Victor caught Julian's celebration, and instead of anger, he smiled.
"Nice," he muttered to himself. "That's how it should be."
It wasn't the smile of a boy humbled. It was the grin of a predator who had just scented prey worth devouring. His shoulders rolled back, chest expanding with a calm breath. No panic. No rage. Only hunger.
The whistle dragged both teams back to the center. San Dimas set up for the restart.
Victor tapped the ball to Miles, and the war surged forward again.
For the next twenty-five minutes, it was chaos.
Back and forth. Blow for blow.
San Dimas pressed with fury. Miles threaded dagger-like passes toward Victor, searching for that one opening. But each time, Riku barked orders from the back line, pulling Lincoln's defense into shape, snapping the trap shut. Victor's timing slipped into offside more than once, frustration flickering across his face.
Lincoln answered with their own fire.
