Marcus's Side – Locker Room
Marcus slammed his palm against the locker, the metal rattling. Sweat dripped down his temple, jaw tight.
"They're celebrating too early," he spat, glaring at the floor. "We've still got this."
One of his teammates muttered, "But… we're exhausted, Marcus. Overtime..."
"Overtime is where we finish it," Marcus cut in, voice sharp. He dragged in a breath, forcing calm.
His fists unclenched, then tightened again. "Listen to me. I'm not losing. Not today. Not to him."
The room fell silent. They all knew who he meant.
Marcus's eyes burned with something dangerous. "Five minutes. That's all it takes. I don't care how dead you feel. We push. We break them. And I swear..."
His lips curled into a smirk, "...they'll regret even stepping on this field. And trust me, I still have a few cards up my sleeve... cards they won't even see coming."
