Darkness gave way to antiseptic white as Mahmoud's eyes fluttered open. A steady beep marked his pulse, and the soft hiss of an oxygen mask greeted his ears. He lay on a narrow cot in the academy's medical bay, sheets pulled up to his chest. His first thought was confusion, swiftly replaced by relief: he hadn't broken his ankle again.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder. Kareem knelt beside him, eyes ringed with exhaustion and worry. "How do you feel?" Kareem whispered, as if afraid to crack the silence.
Mahmoud flexed his toes—no pain beyond the usual ache of exertion. "Tired," he croaked, voice raspy from days without speaking. "But okay."
Across the room, Lina stood watch, arms folded over her chest. Her familiar intensity softened as Mahmoud blinked at her. "Our kapitan," she teased, though her smile betrayed relief.
Heat crept up Mahmoud's neck. He tried to sit up, but a gentle pressure held him down. A nurse slipped into view, clipboard in hand. "Easy there. You fainted from exhaustion," she explained. "Your vitals are stable now. We just want you to rest a few more hours."
Mahmoud closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. He had collapsed celebrating that last goal, unaware of how close he'd come to physical breakdown. Now, surrounded by friends, he realized victory could mean survival as much as triumph.
The door opened to reveal Coach Muneer, his expression unreadable but soft around the eyes. He approached quietly, hands clasped behind his back. "You gave everything on that pitch," he said. "Everything." He paused, measuring each word. "Tonight, you reminded the scouts why they came. But more importantly, you reminded your teammates why they follow you."
Mahmoud managed a nod. The sleep deprivation, the running, the matches, the recoil of fear at that final tackle—everything had distilled into this moment of stillness.
Coach rested a firm hand on Mahmoud's shoulder. "Recovery is part of the game. Tomorrow, light therapy. Then we'll see how you feel." His eyes flicked to Kareem and Lina. "No one else goes to training until he's cleared."
As Coach left, Lina knelt down and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Mahmoud's ear. "You scared us," she confessed. "But seeing you strike that volley—nothing will ever scare you again."
A tremor of pride warmed Mahmoud's chest. "We did it together," he whispered.
Outside, the rain began again—a gentle patter against the window. It sounded like applause. Mahmoud let his gaze wander to the glass, remembering the floodlit pitch, the roar of the crowd, the pressure pressing him to his last ounce of strength.
**VALYS**'s familiar prompt echoed softly in his mind: *Physical integrity secured. Mental resilience confirmed. Collective cohesion elevated. Next phase: strategic detailing and controlled reintegration.*
He allowed himself a small smile. The match had been more than a win; it was proof that the team could rise under any storm. Even his ankle, once the source of doubt, had held firm.
The nurse checked his IV drip. "Just a few more hours," she reiterated kindly. Kareem squeezed Mahmoud's hand and left quietly. Lina stayed until the door closed behind her, then placed a folded piece of paper on the bedside table.
Mahmoud unfolded it to find a simple diagram: midfield rotation patterns, spaces to exploit, markers to track—Lina's personal notes from their post-match analysis. In the margin, she'd written: *"For when you open your eyes."*
Tears stung his vision, not from pain but from gratitude. Every member of this team carried part of his weight, just as he carried theirs. This was no longer his journey alone.
He drifted back toward sleep, mind racing with strategy and hope. Tomorrow would bring aches and more scans and cautious sprints. But the path ahead felt clearer than ever. He would wake stronger, ready to train smarter, to recover faster, and to lead not just with his skill but with his resilience.
And when the floodlights called again, he would meet them—whole, united, and unbreakable.
End of Chapter 29