Studs met leather.
The ball ripped forward, venomous, screaming toward goal.
Cael lunged—arms out—
STRECHHHHH!
The ball stuck in his gloves. Safe.
But the moment he landed, the silence that followed wasn't relief. It was shock. Gasps tore from the stands as red streaks blossomed above his eyebrow.
The blood ran quick, hot, spilling into his eye, dripping across his cheek before staining the turf below.
Prittttt!
The referee's whistle cut through the chaos.
Dante Cruz smirked, turning his back, ready to walk away—
BANGGG!
A fist cracked across his jaw.
Leo's fist.
The stadium froze.
Leo stood there, face calm, not even angry—like he had delivered judgment.
It wasn't wild. It wasn't reckless. It was measured, deliberate—like a judge's gavel striking down.
But East Valley exploded.
Red and black jerseys swarmed, shoving, clawing, bodies crashing into Lincoln's players. Chaos erupted, a riot waiting to ignite.
[Martial Memory – Active Mode: 10 Seconds]
Julian chose.
