The pitter-patter of rainfall blanketed the skies of Indonesia.
Leandro kept his eyes locked on the asphalt ahead as water hammered his windshield without mercy. Each drop blurred the neon lights of the small coastal city into streaks of red and yellow. The wipers moved back and forth like tired soldiers that were slowly losing the battle.
His jaw clenched so hard and his hands gripped the steering wheel tight. His knuckles had turned pale against the worn leather.
9-0 was the scoreline tonight.
The number echoed repeatedly in his skull with every rotation of the tires. Like a straight-up wack song he couldn't turn off.
They had conceded nine unreplied goals. Ninety minutes of pure, unfiltered humiliation.
He could still hear the cruel, high-pitched laughter from opposing fans. The blame game tirade from his own teammates as they entered the tunnel. The heavy silence that had filled the locker room like a poisonous gas.
Their coach hadn't even shouted and that was the worst part. He hadn't thrown chairs or slammed doors or screamed until his face turned red. He had just stood there in the center of the room and stared at them with empty eyes. Like he was looking at a group of complete strangers who had wasted ninety minutes of his life.
Leandro had sat at the far end of the bench the whole match. He hadn't even moved, stretched, or warmed up. Not even a minute of play registered to his name or even a glance from the coaching staff.
"Bench warmer," one of the coaching staff had muttered annoyingly as they filed out. The man hadn't even bothered to lower his voice. He just said it like it was a fact. Almost like Leandro wasn't even worth the effort of whispering about.
Leandro had pretended not to hear. He was good at that by now.
Bali United's position in the Indonesia Super League was disappointing, and tonight's game was supposed to be an opportunity for them. A chance to gain an advantage and improve their standings by beating league leaders Gresik United. It was also Leandro's chance to prove he deserved more than scraps from the first teams' table.
Instead, it had become a nightmare. And not just any nightmare, this was the kind that gets recorded, uploaded, and shared to the world. A nightmare that would haunt you for as long as you lived.
He could already imagine the headlines back at his hometown in Brazil. The jokes and memes people would turn it into - how he was such a flop to the extent that he couldn't even start for the losing team. Laughable.
The rain smeared the streetlights ahead into long golden blades that cut through the darkness. The road was almost empty now with just a few motorcycles braving the storm, their riders hunched low, ponchos flapping like broken wings.
His cheap car rattled every time he hit a puddle. The frame shook exaggeratingly as water sprayed on both side like a small explosion. The whole thing felt like it might fall apart at any second.
He exhaled slowly through his nose and tried to calm himself. 'Calm down. Just get back to the hotel, take a shower, and go to sleep. Tomorrow... tomorrow you can think about what to do next'
But tomorrow always came with the problems of yesterday, didn't it?
He was twenty-eight years old this year. A Left Winger quick enough on his feet, technically sound with the ball, decent crossing when given space, and a good stamina for his age. That's what the scouting reports said when Bali United signed him two years ago from his boyhood club Vila Nova, in Brazil.
But reality was something completely different.
Reality said he was invisible. A horrid ghost in a jersey. Someone coaches forgot the moment he sat down on the bench. Someone opposition defenders loved having around. Someone fans lived to forget. Someone... SIGH!
He was an orphan kid from the outskirts of Sao Paulo, Brazil. His parents had died when he was young. He was too young to even remember their faces and voice.
His older sister Mariana had raised him by working two jobs to keep them afloat. She was the only one that believed in his dream even when he didn't. She was the reason he was here at all.
But back then he had no connections in the football world. No famous agent with a Rolodex full of club presidents, no uncle who played professionally, no protection in the scary favelas of Brazil.
Just raw talent and a stubborn, desperate belief that football was the only way out of poverty.
Lately though, even that belief was starting to crack.
Thunder cracked directly overhead, violent and close enough to feel in his chest. Leandro flinched hard, instinctively easing his foot off the accelerator. The car slowed.
Water pooled everywhere on the road now, creating deep puddles that reflected the streetlights above like shattered mirrors. The world outside looked like it was drowning.
Leandro glanced at the dashboard clock. The time was 22:47
Too late to be driving in this weather. But the team bus had left hours ago, and he'd wanted to be alone. He needed it, actually. Couldn't stand the thought of sitting next to teammates who disdained to look him in the eye.
His phone screen buzzed on the passenger seat and the screen lit up with a notification.
He didn't pick up the phone. It was probably his sister checking on him from thousands of miles away. He'd call her when he arrived at the hotel.
"I'm fine," he muttered to the empty car. His voice sounded hollow and his chest felt tight, like someone was sitting on it. "I'm fine."
He wasn't fine.
The road curved sharply to the right near the edge of the city, where the buildings started to thin out. The streetlights became fewer and farther between, and civilization gave way to empty lots and construction sites.
The rain came down even harder. He didn't think that was possible, but it was. Visibility dropped to almost nothing, just grey sheets of water and the occasional flash of red from a distant taillight. Then, as he was cutting through the rain, a bright flash of headlights closed in fast on him.
Leandro's breath caught in his throat.
What appeared in front was a big truck that wasn't in its lane. It was drifting fast and sliding at the same time. The driver had lost control due to hydroplaning.
Time stretched thin like rubber, and everything slowed down. Leandro could literally see individual raindrops frozen in the headlights. He could even count the seconds between heartbeats at that moment.
He yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, but his tires didn't respond. They just spun uselessly on the water-slicked asphalt. The car kept sliding forward weightlessly and the world tilted sideways.
The trucks horn screamed, long and desperate, but it was far too late.
BOOM!!!
Metal shrieked like a living thing. The sound was unbearable as glass exploded inward in a million pieces. The airbag deployed and slammed into his face like a punch from God.
Pain came sharp and immediate. His ribs, head, and left arm twisted at an angle it wasn't designed to go.
Then... just as quick as it came, the pain was gone. Just like that, as if someone had flipped a switch.