The crowd's roar hadn't faded from Zain's ears as the second half kicked off. The victory was still a whisper in his mind, but the match demanded more — Mahir wasn't beaten yet.
The ball snapped between players like a live wire, every pass sharper, every tackle harder.
Mahir charged forward with the fury of a storm unleashed. His eyes burned with the hunger to even the score.
Zain met him head-on, muscles coiled like springs, nerves laser-focused.
The two captains clashed mid-field.
Mahir spun, trying to slip past Zain's defense.
Zain blocked.
They battled for possession like two wild beasts, neither willing to give ground.
Suddenly, Mahir's teammate broke free, sprinting down the wing. The ball was launched toward him in a soaring arc.
Zain read it instantly.
He sprinted, body leaning forward, chasing the ball like a shadow.
With a perfect leap, he intercepted the pass — then flicked the ball to his striker.
The crowd held its breath.
The striker dodged, turned, and fired.
Goalkeeper lunged—but the ball zipped past, hitting the post and bouncing out.
A collective gasp.
Seconds later, Mahir countered, weaving through defenders with brutal speed.
He took the shot.
Goalkeeper dived.
The net bulged.
1–1.
The stadium exploded.
But Zain wasn't fazed.
His eyes locked on Mahir.
This was no longer just a match. It was a war of wills.
Five minutes remained.
Zain's team pressed hard.
Mahir's team pushed back.
The tension twisted tighter.
A perfect pass found Zain at the edge of the box.
He juked left, then right.
Defender lunged.
Zain flicked the ball over him, sprinting toward goal.
Mahir blocked the path.
Zain feinted, shifted, and slid the ball between Mahir's legs.
Goal.
The stadium erupted into chaos.
The final whistle blew.
Zain's team had won.
Mahir nodded in respect, breath heavy.
Zain didn't smile.
This victory was just the beginning.
The battle for Rebel Town had only begun.
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