A dead ball.
The referee marched San Dimas back, arms spread wide as he pointed to the spot for the wall. Golden jerseys shuffled, forming their barrier, shoulders locked, eyes narrowed.
Julian and Leo stood over the ball, breath mingling in the night air.
" So we shoot it?" Riku jogged up, voice edged with urgency.
"Too far," Noah said, glancing from the ball to the wall, then to Malik waiting in the net like a coiled hawk. "Can either of you really manage that?"
Leo tilted his head toward Julian, golden hue faint but still burning.
"How about you?"
Julian pressed his tongue against his teeth, eyes narrowing at the distance. Thirty yards. Not impossible—but against Malik? Against that wall? It was like aiming at a fortress.
"I can manage… maybe." His voice was steady, but doubt curled at the edges. "But I don't know if it'll break through."
He raised an eyebrow at Leo, as if to say, you trust me with this?
