The final whistle still hung in the air when the world forgot how to move.
For three full seconds, there was only rain—soft, endless—and the sound of breath.
Then the explosion came.
"HSV! HSV! HSV!"
The chant rolled like thunder through the soaked night, bouncing off steel beams and trembling banners.
Players collapsed where they stood. Some laughed. Some wept. Some simply dropped to their knees, heads tilted to the sky as if trying to breathe the moment in.
The air itself shook—every heartbeat syncing to the rhythm of victory.
Julian stood at the center of it all, drenched and silent.
Rainwater streamed down his hair, tracing along the sharp lines of his jaw. His chest rose and fell in calm, deliberate rhythm—each inhale measured, each exhale steady.
But his gaze wasn't on the scoreboard.
Not on the crowd.
Somewhere inward.
Deeper.
Listening to the hum beneath his skin.
A faint chime echoed in his mind.
[ MATCH PERFORMANCE RATING: 21 ]
