The locker room was terrifyingly silent, with only occasional sobs echoing in the air.
Savić sat slumped on a bench in the corner, his face buried in a towel.
Suárez held his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly. Trejo leaned against the wall, his eyes staring blankly at the light tubes on the ceiling.
Lu Chuan leaned against a locker, his tightly clenched fists causing his nails to dig deeply into the flesh of his palms.
His chest heaved violently, each breath like a struggle against fate.
The crossbar. That damned crossbar.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Paco Jémez pushed open the door.
There was no anger on his face, no accusation, only a deep calm. This calm was more heartbreaking than any roar.
Paco looked around at everyone in the locker room, then spoke slowly and firmly.
"Heads up, everyone."
No one moved.
"I'll say it again, heads up, look at your brothers beside you."
Savić was the first to pull away his towel, his eyes red AS he looked at the coach.
The others gradually raised their heads, their eyes filled with disappointment and pain.
"We lost," Paco's voice was soft, AS if speaking to each person's heart, "We couldn't make it to the final stage."
Trejo's Adam's apple bobbed.
"But what did I see?" Paco slowly walked to the center of the team.
"I saw a group of warriors. I saw brave men who fought from the first minute to the last second."
He pointed at Lu Chuan, "Did you see? In the ninety-third minute, he was still giving his all to win that header."
"Did you see?" Paco turned to the others, "Dimitrievski rushed into the opponent's box for that last chance."
The sobbing in the locker room gradually stopped.
"Tonight, you can cry. You can feel unwilling. You can hate that crossbar."
Paco's voice began to gain strength, "But tomorrow, when the sun rises, what I need to see is a pack of hungry wolves ready for revenge in the League."
Comesaña wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"Our war is not over. There are still eleven rounds in the League. The dream of promotion is still in our hands."
Lu Chuan finally straightened up, looking at Paco's resolute gaze.
"Remember tonight's pain. Remember that crossbar." Paco clapped his hands, "Turn them all into strength, into the motivation for us to charge into La Liga."
The clamor of reporters came from outside the door. Flashbulbs flickered through the crack in the door, like stars in the night sky.
"I'll go." Lu Chuan stood up and adjusted his jersey.
"Lu Chuan..." Paco wanted to say something.
"Coach, this is my responsibility." Lu Chuan's voice was calm, "The captain should bear everything."
Óscar was stunned and tried to get up.
"Óscar, you've done enough." Lu Chuan shook his head at him, "Let me."
Pushing open the locker room door, Lu Chuan walked alone towards the waiting crowd of reporters.
Flashbulbs instantly surrounded him, and countless microphones extended towards his face.
"Lu Chuan, how do you view this defeat?"
"If that last header had been a little lower..."
"Do you think Rayo Vallecano gave their all?"
Lu Chuan took a deep breath and looked directly into the camera.
"That last ball, it was my problem."
The reporters fell silent.
"If I could have handled it a little better, if my header had been slightly lower..." Lu Chuan's voice choked, "We were so close to the final."
"But this is no one's fault. Football is just that cruel." He paused.
"I'm sorry to everyone who supported us. I'm sorry to the fans who cheered from the first minute to the last."
A reporter raised a hand, "You still have the League..."
"Yes." Lu Chuan's eyes became sharp again, "We will unleash all of tonight's unwillingness in the League. This pain will become our strength."
The next day's Marca front page headline read: "A King Defeated, Yet Glorious."
The article stated: Rayo Vallecano and Lu Chuan showed us what true warrior spirit is.
They made no excuses in the face of defeat, nor did they shirk responsibility. Such a team and player deserve everyone's respect.
AS's comment was even more direct: Rayo Vallecano is the most respected loser of the Copa del Rey. Although Lu Chuan did not advance, he is already a king in our hearts.
Late at night, Lu Chuan returned to his apartment, his body exhausted.
The sound of the key turning in the lock echoed particularly clearly in the hallway. The moment he pushed open the door, he saw a figure waiting quietly on the sofa.
Esther was not wearing makeup, dressed in simple loungewear, her hair a bit messy. Clearly, she had been waiting for a long time.
Seeing Lu Chuan's tired and dejected expression, Esther asked nothing and said nothing.
She simply stood up and slowly walked towards him.
Then, she gave him a full-strength hug.
Lu Chuan's body stiffened instantly, then slowly relaxed. His nerves, which had been taut all night, finally found release, and he buried his head deeply in Esther's shoulder.
This man, who had faced the whole world on the football field, for the first time showed a childlike vulnerability in front of a girl.
Esther felt the dampness on her shoulder and gently stroked his back. Her palm was warm, carrying a healing power.
"It's okay, it's all over." Her voice was AS light AS a feather, "I'm here."
That night, they didn't talk about football.
Esther watched a comedy movie with Lu Chuan that she had found randomly online.
The movie was boring, the lines were cliché, but Lu Chuan occasionally chuckled at some silly scenes.
Esther busied herself in the kitchen for a long time, bringing out a bowl of slightly overcooked noodles and a few not-so-successful fried eggs.
"It might not taste very good." She was a little embarrassed.
"It smells delicious." Lu Chuan said seriously, eating the noodles bite by bite.
This silent companionship was more powerful than any eloquent words of comfort.
Early the next morning, Lu Chuan was awakened from his light sleep by his phone ringing.
Caller ID: Dad.
"Hello?"
"Son, are you okay?" His father's voice was filled with concern.
"I'm fine."
"Don't be sad, you've already done wonderfully. Dad is proud of you."
His father's words were simple, yet carried the most unpretentious strength, "Losing one game is nothing. Life's journey is still long."
"I know."
"Your mom cried last night. Not because you lost, but because her heart ached for you."
Lu Chuan's eyes were a little moist.
"Rest well, train well. We're waiting for your good news."
After hanging up the phone, Lu Chuan walked to the wall and looked at the "12 consecutive kills" schedule he had drawn himself.
In the Copa del Rey column, he heavily drew a red cross.
But in the League column, there was still a long string of blanks waiting for him to fill.
His eyes became sharp again, like a steel knife newly forged in fire.
In his mind, the familiar system prompt sounded:
[Ding! Detected that the host has experienced a major setback but his will has not been destroyed, mental attribute "Resilience" +2.]
The system's affirmation seemed to tell him: A true strong person is not one who never fails, but one who can still stand up after failure.
On the first day the team reassembled, the atmosphere on the training ground was a bit somber.
But under the leadership of Paco and Óscar, everyone began to shift their attention to the League. After all, the hope of promotion still existed, and the flame of the dream was still burning.
Lu Chuan trained with more dedication than anyone else.
Every shot, every run, every pass, carried an almost obsessive focus.
Esther stood in the coffee shop by the training ground, watching Lu Chuan giving his all through the glass window.
She walked over to him, smiling AS she spoke.
"When you feel frustrated, maybe you should do something that proves your worth."
Lu Chuan stopped and looked at her.
"Like..." Esther blinked, "How about signing that unprecedented endorsement contract from your home country?"