The bus ride to their stadium was the shortest and oddest of the season. The streets of their hometown were filled with people waving homemade banners and scarves. When they arrived at the Crestwood car park, it was already a sea of red and black. The game wouldn't start for two hours, but the party seemed to have already begun.
For Ethan, it was a day of lasts. It was the last time he'd walk into this changing room. The last time he'd wear this club's shirt. He hung his kit on his peg, feeling a strange emptiness in his chest, a mix of sadness and excitement.
Callum, in contrast, buzzed with energy that lit up the room. He was determined. "She's here," he whispered to Ethan, having already scanned the crowd. "Red hat. Front row, right behind the dugout. It's fate."
"It's a jinx," Mason grumbled from two lockers down, carefully taping his ankles. "Just focus on the game, you idiot."
The changing room, usually loud with music, was silent. It was the tense quiet of a team that recognized the importance of the moment. Coach Shaw walked into the center of the room. He didn't pace or yell. He just stood there until everyone looked at him.
"Look out that window," he said, his voice low and clear. "They're all here. Your parents, your friends, this town. They came for a coronation. They think this is just a formality."
He glanced at the whiteboard, at Harrington's name. "Harrington knows what they think, too. They know they are the only thing standing between you and that trophy. They have nothing to lose. They have a chance to pull off the biggest upset in this league's history. They are the most dangerous team you could face today."
He turned back to the team. "You are not champions. Not yet. You are a team that is one point ahead, with ninety minutes left to work. You earn this. You earn it for every sprint in the rain, every bus ride, every single tackle."
He looked directly at Ethan. "This is your last game in that shirt, Matthews. Leave nothing in this room. Give everything on that pitch."
He looked at Mason. "Anchor us."
Then he looked at Callum. "Finish them."
"Go," he said. "Be the team I know you are."
The walk down the tunnel was a deafening roar. As they stepped onto the pitch, the sound hit them like a wave. The stands, usually only partly full, were packed. Banners hung from every railing: "CRESTWOOD U16 CHAMPIONS," "GOOD LUCK ETHAN, WEST BROM'S NEXT!"
Ethan spotted his mum in the crowd, her hands over her face, her eyes shining with tears. Callum saw Mia, giving her a sharp, confident nod. Mason focused only on the Harrington striker, his eyes narrowed.
They lined up for the kickoff. Ethan, Callum, and Mason stood in a row, an unspoken promise passing between them. This was it. Two years of work, friendship, and sacrifice had all led to this.
Ethan looked at his friends. He looked at the crowd. He looked at the ball. The referee raised his whistle. The stadium held its breath.
The whistle blew.