The tunnel reeked of sweat and iron. The echo of footsteps bounced off the concrete walls as Marcus followed Coach Davor deeper underground. The hum of a generator and the throb of distant bass music filled the stale air.
"This is it," Davor said quietly, eyes fixed ahead. "The first gate."
Marcus frowned. "Gate?"
Davor didn't answer. He just nodded toward the cage that came into view at the tunnel's end, a metallic fortress surrounded by wire mesh, chain links, and flickering floodlights. The crowd outside pressed against the fencing, faces hidden behind masks, shouting through the gaps.
"This is where everyone starts," Davor continued. "Eight new entrants tonight. Two teams of four. Winner gets into the Rogues Division. Loser… waits six months to try again."
Rogue and Contenders are the two divisions, the new entrants get to the Rogues division
"Six months?" Marcus muttered. "That's ..."
"A lifetime down here." Davor's eyes hardened. "Don't make me regret bringing you."
Above the cage, leaning casually on the guardrail, Rico smirked, same calm arrogance as always. His presence alone commanded the space. Even from a distance, Marcus could feel it, that unshakable confidence, that main-character aura Rico wore like armor.
"Entrance match, fifteen minutes!"
"No rules! First to three goals takes it all!"
The announcer's distorted voice echoed as Marcus stepped inside the cage. The clang of the door closing behind him felt like a prison gate.
Marcus glanced around at his teammates, strangers thrown together by fate and bad luck.
Troy, the self-appointed captain, tall and lean with a shaved head and too much swagger.
Kenji, quick-footed, overconfident, and clearly allergic to teamwork.
Luca, bulky and quiet, slipping on a pair of worn gloves, the goalkeeper by default.
"You the new guy Davor brought?" Troy asked, sizing Marcus up. "Don't slow us down."
Marcus bit back a reply. He didn't need words. He just needed the win.
The opposing team laughed across the cage, tossing the ball between them like it was already over. The crowd chanted their names, stomping their feet against the metal floor.
The whistle shrieked.
The ball rolled.
Chaos began.
From the first touch, it was brutal.
Shoves, kicks, elbows, no rules wasn't an exaggeration.
Marcus tried to find rhythm, scanning the floor, trying to read movement. He called for the pass. Kenji ignored him. The ball was stolen instantly.
A blur of movement, a long shot cracked through the air.
The ball slammed into the net.
1–0.
The crowd roared. Sparks flew from the chain-link fence as someone hit it with a metal bar.
Marcus's team barely reset when the opposition struck again. A failed clearance, a rebound, and then a curling shot straight into the top corner.
2–0.
Rico's laugh drifted from the balcony. "That's your project, Davor? Doesn't even belong here."
Davor didn't answer, he just watched Marcus.
Troy turned, shouting, "What the hell are you doing out there?"
Kenji sneered, "We're two down 'cause this guy can't keep possession!"
Even Luca muttered something under his breath.
Marcus clenched his fists. Not again. That same taste of frustration he'd known his whole life, people doubting him before the match was even over.
He wanted to scream, but instead he breathed, slow, deliberate, like Coach had once taught him.
The crowd noise faded. Just the hum of blood in his ears. Focus.
Kenji broke through on the wing, went for a flashy trick, and somehow, by dumb luck, the ball deflected off a defender's shin and trickled into the goal.
2–1.
A sliver of hope. But Marcus could tell from the look in their eyes, they still didn't trust him.
Three minutes left.
He needed something. Anything.
He tried to call it, that flicker he'd felt before, that strange rush of clarity. But nothing came. The pressure, the lights, the noise, it drowned everything.
Then the ball bounced loose off a scramble in midfield. Instinct took over.
Marcus lunged forward, slid between two players, and came out with the ball. The goalkeeper charged out, reckless, overconfident.
Marcus shaped to shoot.
The keeper bit.
Marcus cut left, the goal open, and slid the ball home.
2–2.
The entire cage erupted. Bottles slammed against the fence. The crowd was eating it up.
Rico, above, leaned forward now. The smirk was still there, but thinner, forced.
"Lucky touch," he muttered.
But Davor saw something else. The way Marcus's body moved, smooth, precise, almost… familiar.
One minute left.
Kenji got the ball near midfield. Marcus waved for it. "Here! Kenji....here!"
Kenji looked him dead in the eye and shook his head. "Nah. I finish this."
He dribbled forward, too fast, too wild.
Marcus sprinted alongside, his gut screaming what was about to happen. Kenji fumbled, losing control.
And something in Marcus snapped.
He slid in from behind, a crunch of contact, Kenji hitting the ground. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Marcus didn't even hesitate. He came up with the ball, heart hammering, legs burning.
TACKLING HIS OWN TEAMMATE, NOONE DOES THAT.
The world slowed.
And in that second, it flickered.
A flash, Rico's grin.
That impossible back-heel flick from the day before.
Every motion burned into his memory like a glitch in time.
He could see it again, in perfect detail.
Marcus reached the edge of the box.
He stopped, back to goal, and without thinking, swung his heel.
The ball soared backward, spinning high. The keeper barely moved.
It dropped into the net.
Silence.
Then, chaos.
3–2.
The whistle blew, and the cage exploded. Metal, voices, pounding boots, hands on the fence.
Davor grinned faintly, crossing his arms. "That's what I meant, Rico. Potential."
Rico's smirk faltered, his jaw tightening. Watching someone mirror his signature move, perfectly, in front of the entire league?
That burned deeper than he expected.
He turned away, muttering, "He won't get away with that."
The gate swung open, the smell of sweat and iron spilling out.
Marcus's team stepped out victorious, though "team" was a stretch. Kenji stormed past him, face twisted in anger.
"You tackled me, you psycho!" Kenji barked. "You think you're special now?"
Marcus stared at him, still catching his breath. "I think we won. And I don't have six months to waste like you do."
Kenji's nostrils flared, but he had nothing left to say.
The losers were led out through a separate tunnel, blacklisted, their dreams shut for half a year. The crowd's energy began to fade, ready for the next show.
From the balcony, Rico watched him silently. That casual arrogance was gone, replaced by something sharper, a quiet resentment. For the first time, someone had stolen his spotlight.
Down in the tunnel, Marcus walked beside Davor in silence. His pulse still hadn't slowed. He could feel that strange spark pulsing behind his eyes, not pain, not fear, but something raw.
When they reached the stairwell, Davor finally spoke.
"You know what that was?"
Marcus shook his head. "No. It just… happened."
"Then you'd better learn to control it." Davor's gaze was cold but proud. "Because down here, anything you can't control will eat you alive."
Marcus looked down at his trembling hands. The same hands that had just pulled a memory from someone else's play and made it real.
His jaw tightened.
His voice was steady.
"Coach," he said. "I want to master this ability."
Davor smiled faintly, the fluorescent light catching his eyes.
"Good," he said. "Because you just made your first enemy."