Julian remembered clearly how Riverside played the last time.
Midfield domination. Their engine, their rhythm, their crushing weight all came from the center.
But this time—he wasn't a striker waiting up front. He was in the middle, in the fire.
And he believed.
With Ricky and Felix beside him, they could break Riverside's spine.
The ball moved across Riverside's backline. Calm. Patient. Like they were daring Lincoln to step forward, trying to bait them in, to open gaps in the press.
Even the sound of their passes carried arrogance—flat, crisp thuds echoing sharp against the frozen turf.
It was a language of control. Each touch, each shift of hips said the same thing: "We run this."
Noah surged first, pressing hard on the center-back.
The defender didn't panic—one touch, then a clean pass down into midfield.
Straight to Damian.
