Julian stepped into The Final Whistle, and the familiar scent of roasted meat and coffee beans hit him first.
Warm light spilled over walls draped in flags, framed jerseys, and signed memorabilia—a shrine to football history.
Every corner seemed alive with color, memory, and passion.
The air buzzed with voices, the low hum of conversations layered over the faint sizzle and crackle from the kitchen.
A jukebox in the corner cycled through soft rock, the kind of music that wrapped the room in nostalgia.
For Julian, it felt less like stepping into a restaurant and more like stepping into the heart of the sport itself.
He barely had time to take it in before a voice boomed.
"Our emperor has arrived!" Cael shot up from his chair, arms spread wide.
"Say hello to our emperor!" Aaron piled on, grinning like a devil.
"Emperor," Leo echoed with mock reverence, clasping his hands as if in prayer. His golden eyes glinted with mischief.
