Chapter 10: The Decisive Moment
The whistle blew. Sharp. Piercing.
And just like that, we were off.
The ball skittered across the turf like a dropped marble on a kitchen floor—unpredictable, urgent, alive. Every step sounded louder in my head than it should've. The pounding of cleats. The barking of voices. The jarring rhythm of my own breath.
This wasn't practice.
This was the real thing.
An 11v11 full-pitch match. One half to prove I belonged here. One half to show I wasn't just some lucky street kid with a weird run and an awkward first touch.
The kind of match where reputations are built—or shattered.
Zooming out.
The first fifteen minutes were a blur. We were pinned back. Our midfield was leaking like a broken dam, the defense scrambling to plug holes, the offense starving for service. I barely got a touch in. And when I did—it was clumsy. Sloppy. My legs were trying to remember how to be useful again.
The AI didn't help.
