The sun leaned lower in the sky, spreading golden fire over the field. A cool wind carried the echo of laughter across the island. The kids had stepped off the ground, sitting in groups, sipping juice and shouting cheers. But something else was stirring now.
A real match was about to begin.
Amir stood in the center, clapping his hands.
"Alright, boys. Kids had their fun. Now it's time for the legends."
Jabir stepped beside him, grinning.
"We're already chosen as captains. Me and Amir."
Mirshad walked forward, shaking his head with a calm smile.
"No, no. I choose the teams."
Everyone turned toward him.
Amir raised an eyebrow.
"Why? Two captains already picked, everything set."
Mirshad crossed his arms.
"Forget that. Let's make it simple. I and my Reapers — one team. The rest of you — one team."
A second of silence.
Amir blinked.
"You and your ten Reapers?"
"Eleven total," Mirshad replied. "Just like a real team."
Amir looked at the rest, then laughed.
"Alright, we accept. But remember — this is a friendly match, not a war zone. Don't bring your thunder here and wipe out half of us."
Laughter rolled through the group.
Mirshad nodded with mock seriousness.
"Fine. But if anyone fouls me too much, do not expect peace. I will throw you to the moon."
Amir raised his hands.
"I'm scared already. Let's play."
They took positions. On one side — the Phantom Reapers, silent but smiling, their black jerseys shining in the sun. On the other — Amir, Jabir, Malik, Rayyan, cousins, uncles, all fired up like kids again.
The whistle blew.
From the first moment, it was chaos. Not loud, not clumsy — but pure speed.
Mirshad moved like a shadow in lightning. He danced between players like water slipping through cracks. One step, then gone. Another step, goal. One by one, the ball kissed the net.
The opposition stood in disbelief.
On the side of the field, Sophia watched from a bench. Her eyes wide, lips parted in awe.
"Does he… know how to play?" she asked softly.
Mirshad's mother smiled beside her.
"Not just play. He was the city champion in school. He filled our home with trophies. He was always the best player. One time, I went to watch him in a school match. A boy kept fouling him. I closed my eyes because I was scared something bad would happen. Then… I heard the crowd scream."
Sophia turned, eyes locked on her.
"He didn't foul back. He played the game. But when that boy came close… your Mirshad hit a shot so powerful, the boy fainted. His friends used to call him 'the elephant without control.' Because when the game hits his heart, he stops seeing anything except victory."
Sophia stared at the field.
Then she whispered.
"Then someone is going to fly today."
Because Amir had been fouling all match.
Tapping ankles. Pushing from behind. Whispering jokes and taunts.
But Mirshad stayed quiet.
Until he didn't.
He caught the ball in midfield. No defenders close. Amir stood in front, arms open, grinning.
"Come on, brother. Show me your power."
Mirshad looked once at the goal. Then at Amir.
And then… he shot.
The sound alone made two kids in the audience cover their ears.
The ball flew.
Amir didn't move — or maybe he did, too late. The ball slammed his chest, pushed him backward, and sent him flying into the grass.
The goalpost rattled.
The Reapers raised their hands.
"Goal!"
The crowd roared with laughter.
But Amir didn't move.
Sophia stood in shock. Rayyan dropped to his knees laughing. Baba shouted, "Is he alive?"
Jabir ran to Amir and waved his hand in front of his face.
"Brother, say something."
Amir groaned.
"Tell my brother's i love them ."
Everyone burst out laughing again.
Mirshad walked over, smiling gently.
"Should I stop now? I might forget it's a game."
Amir raised his hand in surrender.
"Good decision, brother. Thank you. Now please… someone help me get up."
Without another word, Mirshad bent down, lifted Amir like a sleeping baby, and carried him off the field.
The crowd stood. Clapped. Whistled.
Even the kids chanted his name.
The king who played like a boy.
The warrior who shot like thunder.
The brother who carried peace in one arm and destruction in the other.
The game had ended. The sun was fading. The skies were turning orange.
They had played too long. But no one regretted a second.
Because Amir would never forget this match.
Because no one challenges a god…
And walks away without a bruise.