CHAPTER 89: CHAPTER 89: DANGEROUS TERRITORY

Saturday and Sunday passed easily.

Julian, as usual, split his time between training his body and sharpening his mind, refusing to let even a day slip by.

And then—Monday came fast.

But this time, instead of heading straight to the pitch after pulling on their blue Lincoln uniforms, the players were told to stay inside the locker room.

Laura stood at the front, a black board ready. Coach Owens entered, his presence heavy as always, and gave her a short nod.

"You can start, Laura."

She tapped the board with her marker, eyes sweeping over the team.

"Our last four matches," she began, voice steady, "will be different. Not just difficult—crazy difficult. The physical demand will be on another level. Because from here on... we enter dangerous territory."

One by one, she pasted sheets across the board. A league standing chart, names and numbers neatly printed.

Julian leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

At the very top—Lincoln High.

Second—San Dimas.

Third—Crenshaw.

And in the fourth spot, clinging with their teeth—East Valley.

The air in the locker room grew tight, players shifting on the benches, studying the board like it was a battlefield map.

Laura pointed with her marker, her voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.

"We’ve got a solid first place right now. But don’t get comfortable—San Dimas is breathing down our necks. They’ve only lost once—against us. One mistake, and they’ll take our spot."

Whispers broke out in the back row. Zion let out a slow breath through his nose. Ricky adjusted his shin guards even though the game was days away.

Liam sat forward, elbows on knees, chewing his lip. No one dared laugh or crack a joke—everyone knew this wasn’t one of those meetings.

Murmurs rippled across the room. Julian could see the tension in his teammates’ shoulders.

Laura scribbled quickly across the board, numbers and arrows marking danger zones.

"Third and fourth—Crenshaw and East Valley. They’re trading blows, dead even on points. The only thing separating them is goal difference. That means they’ll come into every match like it’s their last chance to survive."

She underlined the word survive with a hard stroke.

"In this league of six," Laura continued, turning back to them, "the top three go automatically to CIF. That’s the regional stage—where the real monsters are. But there’s an exception: if the fourth-place team performs well enough, and their points aren’t far off, they can be considered too. In other words..." Her eyes swept over the squad.

"These last four games aren’t just matches. They’re life and death. Every team we face will play like their season, their future, their pride is on the line."

The room fell into silence again. Not the silence of fear—of realization. Of the weight pressing down on their shoulders.

Laura’s marker tapped twice against the board before she spoke again. Her voice was low, measured, but the edge in it was clear.

"And here’s the problem with East Valley’s game."

She turned, eyes locking on the core of Lincoln—Julian, Leo, Noah, Riku, and Cael.

"You all saw how they played last time. They don’t just press hard—they try to kill people. Victor, San Dimas’s star striker, is out because of them. Injured. Gone for few matches. That wasn’t an accident. And now, with us sitting at the top?"

Her gaze swept across the room, heavy as iron.

"They’ll target us next."

A few players shifted uneasily. Cael muttered something under his breath, then went quiet. Felix clenched his jaw, knuckles white as his hands gripped the bench.

Laura’s tone hardened.

"East Valley doesn’t just play dirty. They provoke. In their last match, they baited their opponents into a fight—got them red-carded, left them broken. That’s their strategy. Chaos. Rage. Turn football into war until the other team destroys itself."

She let that sink in, then underlined East Valley’s name on the board with a sharp, almost angry stroke.

"Even if we’re the better side, even if our quality is higher, if we let them drag us into their game, we lose. They’ll eat us alive. Or worse..." Her voice faltered for the first time, trembling slightly. "They’ll leave us running on one leg."

Leo leaned forward at that, voice sharp. "Then we don’t give them a chance. If they want war, fine—but it’s on our terms."

Riku smirked faintly, though his eyes were like steel. "They won’t even touch us if we move the ball faster than they move their feet."

Cael cracked his knuckles. "Let them try. I’m not scared of some cheap shots."

The fire built again—but it was jagged, dangerous, raw.

The players stared back at her. For a moment, the locker room felt less like preparation and more like a warning before battle.

Coach Owens broke the silence, his voice rough.

"So what do we do?"

Julian’s mind flickered to his past life. He remembered enemies who used poison, ambush, hostages—cowards hiding behind underhanded methods. His answer then had been simple. Overwhelm them. Break their spirit. Show no mercy until they bent or broke.

But that choice had cost him. Faces of those he lost drifted through his memory—his lover most of all. His fist clenched hard, veins rising along his forearm. He hated people like East Valley.

Cold words left his lips.

"We just overpower them. Use our skill. Shatter them."

Owens opened his mouth to correct him—but then stopped. He felt it too. That aura rolling off Julian. Not the aura of a boy. The aura of someone who had walked through fire and blood before.

So instead of pushing back, Owens stepped in beside him. His voice rose, sharp and burning.

"He’s right. You use your skill. So what if they play dirty? So what if they try to provoke you? That’s life. That’s football. You’ll see worse in the pros—this is just the start. If you want to be the best, you don’t crumble. You rise."

His eyes blazed, his bald head gleaming under the locker room lights as he leaned forward.

"So I’ll ask you—can you win?"

The roar came back, shaking the walls.

"YES, COACH!"

"Good," Owens snapped, throwing the door open. A blast of winter air rushed in, biting and cold.

"Then let’s train."

The players stood, fire burning hotter than the frost outside.