The final whistle cut through the night.
Julian exhaled, sweat dripping down his jaw as the tension bled from the pitch. Lincoln High gathered near the bench, their bodies heavy but their spirits blazing. Across the way, Leo and D-Lo stood face to face, the battlefield between them now silent.
"Nice game," Leo said simply, extending his hand. His golden eyes no longer shone with fire, but with respect.
"Nice game," D-Lo echoed, gripping his hand firm. Their handshake lingered for a heartbeat, warriors acknowledging each other.
They traded jerseys, then turned back to their benches.
Coach Owen's voice rose as soon as the team had gathered. His tone wasn't gentle—it was steel, hammered sharp.
"Nice game," he said. "But listen—what you saw today is the truth of pressure. When it comes, there are only two paths. You crack beneath it… or you rise, and become a diamond."
A fire lit in his eyes, and in every Lincoln player's chest.
