Rex was exhausted—but sleep refused to come. The letter from the principal burned in his thoughts. It wasn't just a school notice. It was from the Ministry of Education.
Usually, Millway High was exempt from the National Youth League. Too low-ranked. Too underfunded. Too forgotten.
But this year, for some reason, the Ministry made it mandatory. Every school had to participate. No exceptions.
And that meant Rex Marlowe had to coach the Millway soccer team.
His thoughts spiraled:
Can I even do this? What if I fail? What if we're not good enough?
By dawn, he sat in front of his old laptop—typing out his resignation letter.
He couldn't go back. Not to that world. Not again.
Sleep, when it finally came, was no comfort. His dreams pulled him back—back to the field, to that moment, to the silence after the final whistle. To the shame.
The next morning, he was pulled from a half-sleep by the doorbell. He dragged himself up and peeked through the peephole.
Mrs. Gwennette. His landlady.
Rex never understood why the old woman liked him. Maybe it was his past fame, maybe because he always paid rent on time. Or maybe she just saw through people.
He opened the door.
"Good morning, Mrs. Gwen," he said, managing a weak smile.
But Mrs. Gwen wasn't fooled. She never was.
"I brought you these," she said, handing him a box of cookies.
As he reached for them, she pulled them back.
"You only get them if you stop sulking."
Rex blinked. "What?"
She stared at him, stern and motherly.
"I see you, Rex. Every day. You leave early, come back late—drunk, wasted. You think no one notices? You're not invisible."
"You're more than this. You're Rex Marlowe. I don't care what happened before. You still have a duty. You were born to dominate."
Rex stood frozen. That word... it hit different coming from her.
Mrs. Gwen handed him the box and walked off, leaving more than cookies behind—she left conviction.
He sat back at his desk, staring at the document he'd typed the night before.
Resignation Letter.docx
He thought of her words.
And then he remembered that afternoon, years ago, when he'd first moved in. Mrs. Gwen had invited him over for tea. She was sharp, bitter, grieving. A widow with no family. Her son had died young. But when she found out who Rex was—everything changed.
"My boy loved the Empire," she'd told him. "And he worshipped you."
She showed him her son's room. Posters. Scrapbooks. A shrine to a team—and to a player.
That day, something cracked inside Rex. For a moment, he remembered what it felt like to be seen, to be adored, to be someone's hero.
Now, here he was again. Another chance. Another crossroad.
He closed the laptop. Deleted the letter.
He wasn't going to run.
Not this time.
Rex stood, clenched his fists, and whispered the word to himself—The one that always brought the fire back.
"Dominate."
______________________________
Rex saw the world differently now.There wasn't hope—until you chose to believe there was.
He suited up.
Today was the beginning.
He would turn Millway High into the greatest football team the Youth League had ever seen.
The school halls buzzed like any other day—crowded, cliques forming corners like kingdoms. But Rex moved through it differently now. With purpose.
He arrived at the principal's office, eager to begin.
"She's in an important meeting," the secretary said, glancing up.
Rex nodded, but something felt… off. A tension in the air.
He brushed it off and headed to his class. Today was their first official soccer practice, and he wanted it to be special.
The kids gave everything they had. They played with heart, with fire—and for the first time in years, Rex smiled.
No weight. No failure. No ghosts. Just football.
When the bell rang, the students walked back inside—sweaty, tired, laughing.
Rex stayed behind to clean the field. He collected scattered balls, folded up worn cones, and packed the gear into the shed.
He stretched, wiped sweat from his brow, and made his way to the teachers' lounge.
That's when he saw it—A letter, sitting neatly on his desk.
He opened it.
And his stomach dropped.
Termination Notice.
Fuming, Rex stormed back into the principal's office. The secretary barely had time to react.
"Mrs. Hawkings!" Rex snapped.
"Mr. Marlowe—"
"What is this? Why fire me now? Who's going to train those kids? How are you planning to win the Youth League without a coach?!"
She looked away. "You wouldn't understand."
"Then make me understand."
"It's... complicated," she said softly.
That was all he needed to hear.
Rex packed his things and left. He didn't look back.But this time, it wasn't disgrace burning in his chest.
It was rage.
Back home, he tossed his bag into a corner and collapsed on the bed, trying to make sense of what just happened.
That's when his phone buzzed.
Aoi, the principal's secretary.
He hesitated... then picked up.
"Uh, hey," she said, awkwardly.
"Hey. What's up?"
"I know we never really talked. But that's probably because you always had your walls up."
Rex exhaled. She wasn't wrong.
"I'm calling because... what happened to you? It wasn't fair. It was a setup."
"A setup?"
"Before you came to the office... someone else did. A man. I didn't catch his name, but I overheard everything. He gave Mrs. Hawkings an ultimatum: fire you, or get blackmailed. And when he threw in $800,000... she folded."
Silence.
"Rex? You still there?"
"Yeah," he murmured, his thoughts spinning.
Who would do this? Why?
"That's all I know," Aoi said gently. "Good luck."
Click.
Rex sat in silence. One question rang louder than the rest:
Why?
Then a thought hit him.
The Scrapyard Circuit.
By nightfall, Rex walked the cold streets in a black hoodie, heading toward Cage Junction—a part of Millway he'd never dared enter.But tonight, he was done playing it safe.
The invitation had no address, but he followed the sound of a roaring crowd to an abandoned underground parking lot.
He expected a game. What he found was a bloodbath in cleats.
Two teams clashed violently. A brutal center-back shattered a striker's leg—and the game didn't even pause.
Rex whispered to himself:
"What the hell am I doing here?"
Before he could turn away, two bulky men blocked his path.
"Come with us."
They led him into a nearby building. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and sin.Rex recognized their tattoos—the Dead Dragons, a gang infamous even outside Millway.
He knew this wasn't a meeting. It was a trap.
In a dimly lit room, a single desk sat under a bare bulb. Behind it, a man—older than Rex, but exuding power—waited.
"Rex Marlowe," the man said. "The faded star himself."
Rex didn't speak.
"You must wonder why a king like me would summon a shattered piece of greatness like you."
He stood and spread his arms.
"Forgive my manners. I'm Oliver Crest. Board member of the Scrapyard Circuit."
Rex froze.
"You're that Oliver Crest. The one sent to prison. Ex-coach of the Ashphalt Pride. The one who—"
"—Orchestrated the fall of your team. The Empire," Oliver finished with a grin.
The air went still. Rex wanted to punch him—but this wasn't the place.
"Your coach was blind. But me? I see what you are. I can give you redemption. You don't belong in that school. You belong here. With us."
Rex looked down. He knew Oliver wasn't lying—if Rex played in the Scrapyard, he could dominate. He could win.
But that wasn't the point anymore.
Rex didn't crave glory.He craved impact.He wanted to build others. To lift the next generation—not be resurrected by the man who destroyed him.
And worst of all, he remembered the truth:Oliver Crest bribed the ref.That final game—the one that ruined his career—was rigged.
Rex met Oliver's eyes.
"No. I refuse."
Shock washed over the gangster's face.
"You really think Millway's going to save you? That place chews up dreamers faster than I ever could."
Rex didn't flinch.He'd found his purpose.
"The world is a garden," he thought."If you want fruit, you plant it. Water it. Protect it. Or the weeds will take over."
He was done hiding.
Not as a player.
As a coach.
As Rex stepped back onto the street, the sounds of that twisted match echoed behind him.He watched someone get slammed to the ground.
No whistle.
No mercy.
Rex clenched his fists.
No more, he told himself.
It was time to shut them down.
Time to DOMINATE