Prittttttt!
The referee's whistle cut through the winter air.
The war was over.
Lincoln High 1 – Riverside 0.
Julian straightened, chest still burning from the battle, sweat dripping into his eyes. Across from him, Silas Malik approached with that calm aura that never seemed to fade, even in defeat.
"Looks like I lose once again," Silas said quietly, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the sting.
Julian studied him for a long second, then extended his hand. His grip was firm, not mocking, not gloating—just respect carved into the moment.
"Don't be like that. We'll meet again, in the future. Maybe by then we'll both be professionals."
For the first time that night, Silas's lips curved into something like a smile.
"Yeah… I believe you'll be big in the future. So—" his tone shifted, half-teasing, half-serious, "give me the shirt."
