Franz stood still for a beat, steam curling from his lips as he drew in one slow breath and let it out. Inhale. Exhale. His chest rose and fell with deliberate rhythm, mechanical, too even to belong to someone who had just been running at inhumane speed.
The hood of his sweatshirt shadowed his face.
For the first time since the whistle blew, the girls around him froze. Serena Caldwell— Her eyes lingered on him with something sharper. Something she didn't want to name.
Above them, the scoreboard lit up, flooding the cracked concrete in cold neon glow:
"Blue Team—Victory!"
The word Victory hung in the air like smoke.
Franz dragged a hand down his face, wiping away the sweat that clung to his skin. He exhaled hard, voice low, barely audible.
"…What the fuck just happened?"
[We won.]
< See? I told you. Piece of cake. >
