The stadium still buzzed, stunned by the strike that split the storm. Gasps and shouts tangled in the winter air.
Scarves flailed in the stands, voices clashed—some screaming his name, others cursing, all wrapped into one raw roar that shook the metal bleachers.
But Julian didn't linger. He didn't roar or spread his arms. He was already waving to the referee, demanding the game restart.
The message was unmistakable: No time. Two more.
Crenshaw's players shuffled back, disbelief etched across their faces.
The Ross twins exchanged quick glances, swagger cracking for the first time.
Tyrese rolled his shoulders, as if forcing confidence back into his frame, but his eyes betrayed unease.
Yet the ball was already rolling back to the center circle, dragged into Julian's rhythm like the tide.
Kick-off.
D-Ro tapped it back.
D-Lo caught it, turned, then slid the ball toward Tyrese.
