Kai Rivers didn't walk out of the tunnel for the second half.
He marched.
He had changed his jersey. The white kit with the muddy cleat-print on the shoulder was gone, replaced by a fresh, pristine uniform. Even his socks looked new.
He stood in the center circle. He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at the referee.
He stared directly at Soccer.
"Clean," Kai whispered, adjusting his captain's armband. "And it will stay clean."
Coach Cross sensed it from the bench. He stood up, abandoning his usual slouch.
"Tighten the lines!" Cross screamed, cupping his hands. "He's not playing for the team anymore. He's playing for his ego!"
Luna looked at her tablet. "Coach, when Kai plays for his ego... his goal conversion rate goes up by 200%."
"I know." Cross grit his teeth. "That's why I'm terrified."
Second Half Kickoff
The whistle blew.
Kai tapped the ball to his striker, then demanded it back immediately.
He got it.
"Form the cage!" Marcus shouted, waving his teammates forward. "Do not let him accelerate!"
Three Northwood players converged. The Cage tactic that worked on Tech High.
Kai didn't accelerate.
He stopped moving entirely.
He stood perfectly still, the ball motionless at his feet, surrounded by three charging players.
One second. Two seconds.
When they were within tackling range—when their studs were inches away—Kai flicked his ankle.
The Golden Flash.
It was faster than thought.
Kai performed an Elastico—a flip-flap move, nudging the ball out and snapping it back in—passing between the first defender's open legs.
In the same motion, he pirouetted 360 degrees, shielding the ball from the second defender, and used his trailing leg to roll the ball backward to escape the third.
Three distinct motions. Performed in one heartbeat.
The Northwood defenders crashed into each other like clowns in a circus act.
Kai walked away with the ball. He hadn't broken a sweat.
"Don't look at the ball," Kai said calmly as he passed the crumpled pile of Northwood players. "Look at the scoreboard."
He advanced.
Elijah Storm came in, desperate. "Not on my watch!"
Elijah slid. A heavy, commit-to-kill tackle.
Kai didn't jump.
He just... stepped.
He took a tiny, effortless step to the right. Elijah slid past him into empty grass.
Kai looked at Elijah with genuine pity.
"Wasted effort," Kai noted.
He was twenty-five yards out.
The Crowd chanted: SHOOT! SHOOT! SHOOT!
Kai pulled his leg back. His form was textbook. Beautiful. The lean of the body, the placement of the standing foot. It belonged in a museum.
Dylan saw it coming. He tensed, ready to dive to the corner.
Kai struck the ball.
But he cut across it.
The ball screamed toward the right corner. Dylan launched himself. He was going to save it.
Then the spin caught.
The ball violently swerved mid-air, bending ten feet to the left.
The Reverse Curl.
Dylan was in mid-air, fully extended to the right, helpless as he watched the ball drift leisurely into the left side of the net.
SWISH.
Royal Vanguard: 3 - Northwood: 1
Kai didn't celebrate. He turned around and walked back to the center line.
"Three," Kai announced to the stadium, holding up three fingers.
He looked at Soccer.
"I fix mistakes quickly, Savage. Now the balance is restored."
Northwood Huddle
The team was shell-shocked.
Dylan lay face down on the goal line. "It curved... it curved the wrong way. That's illegal. Physics says that's illegal."
Marcus grabbed his knees, wheezing. "He's too technical. He makes us look like toddlers."
Soccer walked into the huddle. He looked... annoyed.
Not scared. Annoyed.
"He's acting like a teacher," Soccer huffed. "Class is in session? Wasted effort? He talks too much."
"Soccer, he just tore us apart," Marcus said, wiping dirt from his face.
"He danced," Soccer corrected. "It was a nice dance. Very pretty."
Soccer grabbed the ball from the net.
He looked at the fresh white jersey Kai was wearing. The symbol of untouched perfection.
"Mountains don't dance," Soccer muttered. "They crash."
Minute 60. 3-1 Vanguard.
Northwood possession.
Or, it was supposed to be.
Every time they tried to pass, a Vanguard player intercepted it. Kai's order—"Exterminate"—was still in effect. Vanguard played like a machine. Perfect spacing. Perfect pressing.
Soccer hadn't touched the ball in ten minutes.
He was stuck on an island, watching his team drown.
I need the ball.
Soccer stopped running forward. He dropped deep. Way deep. He ran all the way back to his own penalty box.
"Give it!" Soccer screamed at Dylan.
Dylan blinked. "What? You're a striker!"
"Give me the rock!"
Dylan rolled the ball to Soccer.
Soccer was eighty yards from the goal. Between him and the net were ten Royal Vanguard players. And Kai Rivers.
"Solo run?" Kai laughed from the midfield. "From your own box? arrogant."
Soccer didn't answer. He turned.
He didn't sprint.
He started hopping.
Left foot. Right foot. Like he was skipping rope.
"What is he doing?" Luna whispered.
"Finding the rhythm," Coach Cross said, leaning forward. "The turf creates vibration. He's syncing."
Soccer accelerated.
First midfielder: High press.
Soccer didn't juke. He just changed gears. From zero to maximum in one stride. He blew past the midfielder before the guy even shifted his weight.
The Lightning Shift.
Second midfielder.
He angled his body to force Soccer left.
Soccer ran right, straight toward the sideline. He ran out of room. The white line was inches away.
"Trapped!" the midfielder shouted, closing the gate.
Soccer stepped on the ball with his right foot, using it as a pivot, and swung his entire body around the defender, his left foot hovering over the out-of-bounds line by a millimeter.
The Cliff-Edge Tightrope.
He spun back onto the field.
Two down.
He reached midfield.
The crowd began to buzz. It started as a murmur and grew into a roar. One kid. Eighty yards to go.
Three Vanguard defenders formed a wall.
"Break it!" Kai ordered them.
They stood firm. Shoulders locked.
Soccer saw the wall.
No way around. No way through.
He chipped the ball.
Not over them.
He chipped it against the chest of the middle defender.
THUMP.
The ball bounced off the defender's chest, ricocheting back toward Soccer.
The defenders froze, confused by the rebounding ball.
Soccer ran onto the rebound and volleyed it—mid-air—over their heads.
He ducked under their arms and caught the ball on his thigh on the other side.
"He's playing wall-ball with human beings!" the announcer screamed.
Soccer was thirty yards out.
Only the center backs left. And Kai, who was sprinting back, a look of fury shattering his calm face.
"You are NOT scoring!" Kai roared.
Kai was fast. Perfect-sprint-form fast. He caught up to Soccer at the edge of the box.
This was it.
The Perfect Shield vs. The Unstoppable Spear.
Kai reached out. He didn't tackle. He clamped his hand onto Soccer's shoulder.
He pulled.
It was subtle, but at that speed, a pull throws off balance.
Soccer felt the tug. He felt his center of gravity shifting back. He was going to fall.
On the mountain, when you slip...
You don't fight the fall.
You fall faster.
Soccer let his knees buckle. He dropped.
Kai, expecting resistance, stumbled forward as the weight he was pulling suddenly vanished.
Soccer slid on the grass. He was no longer running. He was a sled.
But the ball was still moving forward.
Soccer, sliding on his back, lashed his leg out.
He hooked the ball with his heel.
The Scorpion Drag.
He pulled the ball back towards himself while sliding, forcing Kai to overrun it.
Kai stepped right past the ball.
Soccer rolled onto his stomach, scrambled up on all fours like a wolf, and head-butted the ball forward.
He was one-on-one with the keeper.
"SHOOT!" Marcus screamed from sixty yards away.
Soccer didn't have the angle. He was stumbling, off-balance.
He fell forward.
As he fell, he swung his right leg in a desperate scything motion.
His laces connected.
It wasn't a clean shot. It was dirty. It was scuffed. It took a chunk of turf with it.
The ball wobbled. It dipped. It looked ugly.
The keeper, trained to stop clean shots, dove for the corner.
The ugly, scuffed ball hit a divot, bounced weirdly, and hopped over the keeper's hand.
It trundled into the net. Slow. Painful. Inevitable.
GOAL.
Royal Vanguard: 3 - Northwood: 2.
The stadium erupted.
Soccer lay face down on the penalty spot, breathing in the smell of rubber pellets and sweat.
A shadow fell over him.
Kai Rivers stood there.
Kai wasn't adjusting his armband. He wasn't fixing his hair.
He was staring at the goal.
"That," Kai whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and... something else. Confusion? "That was the ugliest goal I have ever seen."
Soccer pushed himself up. He was covered in black rubber beads. There was grass in his hair. He looked like a swamp creature.
He grinned.
"A rock hitting a head is ugly," Soccer rasped. "But it still hurts."
He stood up and looked Kai in the eye.
"You can calculate physics, Calculator. But you can't calculate a bad bounce."
Minute 75.
The momentum had shifted.
3-2.
The Vanguard team felt it. The Machine had a glitch.
Kai Rivers wasn't leading anymore. He was screaming.
"Move up! Press him! Don't let him turn!"
Kai had lost his cool.
Coach Cross saw it. "He's rattled. Perfection hates mess. And Soccer is making this game messy."
Luna checked the weather app.
"Coach," she said quietly. "Look at the radar."
Cross looked up.
Above the stadium lights, clouds were gathering. Heavy. Dark. They blocked out the stars.
The air pressure dropped.
"Rain," Cross whispered. "Rain is coming."
He looked at Soccer.
Soccer was sniffing the air. He flared his nostrils.
On the field, Soccer turned to Marcus.
"Captain," Soccer said. "Can you feel it?"
"Feel what?" Marcus asked, limping.
"The air is getting wet." Soccer's eyes widened. "The ground is going to change."
Minute 80.
The first drop hit the camera lens of the broadcast crew.
Plip.
Then another.
Plop.
Then the sky opened.
It wasn't a shower. It was a deluge. A sheet of water fell from the sky, instantly soaking the players, slicking the expensive turf, turning the perfect field into a slip-and-slide.
The Vanguard players stumbled. Their perfectly calibrated sensors couldn't adjust to the sudden lack of friction.
Kai Rivers slipped while trying a cutback. He recovered, but for a second, he looked human.
Soccer?
Soccer looked up at the rain. He opened his mouth and drank a drop.
He started laughing.
"Coach!" Soccer yelled to the sideline. "It's a home game now!"
On the mountain, rain meant the rocks were slippery. It meant death was closer.
But for Soccer?
Rain meant speed.
He accelerated. He was faster in the rain. He didn't lose traction because he knew how to slide. He leaned into turns like a speed skater.
The Storm King Awakens.
Royal Vanguard was built for perfect conditions. Northwood? Northwood was built of rust and grit.
"ATTACK!" Marcus shouted, his pain forgotten in the adrenaline.
The Northwood team surged forward.
Vanguard couldn't hold the ball. It was too slick. It slipped off their toes.
Kai got the ball near midfield. He tried to shield it.
Soccer came in.
"You're slipping!" Soccer teased.
"Shut up!" Kai growled. He tried to pass, but his support foot slid on the wet turf.
The pass was weak.
Soccer intercepted.
Ten minutes left. 3-2.
Soccer drove toward the goal. The rain lashed against his face, blinding him.
I know the way.
He cut inside. A defender tried to tackle.
Soccer jumped onto the slick surface, sliding on his shins past the tackle, standing up in one fluid motion.
He was in the Zone. The Assassin's Zone.
But Kai wasn't done.
Kai chased him down. Soaked, furious, hair undone, the Golden King refused to abdicate.
"I will bury you!" Kai screamed.
He tackled.
Not a calculated tackle. A desperate, two-footed lunge from behind.
Inside the penalty box.
It was reckless. It was dangerous.
Soccer felt the impact coming.
On the mountain, when a boulder falls... you don't stop it.
Let it hit.
Kai's cleats slammed into Soccer's ankle.
CRUNCH.
The sound sickened the crowd even over the noise of the rain.
Soccer flew into the air. He hit the muddy ground and slid into the net, tangled in the mesh.
The whistle shrieked. Long. Sharp. Angry.
PENALTY.
And in the referee's hand...
RED CARD.
Kai Rivers stood up from the mud. His white jersey was destroyed. He was soaked.
He stared at the red card.
"No," Kai whispered. "That was... I got the ball. I got the ball!"
"You got the player," the referee said, pointing to the tunnel. "Get off."
The stadium was in shock. The Golden King. Ejected.
Kai looked at the tunnel. Then he looked at the net.
Soccer wasn't moving.
He was tangled in the goal mesh, clutching his ankle. The same ankle. The black Copa Mundial was twisted.
"Soccer!" Marcus sprinted over.
Luna was already running onto the field, splashing through puddles.
Coach Cross held his breath.
Kai didn't leave the field immediately. He walked over to the goal.
He looked down at Soccer.
"Get up," Kai hissed. "Don't you dare win because I got sent off. Get up and take the penalty."
Soccer uncurled. He grimaced. He wiped mud from his eyes.
He looked at his ankle. It throbbed. A hot, searing pulse.
"You hit hard," Soccer whispered. "Like a boar."
He grabbed the net and pulled himself up. He wobbled. He put weight on the left foot. He hissed.
"He can't kick," Dylan said, looking at the swollen ankle. "He can't take it."
"I take it," Marcus said, stepping forward. "I'm the captain."
Soccer grabbed the ball.
He held it tight. He limped to the penalty spot.
He placed the ball down on the wet grass.
"No," Soccer said. He looked at Kai, who was being dragged away by his own teammates.
"You wanted to break me," Soccer yelled at Kai.
Kai stopped struggling. He looked back.
Soccer stood on one leg. The other hovered, trembling.
"You can break the rock," Soccer said, backing up three steps. "But you can't kill the mountain."
He signaled the ref.
Kai watched from the sideline tunnel.
Soccer couldn't plant his left foot. It was hurt.
So... he didn't.
He started his run-up.
He hopped.
He approached the ball.
He jumped into the air, initiating a somersault.
He wasn't going to kick it normally. He couldn't generate torque on the bad ankle.
So he used centrifugal force.
The Vertical Scissor Cannon.
He flipped in the air, bringing his good leg down on the ball with the force of a falling axe.
BOOM.
The ball screamed. It flew straight down the middle.
The Vanguard keeper dove left.
The ball tore into the roof of the net.
GOAL.
Northwood: 3 - Royal Vanguard: 3.
Soccer landed on his side in the mud. He didn't get up this time.
But the scoreboard changed.
The clock showed: 88:00.
The game was tied. The King was gone.
And the Assassin was down.