Julian sat on the bench, watching.
The scoreboard burned above them: 0 – 3.
The second half?
Just another disaster—for Gardenhill.
Even with a three-goal cushion, Lincoln didn't ease off. They pressed, they hunted, they suffocated. By the final whistle, the scoreline read: 0 – 5.
The Gardenhill defenders slumped, boots dragging against the turf.
Their captain tried to rally them with shouted orders, but even his voice had cracks in it, betraying doubt.
Julian noticed it all—how the body language betrayed the truth before the scoreboard did.
The Gardenhill coach could only sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he trudged toward Owens.
"Damn… that's one of the strongest teams I've seen this year. Never thought a mid-name school could play like this." He extended his hand, half in disbelief, half in respect.
Coach Owens smirked, gripping it firmly.
"Haha… this year, we're not just qualifying. We're winning the whole California regional."
