The dining hall had felt fragile, one wrong move away from shattering, and Maya realized that some secrets were becoming too big to hide in plain sight. Three days later, on the tournament field, everything finally broke.
The air was thick with heat and adrenaline, the kind of match where every clash felt personal and every mistake could end championship dreams. The opposing team—St. Margaret's Prep—had come to play physical, turning what should have been beautiful soccer into a war of attrition that left bodies scattered and tempers flaring.
This is what tournament soccer really looks like. Not the highlight reels, but the grinding brutality that separates winners from everyone else.
The ball snapped across the field in violent arcs, bodies colliding with sounds that echoed off the packed bleachers like gunshots. Parents screamed from the stands, college scouts took notes that would determine futures, and coaches paced sidelines with the intensity of generals directing battle.
