The noise inside the Eternal Era Dome was suffocating. The Rising Stars were a goal down, and the clock ticked into the 72nd minute. Their midfield looked ragged, attacks were stalling, and frustration bled through the crowd like smoke. Every time Eternal Era pushed forward, the opposing defenders—sharp, disciplined, merciless—snuffed out the play before it could spark.
Jason stood at the edge of the touchline, jaw locked, arms crossed. His eyes scanned the pitch like a battlefield commander, and what he saw only deepened the crease in his forehead. His formation had failed to create penetration, and their lone striker had looked isolated since the second half began.
Then came the shout.
From somewhere deep in the east stands, a fan bellowed, voice raw:"Put the new kid in! We need a real striker!"
Others joined in. A chant grew, spreading like wildfire through the Dome."Dante! Dante! Dante!"
