The Exit from the Stadium
The sun had set, and the stadium floodlights were flickering off. The crowd spilled out of the concrete structure like a colony of ants returning to the nest. Whispers of admiration for "Number 13" still echoed in the cool evening air.
"Did you see that shot?"
"That trajectory was impossible..."
Belt changed quickly in the locker room, ignoring the stares of the other candidates. He wanted to flee. The noise, the people, the sudden attention—it was suffocating.
He pulled his hood up over his head and slipped out the back exit.
But he didn't make it two steps.
"Going somewhere, Emperor?"
Belt froze.
Quiena was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smug smile plastered on her face.
"Congratulations," she said, pushing off the wall. "You showed everyone the difference between a good player and a monster today."
Belt kept walking, his hands deep in his pockets.
"Don't celebrate yet. Nothing is decided."
"Oh, come on! You crushed it!"
"In a jungle, the tiger rests only when his reign is absolute," Belt replied coldly. "Until I see my name on that list, I haven't won anything."
"Perfect, Boss. Very dramatic. What's the next step?"
"I'm going home to sleep."
He tried to step around her, but Quiena grabbed his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
"No, no, no, Mister. Out of the question. As your self-proclaimed sports agent, I've planned your evening. You need calories. You need to eat."
Belt sighed, trying to shake her off.
"I don't have time for this. I have to—"
"You don't have a salary to pay me yet, so you pay me by listening!" she interrupted, pulling him toward the street. "Follow me. No arguments."
Chez Mama
They walked away from the noisy stadium district toward the city center. The streets became quieter, the neon lights softer. Quiena stopped in front of a discreet, narrow restaurant with a wooden sign: Chez Mama.
Inside, the atmosphere was soothing. The room was dim, lit almost entirely by the blue glow of a massive aquarium that spanned the length of one wall. Exotic fish drifted lazily through the water. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was perfect for Belt.
He relaxed his shoulders for the first time that day.
But as he walked down the hallway toward their table, he froze.
At the very back of the room, there was a small play area designated for children. Colorful mats, foam blocks... and a monster.
Sitting on a tiny, reinforced plastic chair that looked like it might explode under his weight was Morgking.
The Titan. The Vice-Captain. The terror of the high school defense.
But he wasn't looking terrifying.
He was making funny faces—puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes—playing peek-a-boo with two giggling babies who were ruthlessly pulling his ears.
"Goo-goo, ga-ga!" the giant cooed softly.
Morgking felt a presence. The predator instinct kicked in. He spun around.
He saw Belt. He saw Quiena.
The blood drained from the Titan's face, only to be replaced by a violent shade of red. He jumped up, his knee almost overturning the tiny table.
"Cousin?!" he stammered, looking at Quiena. "You didn't warn me you were bringing... this kid here!"
Belt couldn't help it. A sarcastic smirk cut across his face.
"Well, well. At least I know the Titan has a weak point: babies and plastic chairs."
Morgking growled, stepping forward, but Quiena stepped between them, laughing.
"Come on, stop fighting, you two big babies. Mama prepared the table. We eat together."
The Alliance
The meal began in an awkward silence. The only sounds were forks scraping against plates and the bubbling of the aquarium filter. The two "beasts" stared at each other across the table.
Quiena, unable to stand the tension, broke the ice.
"So, Belt... I have to know. How did you manage to copy Number 5's style so perfectly?"
Belt slowly lowered his fork.
"A predator must know how to adapt," he said simply. "I analyzed his movements, his rhythm, and I stole them. That's all."
Morgking stopped chewing. He looked at Belt with a new kind of seriousness.
"I don't know what to call that ability," the giant grumbled, "but it was scary. You shook the whole system today. But that's not what shocked me the most."
"What was it?" Quiena asked.
"The pass," Morgking said, pointing a thick finger at Belt. "You, the ultimate loner, you actually passed the ball. Twice."
Belt wiped his mouth with a napkin. His eyes were cold.
"Don't misunderstand. I intercepted the ball from my teammate because that idiot wasn't going to score. It was a dead end. I sent the ball where there was space, knowing a hyena—Number 8—would be hanging around there."
He leaned forward.
"It wasn't trust, Morgking. It was logic."
Morgking stared at him for a long second, then nodded slowly.
"Logic... I can work with that."
The meal ended. Morgking stood up, his Vice-Captain aura returning instantly. The "Uncle" from the play area was gone.
"Get up, 13. We need to talk. Outside."
The Pact
They stepped out into the back alley. The cool night air hit them, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the restaurant.
Morgking leaned over Belt, his shadow engulfing him. The threat was palpable.
"Listen to me carefully. What you saw inside with my nephews... stays between us. Understood?"
He cracked his knuckles.
"If you talk, I kill you. I have a reputation to maintain. I don't want people thinking the 'Wall of Krow City' is a teddy bear."
Belt didn't flinch. He looked the giant in the eye.
"I never talk for nothing. Your secret is safe with me."
Morgking relaxed visibly. He let out a breath and extended a massive fist.
"Good. It's always the biggest bears that end up playing with the mice..."
His expression turned serious again.
"Promise me one thing, kid. You are going to be selected."
"Why does it matter to you?" Belt asked.
"Because you and I... we are going to form a duo," Morgking declared. "The Wall and the Hammer. I defend the fortress, you destroy the enemy. Together, we will turn this championship upside down."
Belt looked at the giant's fist.
For the first time in his life, someone wasn't asking him to be "nice" or "social." Someone was offering him an alliance based on pure strength. No hypocrisy. Just power.
Belt raised his hand and bumped his fist against Morgking's.
"Deal."
The Wait
The following two weeks were an eternity.
Belt tried to retreat into his solitude, but his defense mechanisms were failing against one specific intruder: Quiena.
She tagged along everywhere.
She waited for him after school. She walked him to the training grounds. She even dragged him to the crowded shopping mall to buy a birthday gift for his mother.
"Smile a little!" she would say, introducing him to her own family members they bumped into. "This is Belt! The future prodigy I told you about!"
Belt endured it, silent and stoic, carrying the shopping bags. He complained, rolling his eyes, but deep down—in a place he wouldn't admit existed—he didn't totally hate this new presence. The silence of his life was becoming a little less heavy.
Judgment Day
Finally, the day arrived.
The main hall of the high school was boiling with noise. Hundreds of students were crowded around the student mailboxes.
The air smelled of sweat and anxiety.
Cries of joy erupted from some corners, while others collapsed in tears of disappointment.
Belt walked through the crowd, his heart beating a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs. He reached his locker.
Inside, a single white envelope was waiting for him.
It bore the official red wax seal of the Krow City Football Academy.
Around him, familiar faces were celebrating.
"I got in! Yes!" yelled Nans Hamen (Number 4), jumping on a bench.
"Me too!" confirmed Snick Kans (Number 8), high-fiving him. "The midfield is ours!"
Even the quiet defender, Number 6, raised his arms to the sky in silent victory.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over Belt.
He turned to see Number 5.
His rival was holding an open letter. He was grinning—a nasty, predatory smile.
"Perfect," Number 5 hissed. "I'm in."
He stepped closer, invading Belt's personal space.
"Since you like to cheat and steal my style, let's see if you can beat me now that we are on the same team. Prepare for hell, Number 13. Training hasn't even started yet."
Number 5 walked away laughing.
All eyes turned to Belt. He was the only one of the "survivors" who hadn't opened his mail yet. The hallway went quiet.
Quiena came running through the crowd, breathless, her hair messy.
"So?! Belt! Don't just stand there! What does it say?"
Belt held the envelope in his hand. The paper felt heavy.
His hands were steady, but his pulse was deafening in his ears.
He tore the paper strip. Rip.
He pulled out the sheet.
His eyes scanned the lines.
He froze.