The 1-0 win at Eastfield felt like overcoming a major challenge, but the league table offered no relief. The single-point lead was precarious. Crestwood, Riverton, Westford, and Ashbourne were in a fierce battle, and dropping points would be disastrous.
There were four games left, four "cup finals," as Coach Shaw grimly called them.
The exhaustion from the long season was evident. Mid-week training sessions focused less on fitness and more on strategy and endurance. Laughter in the changing room was rare, replaced by a serious hum of conversation. The pressure to avoid making a costly mistake was intense.
Their next match was at home against Ashbourne, the team with the best defense in the league, still holding on to slim hopes of winning the title.
"They have nothing to lose," Shaw said in the pre-match briefing, his tone flat. "They will sit back, frustrate us, and look for chances to counter. This game will come down to one moment. One slip in focus or one flash of brilliance. Don't be the team that slips."
As the team prepared, Ethan watched his friends. The dynamic had changed. He felt secure about his future. The intense pressure of the scouts' gaze had shifted to everyone else.
Callum, however, had transformed as a player. The desperation was gone, replaced by sharp focus. He made decoy runs before Ethan even needed to. He was playing for the team and had become a better and more dangerous player.
Mason was steady as always, but now he played with a controlled aggression, knowing each tackle was an audition.
The game against Ashbourne was exactly the grind Shaw had forecast. It ended in a suffocating 0-0 stalemate. Ashbourne's defense was well-organized and compact. They easily passed off Ethan's decoy runs with disciplined ease. Crestwood had 70% of the possession, but every attack hit a wall of blue shirts.
The home crowd grew restless as the clock ticked past 80 minutes. A 0-0 draw would be a disaster, opening the door for Riverton and Westford to overtake them.
Crestwood pressed hard, their play becoming desperate. A corner was delivered in. Ashbourne's tall center-back headed it clear. The ball fell to Ethan, just outside the box. He was closed down by two defenders with no shot or forward pass available. He made a simple, safe pass backward to Mason, who was 40 yards from the goal, and recycled the play.
It felt like a moment of surrender, the attack fizzling out.
But Mason, who had been battling tirelessly in the midfield, had other plans. He took one touch to control the ball and looked up.
He spotted something no one else did, not even Ethan. Callum, sensing the play break down, had feigned a move toward the ball before spinning behind his marker, darting instinctively into the box.
It was a 40 yard gap that needed perfect vision, timing, and execution. It was a pass Ethan would make.
Mason, usually the team's destroyer, delivered it.
The ball flew like a laser, a low, driven diagonal that perfectly cleared the last defender's head and dropped directly into Callum's path. The Ashbourne defense, which had been solid all day, fell apart due to a single, bold pass from Crestwood's most defensive player.
Callum's first touch was flawless. His second was the finish. He struck the ball on the half-volley, past the goalkeeper and into the roof of the net.
The stadium erupted. The entire Crestwood bench, including Coach Shaw, rose to their feet. Callum sprinted, not to the corner flag, but straight to Mason, jumping into the arms of the player who had provided the moment of brilliance.
The game ended 1-0. It was a last minute win, a miracle from an unexpected source.
As they entered the tunnel, exhausted yet ecstatic, Ethan wrapped his arms around his two friends. "Since when," Ethan panted, grinning at Mason, "can you do that?" Mason just smirked, his face streaked with sweat and mud. "Been watching you, Eastfield. Figured it was my turn to win us the game."