The whistle blew. The game was over.
Crenshaw North stood frozen, devastated.
Two goals scored. Forty-five minutes of dominance. And then… collapse. Their storm had been torn apart, their fortress burned down.
Lincoln had won, 4 – 2.
For a heartbeat, silence hung over the stadium. Then it shattered—half the crowd roaring in disbelief and triumph, the other half groaning in despair.
Crenshaw's supporters slumped against the railings, faces pale, while Lincoln's section erupted into a sea of fists and flags.
Leo sprinted straight for the bench where Julian sat slumped, towel over his shoulders, chest heaving. His golden eyes blazed as he leaned in close.
"That was truly a masterpiece," Leo grinned, almost barking with joy. "Like an emperor. Just like your handle name. I swear, after this, your followers are going to double."
Julian glanced at him. For a moment, Leo really did look like a golden retriever wagging its tail. He let out a tired smirk.
