Sunday, Lysoria City Sports Complex, Late Morning
The smell of turf and sunscreen hit first.
The air outside the Lysoria City Sports Complex shimmered faintly under the late morning sun. Crowds buzzed near the entrance — students in team jerseys, families with umbrellas, and teachers pretending they weren't secretly rooting for their favorites. The kind of warm chaos that made weekends feel alive.
Jay adjusted the strap of his bag and scanned the field. Tyler's voice carried over the hum before he even spotted him.
"Jay! Over here, man!"
Jay turned just in time to catch a sweaty water bottle flying at him. He caught it one-handed without looking, earning a cheer from the guys behind Tyler.
"Still got reflexes like a pro," one of them muttered.
"Pure luck," Jay said, tossing the bottle back with a faint smirk.
Tyler jogged over, his jersey slightly wrinkled, grin wide. "Glad you showed up! You have no idea how tense this one is. Quarterfinals, bro. This is where we either make it to the city top three or go home."
Jay nodded. "So the big regional tournament dream starts here."
Tyler clapped him on the shoulder. "Exactly. You remember the tournament, right? The real one? Top three from Lysoria get to represent at Regionals. Coach says if we can handle this team today, we're basically in."
Jay leaned on the fence, watching the opposing team warm up. "They're not bad."
"'Not bad'? Dude, that's Northridge High. They've been unbeaten since winter. The captain's practically allergic to losing."
Jay chuckled. "Then maybe it's time he sneezes."
Tyler groaned. "Don't jinx us."
Jay found a seat near midfield, halfway shaded by a tree. The grass shimmered green under the sun. Players were stretching, coaches barking last-minute orders, the whistle ready to split the air.
He pulled his cap down slightly and let his thoughts wander — Clara, the café, the silent exchange of power that had begun between them. Every time he tried to detach from that world, something dragged him back. Maybe that was the curse of his bloodline.
A sudden cheer snapped him back to the present.
Tyler jogged onto the field, wearing that confident half-smile that always made him look like he knew something no one else did. His teammates hyped each other, chanting St. Ivy's name.
Jay exhaled slowly, letting his posture relax. "Guess we all play games," he muttered under his breath. "Just different kinds."
Amaya arrived moments later, tote bag slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back loosely. She waved, her sundress swaying as she walked toward the bleachers. Luna and Emma followed, each holding reusable water bottles, faces glowing with excitement.
"Look at him," Amaya whispered, nudging Jay. "So serious. Like he's preparing to fight a dragon instead of just… kick a ball."
Jay smirked, scanning Tyler as he went through the last stretches. "He treats Lysoria's quarterfinals like it's a final exam. That's his energy level, not the match itself."
Luna chuckled, tugging her jacket tighter. "Well, it's the toughest team in the city. Only the top three from this quarterfinal move on to the regional tournament. If they lose here…" Her voice trailed off.
"You know," Jay said, voice calm, almost casual, "Tyler already knows what's at stake. That nervous energy? It's just focus. The kid thrives under pressure."
Emma tilted her head. "You sound like you know this because…?"
Jay glanced at her, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Because I do. And besides, someone's gotta watch and make sure he doesn't trip over his own confidence."
9:30 AM – Kick-off
The referee blew the whistle sharply, the sound cracking across the field. Tyler's team huddled briefly, eyes bright, fists pounding together. Jay's attention shifted slightly, scanning both sides—the opposing team, the field's weak spots, the players' formations. Old habits die hard, and though this was a "friendly" school-level tournament, Jay's mind couldn't help but analyze patterns.
Tyler bolted down the wing as the ball was passed, sprinting past a defender. His footwork was quick, almost too quick for his teammates to keep up. A pass came his way—too strong, too fast. Tyler adjusted midair, chest controlling the ball, and sent it back into the midfield with precision.
"See that?" Jay murmured. "That's instinct. He's reacting faster than most of these guys can predict."
Amaya leaned forward, hands gripping the fence. "He's amazing when he focuses. He just… forgets he can't do it alone sometimes."
"Which is why watching him play is half fun, half terrifying," Jay added, eyes flicking toward the opposing team. The defenders were competent, coordinated—but Tyler had a style that was unpredictable, almost chaotic in its brilliance.
10:05 AM – Mid-First Half
The match was heating up. Sweat gleamed on Tyler's forehead as he darted across the field, dodging tackles, making quick passes to teammates. St. Ivy had scored the first goal, a clean strike from midfield thanks to Tyler's quick-thinking assist.
The opposing team retaliated immediately, pressuring St. Ivy's defense. Jay watched the movements carefully. A subtle shift in the defenders' stance, a slight hesitation in the goalkeeper's step—small details, but enough for a trained eye to predict the next play.
He whispered to himself: "If they push Tyler left again, he's going right. And… yes."
Sure enough, Tyler noticed the pressure and switched sides, passing the ball to the wing he had almost ignored. Within moments, another goal attempt—but the opposing goalkeeper saved it. Tyler's eyes flicked toward the goal, a flash of frustration, then determination.
From the stands, Amaya muttered, "He's sweating like crazy, but… he looks unstoppable."
Jay smirked. "That's because he trusts his instincts. And because he has to." His mind briefly wandered: the regional tournament coming up in mid-June. Tyler's current quarterfinal match was the first of many hurdles. Win this, make top three in Lysoria, and the bigger games begin. Jay knew the stakes—though Tyler didn't realize Jay had already calculated the potential lineup, the opposing team's strategies, even which regional referees might favor home plays.
10:40 AM – Half-Time
The whistle blew for half-time. Players staggered to their benches, water bottles raised, faces flushed. Tyler collapsed onto the bench, towel draped over his shoulders, breathing hard but smiling.
Amaya jogged over, waving a water bottle. "Drink up, hero. You're halfway to glory."
Tyler took it eagerly, chugging half before laughing. "If we win this, Jay, you better be in the front row screaming. And… maybe bring popcorn."
Jay leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "Popcorn? I'm here for analysis, not snacks. But I'll cheer." His eyes, however, never left the field.
Emma shook her head, smirking. "You're ridiculous. He's not playing chess, you know."
"Chess is all around," Jay replied softly, almost to himself. "Even here."
Tyler glanced at him, confused for a moment, then shrugged. "Whatever. Just… don't freak me out with your staring, alright?"
10:50 AM – Second Half Begins
The second half began with renewed intensity. Tyler's team had adjusted their formation slightly, moving him into more defensive positions to draw out the opposing team's key attackers. Jay noticed immediately. The other team was starting to predict Tyler's plays—he had to improvise.
And improvise he did. A quick spin, a fake pass, a sudden acceleration—Tyler broke through the defense and made a daring pass toward the goal. The goalkeeper lunged, but the ball grazed past, hitting the net. St. Ivy had scored again.
From the sidelines, Amaya jumped, hands over her mouth. "Yes! That's our Tyler!"
Jay's gaze didn't waver. He analyzed the opponent's weaknesses, noting how they were overcommitting to Tyler's left side. "If they keep focusing here, he'll switch direction. They won't see the diagonal pass coming."
Sure enough, moments later, Tyler sent a sharp cross-field pass, catching everyone off guard. The ball met a teammate at just the right angle—another shot on goal—but it was blocked. Tyler groaned but didn't lose focus.
11:25 AM – Approaching the Final Minutes
The game had slowed slightly as fatigue set in. Sweat and dust marked every player, but determination burned in their eyes. Tyler's team needed one more goal to secure a lead that would practically guarantee a top-three finish for the city's regional qualifiers.
Jay observed quietly, a slight smirk forming. He could predict the next few moves almost perfectly. Tyler was unconsciously following the patterns Jay had already anticipated: sprint, draw defenders, diagonal pass, goal attempt.
The whistle blew again. "Five minutes left!"
Tyler nodded at his teammates. "Alright. Let's finish this strong. One clean attack."
Jay's eyes flicked briefly to the stands. Emma, Amaya, Luna—all cheering. And him, quiet, calculating, appreciating the display of instinct and teamwork. This was a different kind of game, one without political stakes—but no less fascinating.
11:35 AM – The Winning Play
Tyler darted down the right wing, feinting past one defender, then another. He kicked the ball toward the center, where a teammate met it perfectly. The ball sailed past the goalkeeper in a clean, precise motion—goal.
St. Ivy erupted in cheers. Tyler's team rushed forward, lifting him onto their shoulders, laughing, shouting, triumphant. Amaya nearly cried, Luna high-fived everyone, and Jay… watched quietly, letting the noise wash over him.
He checked the time. 11:38 AM. Top three in the city? Almost certain. Regional qualifiers? Locked in.
And somewhere in his mind, Jay allowed a small smile, thinking of the upcoming challenges. "Regional tournament… you're going to need more than luck to handle this, Tyler. But you've got heart. That's something even I can't predict."