With Julian's stamina blazing back to its peak, there was no hesitation.
He moved. Everywhere.
Midfield, striker, even sliding back into defense—his presence bled across every blade of grass.
To San Dimas, it was as if a second sun had risen on the pitch, burning them wherever they turned.
[Rule The Pitch – Lv.2: +30 To All Attributes]
He kept the skill burning, ignoring the toll. Every tendon, every muscle screamed—but Julian roared louder inside.
He would not let go.
Not here.
Not now.
The clock ticked past 85 minutes. Fifteen remained in this war, maybe less if fate cut short.
Lincoln's fans surged in voice, chants crashing like thunder against San Dimas's golden wave.
The scouts scribbled furiously, eyes wide as they followed Julian's trail.
He intercepted Elijah's pass at midfield—then a blink later, he was sprinting forward, combining with Noah.
When Victor tried to counter, Julian dropped deep, body slamming the lane shut, forcing him wide.
