The scoreboard read: 0 – 1.
Lincoln High held the lead, away from home.
But Gardenhill wasn't broken. Not yet.
Julian could see it burning in their eyes—the defiance, the belief.
And he would smother that fire before halftime.
Kickoff.
Gardenhill tried to steady themselves, stringing passes across the back line, searching for rhythm.
But Lincoln's press was merciless. Every lane closed, every second stolen.
A touch too heavy. A pass too slow.
And Julian struck.
[Rule The Pitch – Lv.2: +10 to All Attributes]
The Emperor's presence swallowed the midfield. His stride devoured space, his boots tore the ball free.
Let's end this.
His eyes sharpened, aura flaring. Speed surged through him like wildfire.
Gardenhill's shape warped around him, shadows scrambling. Julian flicked the ball forward, then sent it curling—away from every defender, away from every Lincoln shirt.
To the untrained eye, it was madness.
But he wasn't passing to where Noah was.
