The entire stadium froze.
For a moment, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Jaeven lay on the grass, heart pounding, eyes fixed on the white sky above the floodlights. He could still feel the sting of contact — the defender's knee clipping his thigh, the desperate sweep of a boot catching his ankle. The echo of the collision rang through his body.
He hadn't dived. He knew it. Matteo knew it. But would the referee?
"Up, Jae!" Matteo's voice cut through the silence, sharp and urgent. The defensive midfielder was already charging toward the referee, waving his arms in protest. "That's a foul! He didn't touch the ball!"
The home crowd roared in anger, their voices merging into a wall of sound. Virtus Lombardia's fans, scattered in the corner stands, were on their feet, shouting for justice.
Jaeven pushed himself up slowly, wincing. The ball had rolled harmlessly out of play. The referee stood near the edge of the box, one hand raised, his expression unreadable. His linesman was frozen on the sideline, flag lowered — offering no help.
Players from both sides circled like wolves.
"Dive!" spat the opposing captain, face twisted with rage. "You threw yourself down!"
"Shut your mouth!" Matteo barked, shoving him back before teammates pulled them apart.
"Enough!" the referee shouted, stepping forward, whistle still between his fingers but not yet blown again.
Every heartbeat felt like thunder in Jaeven's chest. He could hear his pulse more clearly than the noise.
He turned to Matteo, who was glaring daggers at the official.
"It was contact," Jaeven muttered under his breath, half to himself.
"Of course it was," Matteo said. "You beat him — he panicked. Everyone saw it."
The referee walked toward the spot where Jaeven had fallen. The defender followed close behind, gesturing animatedly, trying to explain how he had gotten the ball. The referee crouched, touched the grass, then straightened up, his whistle still unmoved.
Seconds stretched into eternity.
Jaeven's coach on the sideline was already pacing, shouting toward the fourth official. The assistant referee whispered something into his earpiece — whatever it was, it made the referee's jaw tighten.
He pointed toward Jaeven.
Then toward the penalty box.
The crowd erupted.
"Penalty!"
Virtus Lombardia's bench exploded in celebration; their opponents fell into chaos. The defender dropped to his knees, clutching his head. The referee signaled again — clear and firm this time — to the penalty spot.
Matteo sprinted toward Jaeven, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Let's go, Jae! You just won us the game!"
But Jaeven didn't celebrate. Not yet.
He stood there, chest rising and falling, the weight of the moment sinking in. This wasn't just any foul — it was his first real moment under the spotlight, his first match as a starting player in the second half of the season.
And now, the outcome rested on what came next.
The ball was already being placed on the spot.
Virtus's striker, Ricardo Santori, the team's usual penalty taker, stepped forward. He spun the ball once in his hand, set it down carefully, and looked at Jaeven.
"Good work, kid," Ricardo said quietly. "You earned this."
Jaeven nodded, trying to steady his breathing. The crowd's chants blurred into static in his ears.
Matteo leaned in beside him. "Breathe, Jae. Whether he scores or misses — this was your play."
The referee raised his whistle to his lips.
Ricardo took a few steps back. The opposing keeper crouched low, bouncing lightly on his heels.
The whistle blew.
Ricardo ran forward —
A heartbeat.
A strike—
THUD!
The ball smacked against the crossbar and bounced straight up into the air.
Time froze again.
Jaeven's eyes widened. Ricardo lunged for the rebound—
The keeper got a hand to it, deflecting it away. Players surged toward the ball, the stadium a frenzy of noise.
And then—
The referee blew the whistle again.
Full-time.
Everyone stopped.
Jaeven stood frozen on the edge of the box, chest heaving, the final score still tied — one goal apiece.
He looked toward the scoreboard as the numbers flickered under the lights:
Virtus Lombardia 1 – 1 FC Modena.
Matteo slammed his hands into his hair in disbelief. Ricardo dropped to his knees.
For Jaeven, though, it wasn't anger that filled him. It was something else — a spark, sharp and alive in his chest.
The crowd's noise faded.
The missed penalty, the draw, the tension… it all burned into his memory like fire.
Because he knew this wasn't the end.
He could feel it — the shift, the hunger, the silent promise forming deep inside.
Next time, it wouldn't end like this.
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End of Chapter 24 – The Verdict
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