Halftime came with the score 1–0.
The whistle carved through the roar, sharp and final. Players slowed, breath heavy, boots dragging through the grass as they headed for the tunnel.
Sweat shimmered beneath the floodlights, steam curling from their shoulders like ghostly armor.
Julian's chest rose and fell, lungs burning, every muscle still trembling from the aftermath of battle.
Mageed jogged up beside him and slapped his shoulder. "You're tripping out there, man."
Julian smirked, the corner of his lip twitching. "Yeah—barely survived it."
Mageed laughed, the sound light against the thunder of the crowd. "Just make sure you've got another half in you."
"Don't worry," Julian said, voice steady now. "I'm not done yet."
Anssi caught up, face calm but eyes sharp. The captain's presence steadied the air around him.
"You read their shape well," he said. "Especially Steffen. Keep that up—and let's kill the rhythm in the second half."