The excitement of the trophy lift began to fade as the sun lowered, casting long, golden shadows across the field. Parents and fans started to drift toward the exits or the clubhouse for the after-party. The pitch was left covered in silver confetti, filled with the sweet smell of victory.
Ethan stood near the center circle, the gold medal feeling heavy and cool against his chest as he took in the scene. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned to see Callum, grinning, pulling a girl in a bright red hat through the thinning crowd.
"Listen up!" Callum shouted, waving Mason over. He wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders, looking prouder than when he lifted the cup. "Lads, this is officially Mia. And," he pointed at Mason, "she's the only reason we won today. I promised her a win."
Mia rolled her eyes but clearly smiled. "Hi," she said, sounding confident. "He talks a big game, doesn't he?"
"You have no idea," Mason grunted, nodding respectfully and wiping mud from his forehead. "He almost cost us the league trying to impress you in the first half with those shots from halfway."
"I noticed," Mia laughed. "I was ready to leave if he tried one more step-over."
Ethan grinned and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mia. I'm Ethan. Thanks for keeping him motivated."
"You're the one going to West Brom, right?" she asked, her eyes widening. "My brother won't stop talking about you. He says you're a god."
"Just a decent passer," Ethan said, feeling a familiar flush of embarrassment.
"Well," she said, glancing back at Callum, "you kept your promise. Just about."
"Told you," Callum winked. "So, that celebratory dinner?"
"Text me," she smiled, backing away toward her friends waiting by the gate. "And nice goal, Callum."
Callum watched her go, pumping his fist as he turned back to his best friends. "She's in. Legend status secured on and off the pitch."
"Unbelievable," Mason muttered, shaking his head but smiling.
The three of them settled on the grass in the center circle, the battered silver trophy resting between them. The stadium was nearly empty now, just the groundsman tidying up the corner flags. It was quiet, a stark contrast to the cheers that had filled the air thirty minutes ago.
"We actually did it," Mason said softly, tracing the engraving on the cup. "League champions. Not bad for a team that barely got by in the U14s."
"Think about where we started," Ethan said, looking around the empty stands. "That first tryout day. I was terrified. I thought I wouldn't make it."
"You?" Callum scoffed, lying back on the grass with his hands behind his head. "You nutmegged that kid in the first five minutes. I was the one worried. I thought Mason was going to tackle me into next week."
"I would have," Mason admitted. "If you hadn't been so fast."
They laughed, the sound echoing in the twilight. Their laughter came from relief and shared history. They talked about the season, the mud bath at Linton, the tactical win against Greenford, the heartbreak of the cup exit, and the gritty draw against Westford. Every bruise, every goal, every argument seemed to lead them to this exact spot.
Then, the conversation shifted to something they hadn't addressed all day.
"So," Callum said, sitting up and picking at a piece of confetti, "this is it, then. The band breaks up."
Ethan looked down at his boots. "It's not breaking up, Cal. I'm just moving."
"It's going to be strange," Mason said seriously. "Next season, looking for the pass and you not being there. Having to train Ryan to actually make a run." "He tries hard," Ethan smiled. "He's not you," Mason said simply.
"You guys will be fine," Ethan said, looking at them both with strong conviction. "You're the champions. You defended the title today. You showed you can win when it gets tough. West Brom is a big step. But I wouldn't be going there if it wasn't for you two pushing me every week."
"We did make you look good," Callum joked, though his eyes were glassy. "Don't forget us when you're playing at The Hawthorns, okay? We want tickets. VIP. None of that nosebleed section nonsense."
"Front row," Ethan promised. "Always."
Mason stood up, groaning slightly as his bruised legs protested. He offered his hand to Ethan, pulling him up, then did the same for Callum.
"Right," Mason said, picking up the trophy. "The sun's going down. Your mum is waiting by the car to take photos of you with this thing until you go blind."
"Let's go," Ethan said.
They walked toward the tunnel together, shoulders bumping, the silver trophy glinting between them. They were three boys from Crestwood who started with nothing but a ball and a dream. One was leaving, two were staying, but as they left the pitch for the last time as teammates, they knew that no matter where football took them, they would always be the boys who won the league.