2 – 0.
Two goals to claw back for a tie.
Three to win.
And the clock ticked mercilessly forward.
While the Ross twins and Tyrese celebrated, basking in their chaos, Julian stood frozen in the storm.
His teeth ground together, fists clenched tight enough to ache.
He looked at his teammates. Their fire was dim. Shoulders sagged. Eyes dulled. Belief wavered.
If I do nothing, we lose.
Julian bent, scooped the ball, and marched to the center circle. Every step was deliberate, heavy. He didn't wait for the referee.
Didn't glance at the Ross twins mocking in the distance. He planted the ball firmly on the spot, chest rising and falling, eyes daring his teammates to look away.
This isn't enough. Just carrying the ball won't save us. They need more. They need me.
So he decided.
[Martial Memory – Active Mode: 10 Seconds]
The system's pulse tore through him. His body thrummed with energy, the weight of countless lives pressing against his soul.
