off after the first forty-five.
"Come on!! What is wrong with you Michael, get your head in the game." Michael yelled at himself after his latest miss.
It was a powerful cross from Moses —the defender. Michael controlled it well, aimed, and fired—only to miss. He couldn't believe his eyes.
He had his eyes on the goal, but his mind kept drifting back to Tosin. It had been three weeks since their last encounter, and the weight of it still hung over him. When the referee blew the halftime whistle, he sighed in relief—the match was still 0-0.
Back in the dressing room, Michael sat in silence, lost in his thoughts. The pressure of the game weighed on him, but so did the lingering thoughts of Tosin. He knew he had less than 15 minutes to get his head back in the game, so he pushed the memories aside. 'Focus on winning. Focus on the future.'
He glanced at his bag, and his eyes landed on a card from Olivia. He picked it up, reading her words of encouragement. It was a reminder of the people who cared about him and believed in his potential. He folded the card and stuffed it back into his bag, then stood up, taking a deep breath.
It was time to meet the coach and get ready for the second half. He had a game to win.
"Coach, please, just give me 15 minutes on the field. After that, you can sub me out. I just need to prove something to myself. Just 15 minutes, sir. Please."
The coach could see Michael had been struggling with his body for the past few months. He knew the kind of player he was before the accident and, feeling a mix of sympathy and understanding, he decided to give him a chance.
"Just fifteen and you're off."
"Thank you sir. I promise you won't regret it."
The second half kicked off, and Brandol High continued to dominate possession, but their finishing was lacking. Michael's teammates, losing faith in him, refrained from passing the ball to him during their attacks.
It was infuriating.
Michael knew he had to take matters into his own hands. He dropped back to help defend, winning the ball in midfield before threading a slick pass to Elijah, their striker and sprinted forward.
"I'm open… I'm open!!" He called out.
Elijah, poised to take the shot, noticed two of the defenders closing in. At the last moment, knowing fully well he couldn't take them both, he chipped the ball to Michael. With a quick leap, Michael guided the ball past the keeper, placing it perfectly into the far corner."
In the 58th minute, Brandol High finally broke the deadlock. Michael, with his focus unwavering, jumped to celebrate the goal, but as he landed, a sharp pain shot through his bad foot. His face twisted in discomfort as he stumbled, unable to put weight on it. The celebration abruptly came to an end as he was swiftly subbed off, missing the chance to fully revel in the moment.
'You did well, kid,' the coach said, his voice full of praise as he pulled Michael into a brief but heartfelt hug.
As the clock ticked towards five, the match came to a close. The final whistle blew, sealing a 1-0 victory for Brandol High. The stadium erupted in euphoria as the Brandol players ran across the pitch, their faces filled with disbelief and joy. The underdogs had done it—they were champions.
It was the first significant win in the school's sporting history. They were champions at long last.
It was the most significant win in the school's sporting history.
Michael smiled, his hand still holding Olivia's. "I couldn't have done it without you."
She squeezed his hand, her voice soft. "You always had it in you. I just reminded you."
As Michael watched his teammates celebrate, he said, "I might not have played the whole game, but this... feels good."
The coach walked over, clapping him on the shoulder. "You gave them the spark, Michael. And that goal? A moment to remember."
"Thanks, coach," Michael replied, then turned to Olivia. "And thanks for being here. Hell, you've always been there for me, through all the highs and lows. You're the best friend I've ever had, and I honestly don't know where I'd be without you. But now, I want more than just friendship. I'm ready. So, Liv… will you be my girlfriend?"
Olivia stood frozen for a moment, unable to find the words. Before he could say anything else, she leapt into his arms and kissed him.
"Yes, Michael, yes! I'll be your girlfriend."
Michael grinned, a weight lifting off his shoulders as Olivia kissed him. "I'm glad," he whispered, holding her close.
She pulled back just a bit, still smiling. "You took your time, huh?"
He chuckled. "I had to get it right. You're worth it."
Olivia laughed, wiping a tear from her eye.
"That's a relief. Now, could you help me up please. We need to celebrate."
"Alright. Careful." She steadily brought him on his feet. Should we go now or…?"
"You know what, I'm coming. Let me change to my clothes."
"Okay… I'll be waiting for you."
She kissed him once again and left.
He put on his clothes and made his way onto the pitch. At the sight of him, the entire football team gathered around, lifting him up in celebration as they went to collect their medals. The atmosphere in the stadium was filled with pure joy.
Parents rushed to take pictures with their victorious children, and Rachel was no exception. She enveloped him in a tight hug.
"Come here, you! I'm so proud of you, baby. I'm sure your dad would be too. My little champion! After we get some ice cream, I'll have Bolu cook your favorite dish for dinner. How does that sound?"
"Yeah mom. Sounds dope."
It was around seven when the celebrations started to wind down. People were heading to their various rides, ready to leave. Michael slung his black backpack over his shoulder and made his way toward the Uber he had called earlier.
He pulled out his earphones, the sounds of Sunflower by Swae Lee and Post Malone still echoing in his head. Just as he opened the door of the Uber, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.
"Michael!!"
He turned around and there she was, Zahra, wearing a Barcelona jersey and blue jeans. In that moment, everything came rushing back —the memories, the emotions, the confusion.
"What the f…"