The noise of the crowd faded as Bram and his teammates stepped out into the open hall. The wide corridor buzzed with life—students chatting in small groups, others hurrying to grab food before the second half began. Along the walls stood rows of vending machines, tall and sleek, their glass panels glowing faintly to show the food inside. Each hummed with a steady mechanical rhythm, screens flashing menus as students tapped their Cerebrox band against the scanners.
A group of students stood nearby, laughing as they ordered without care—skewered meat, steaming dumplings, even bottles of sparkling fruit drink. They didn't even glance at their balances, swiping and collecting trays as if points meant nothing. Farther down the row, a thinner boy stared at the menu for a long time before finally tapping for a single bread roll. He clutched it tight as if it had cost him half his fortune.
Felix nudged Bram with his elbow. "Popcorn?"
He pressed his Cerebrox band against the scanner. The screen flickered, bringing up glowing images—roasted nuts, skewered meat, sweet bread, and a big bag of popcorn. Felix tapped the symbol, and the machine whirred before dropping a warm packet into the tray.
"See? Easy," Felix said, already chewing.
Bram raised his own Cerebrox band to the scanner. His balance flashed: 124 Points. Points were the academy's lifeblood—earned through lessons, drills, or small challenges.
He tapped for the smallest order. The number dropped, and a bag slid into his hand. The kernels were hot to the touch, coated in butter with a faint spice.
He took a bite. Sweet and salty at once. Better than anything he'd eaten all week.
"Careful," Daren laughed. "Snacks like this feel cheap, but points vanish fast. Fail a class or skip training, and you won't earn them back."
Bram smiled faintly, licking the salt from his fingers. For a brief moment, the pressure of matches and training felt far away.
Percy and the other teammates all bought their own as they all walk back to get ready for second half.
"Careful, though," Percy said, chewing slowly. "Second half's starting soon. Bet they'll crank it up."
Daren licked salt from his fingers. "Good. I want more chaos."
The whistle blew sharp from the pitch. Players jogged back out, tying hair, slapping cheeks, bouncing on their toes. The crowd leaned forward again, the stands tilting toward the fire below.
Bram straightened, tucking the last of the laughter away. His eyes found the ball. His chest tightened—not heavy, but alive.
Second half.
Whistle. Second half.
The girls moved sharper now. Quicker touches, faster runs. The rhythm pulled the crowd in.
One winger broke down the side, legs pumping, hair flying. A defender closed, shoulder pressed. She didn't slow. She cut inside with a snap of her boot, slipped between two, and the stands roared.
The cross came fast, low, skipping off the grass. The striker darted in—one touch—smack!
The ball slammed past the keeper, nestling into the bottom corner.
For a heartbeat, the stadium went utterly silent, then
Goooal.
B1. 1-0 C1
The dome shook with cheers.
Daren jumped to his feet, hands on his head. "Did you see that?!"Jory groaned, Percy chuckled, calm. "Relax. Learn something." Callen whistled low. "Clean. No hesitation."
Bram leaned back in his seat, a slow grin on his face. His chest felt light, freer than usual. He tapped his knees in rhythm with the chants, eyes still on the pitch.
He laughed suddenly, shaking his head. "Look at us," he said. "All serious, like we're studying for exams. Can't you just enjoy it?"
The others glanced at him. Daren blinked, then snorted. Jory sighed. Percy smiled faintly.
And for a moment, even with the fire on the pitch, their little corner of the stands felt lighter.
The game kept flowing. Fast. Messy. Alive.
Another attack. The winger cut inside, took a strike—wide. The crowd groaned. The keeper waved her arms, shouting orders.
B-7's boys leaned forward, all caught in it. Daren: "She should've passed." Jory: "She should've scored." Percy: "She dared. That's enough." Bram just chuckled, shaking his head. "You all sound like old men already."
Minutes slipped. The pitch was fire. Tackles sharp. Boots clashing. Jerseys tugging.
The second goal almost came—a looping header. Crossbar rattled. The whole crowd screamed.
Final stretch. The girls pressed higher, hungry. The defenders fought back, sliding, blocking, throwing bodies in.
Whistle. Game over.
Scoreboard: B1W– 1 | C1W – 0
Cheers erupted. Flags waved. Teammates hugged, collapsing on the grass.
The boys clapped too, even Jory, though he muttered, "Still stressed me out."
Daren laughed, loud and wild. "If this is the girls, I'm not missing a single game." Percy smiled faint. "Good fire." Felix gave a short nod, arms crossed. "They earned it."
Bram stretched, arms behind his head, eyes still on the pitch. His grin was easy, almost careless. "See? Worth the snacks and the noise."
The dome slowly emptied, voices still buzzing. The boys stood, gathering themselves. Jory grumbled about his legs going numb. Daren tried to mimic the striker's goal, almost tripping on the steps. Percy just shook his head.
Bram followed last, humming under his breath, the picture of the game replaying in his mind. Not heavy. Not brooding. Just free.
Yeah. Football can burn, but it can also breathe.
**
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