CHAPTER 50: CHAPTER 50: JUST THE OPENING ACT

Julian’s eyes locked onto him.

Silas Malik.

Captain of Riverside Prep.

Black skin that gleamed like polished obsidian, shimmering under the winter lights. His jersey—black with gold lining—looked like it had been tailored for war.

Number 8 on his chest. Height around 178 cm, lean but built like a coiled whip—smooth, efficient power.

He walked toward Julian with calm steps and a curious glint in his eyes.

"So you’re the one from that video," Silas said, holding out a hand. "Julian, right? I’m Silas. Captain."

Julian didn’t hesitate.

"Julian," he replied, shaking his hand. The grip was firm. Calculated. No ego. No fear.

Silas grinned. "What’ll it be this time? More magic tricks? Maybe make our keeper freeze too?"

There was no sarcasm. Just interest. Like a kid poking at a beast behind a cage, wondering what it might do.

Before Julian could respond, a voice cut in.

"Better not provoke our striker," Riku snapped, jogging over with narrowed eyes. "He bites."

Julian glanced at him—Lincoln High’s shield, always on alert.

Silas raised his brows, amused. "Still the same, huh? Been a while, Riku."

"Not long enough," Riku muttered.

And then Leo arrived, grinning as always. "What’s this? An alumni reunion? Hey, include me too."

Julian exhaled slowly, shaking his head. This team was something else.

Silas raised both hands. "Hey, I’m just interested in the new blood. That run of yours... crazy stuff."

Then—

WHITTTT!

The referee’s whistle pierced the air.

Conversations ended. Smiles faded. Everything shifted.

Game time.

Both teams moved to their sides, lining up across the midfield stripe like soldiers on opposite trenches.

The ritual began.

One line, one handshake at a time.

And as the away team, Lincoln High would take the first kick.

Julian stepped into position.

His boots digging into the grass.

The cold didn’t matter.

The lights above didn’t matter.

Only the war ahead did.

This wasn’t a friendly.

This was the start of the season.

A battlefield of 90 minutes—and every second would count.

...

THUMP.

Julian tapped it back.

Lincoln High kicked off—and the season began.

Just like that, the game cracked open.

Leo controlled the ball, tapped it to Aaron on the right.

One touch. Two. Three. No space.

Riverside Prep didn’t press like amateurs. Their movements weren’t wild—they were calculated. Like a boa constrictor slowly tightening the coil.

But Lincoln had drilled for this. Over and over.

The First Minute Drill.

Their chaos trigger.

The moment Aaron received the ball—

Julian exploded forward.

Leo followed. Felix. Tyrell too.

Four attackers surging like arrows, scattering across Riverside’s half to sow disorder.

And Aaron?

He launched it.

A long, curving ball—right-footed, smooth, sharp. Not a hopeful lob. A scalpel disguised as a missile.

It cut through the sky like it belonged there.

Aaron grinned mid-run, watching it arc.

Riverside reacted instantly. Their backline shifted. Four defenders stepped up, each marking tight—one-on-one coverage, aggressive.

But it wasn’t just man-marking. It was layered.

Behind them, their twin CDMs—Nico Villar and Damian Rowe—didn’t bite.

They scanned, reading the second ball, ready to collapse the moment it touched grass.

Julian didn’t look back.

The ball spun toward Leo.

And Leo?

He welcomed it like an old friend.

One touch—pure silk.

The ball clung to his foot like it belonged there. A predator’s caress.

But the pressure was instant.

A defender crashed into his left side, body to body.

And Nico?

He came roaring in from behind.

Leo didn’t flinch.

He stopped dead. Planted his feet.

The defender overcommitted. Nico surged in.

Leo spun.

In that impossibly tight pocket—

He passed.

A trivela. Outside of the foot, curling magic.

The ball spun away, slicing through the box.

Right toward Julian.

The referee saw the contact—Leo had been bodied by both players—but let play continue.

Advantage.

The signal was clear.

Julian didn’t wait.

The ball floated just ahead of him.

Not rolling. Not bouncing. Just gliding.

And when it slowed—right on the edge of the penalty box—

He didn’t trap it.

He didn’t cradle it.

He struck.

[Rule The Pitch – Lv.1 Activated: +5 To All Attributes]

BANG.

A roar of force.

The ball screamed off his foot, spinning with violent curl—heat and ice in one motion.

The crowd stood.

Coach Owen’s jaw dropped.

The Riverside keeper moved, arms out, legs bracing—

Too slow.

The ball curved, arcing toward the top corner like it had been summoned by a god—

Then—

FLASH.

Damian Rowe. One of Riverside’s anchors.

He threw his body in like a missile.

THUD.

A brutal deflection.

The ball slammed off his ribs and spun out of bounds.

Corner kick.

Gasps in the stands.

Cheers and curses mixed in the air.

Julian stood there, breathing deep, watching Damian roll and clutch his side. The keeper looked at him, wide-eyed.

So did Silas.

Julian didn’t celebrate.

Didn’t blink.

He turned toward the corner flag.

Because that was just the opening act.

...

Leo stepped up to the corner.

His eyes scanned the box—sharp, calculating.

Riverside Prep marked tight. Man-to-man. No space. No freedom.

Exactly what Lincoln had prepared for.

Tyrell jogged over to Leo, casually.

A Riverside defender followed, like a shadow.

Right on cue.

Leo passed it short. Low. Clean.

Tyrell received—back to goal.

Leo feinted left, then darted right.

The defender hesitated.

That was enough.

Tyrell accelerated, tapping the ball forward with controlled chaos. One touch. Two. Then—a slick ankle-flick behind him.

A disguised backpass.

Leo burst forward and reclaimed it without slowing.

In perfect rhythm.

Snap—

A grounded, razor-fast pass flew from Leo’s foot—threaded through defenders, straight toward the top of the box.

Julian.

Already waiting.

Already aligned.

[Rule The Pitch – Lv.1 Activated: +3 To All Attributes]

His body surged with power. His core twisted into the shot—

He’d calculated the bounce, the angle, the power.

But in that exact heartbeat—

CLANG—

The ball vanished.

Silas was there.

A blur of black and gold.

His leg swept through the pass mid-strike, clean and decisive.

Julian kicked air.

Off-balance. Teeth grit. Vision still burning with what should have been.

And before Julian could react—

"NOW!"

Silas was already shouting.

Already pivoting.

Already launching Riverside’s counterattack.