The stadium lights burned bright, casting a silver glow across the pitch. The halftime whistle had only just faded, but the Rising Stars' locker room was alive with heavy breathing, sweat, and the rumble of determination.
Jason stood in front of the team board, his sharp eyes scanning his young players. "We lead by a goal, thanks to Blaze," he began, his voice calm but edged with steel. "But this match isn't won yet. Remember—back-to-back losses and we're tumbling down the table. We can't let that happen."
Blaze sat quietly on the bench, his jersey clinging to his damp skin, chest heaving from the furious first half. He'd scored once—an opener with his improvised move—but Jason's words reminded him: one flash of brilliance wouldn't be enough.
