The tunnel buzzed with nervous energy. Players stamped boots against concrete, jerseys rustling, shouts bouncing off the walls.
The referee called them forward, and the Hayes Academy squad walked into the light.
The Silvervale stadium wasn't massive, but it felt alive. Banners fluttered, fans chanted, and nobles in the upper boxes leaned forward with quiet intensity.
Arthur followed the squad, though he knew he'd start on the bench. Still, his eyes were restless, soaking in every detail—the way Silvervale's players walked tall and confident, the sharpness in their warm-up passes, the rhythm in their movement.
Then his gaze drifted toward the stands.
She was there.
Lady Selene Valebridge. Dressed in deep blue, her posture perfect, her expression calm. Her golden hair shimmered in the sunlight.
She smiled, didn't wave—yet her eyes scanned the players, and for a heartbeat, Arthur felt she paused on him.
His chest tightened. Foolish. A noble lady like her had no reason to notice him, even the previous owner always lower his gaze when he saw her. "The last time she came to the Hayes academy to deliver the supplies her family had offered i wasn't nervous, but now it's seems different every time i see her my heart races. She looks more beautiful now". Arthur exclaime.
A nudge pulled him back. Marcus, grinning. "Quit staring like you're in love. Focus on the match."
Arthur coughed, cheeks warming. "I—I wasn't."
"Sure," Marcus smirked, jogging off.
Arthur shook himself. The pitch awaited.
The referee's whistle shrilled, and the match began.
From the first minute, Silvervale seized control. Their midfield three pressed high, closing down every passing lane. Hayes Academy scrambled, their defenders hoofing the ball forward only for it to come right back.
On the bench, Arthur leaned forward, hands clasped tightly. His system flickered faintly in his vision:
Ding!
[Match Analysis Active]Silvervale: High Press (4-3-3). Targeting Hayes' left flank.
Arthur's eyes darted to the flank in question. Sure enough, Silvervale's winger repeatedly bombarded Hayes' left-back, forcing errors.
"Too much space," Arthur muttered under his breath.
Cloris, in midfield, was already shouting at teammates, though his own passes were rushed, sloppy under pressure.
Marcus, ever the workhorse, dropped deep, helping defend, but Hayes could barely string three passes together.
The fifteenth minute nearly broke them—Silvervale's striker split the defense, only for Hayes' keeper to pull off a desperate save. The crowd roared, the Silvervale fans sensing blood.
Arthur's nails dug into his palms. He wanted to be out there. To help. To try. But he wasn't ready. Not yet. His stamina, his speed—he'd only drag them down. He knew it.
Still, the desire burned.
Coach Darius stood with arms folded, calm despite the chaos. No shouting, no panic. Only a steady gaze, following every movement.
Arthur studied him, trying to see what he saw. What would Darius do?
Silvervale struck again in the twenty-seventh minute. A sweeping move, their winger cutting inside, unleashing a curling shot—
GOAL.
The stadium erupted. 1–0 to Silvervale.
Hayes' players sagged. Cloris cursed, Marcus clapped hands trying to rally spirits, but the gulf in class was evident.
Arthur's chest ached as if he'd been the one beaten.
By the thirty-fifth minute, it was nearly 2–0. Only desperate defending kept Hayes alive.
Arthur's system pinged faintly:
Ding!
[Observation: Silvervale Midfield Overloads Central Zone. Exploit wide counter opportunities.]
Arthur frowned. He could see it now—their press was heavy in the middle. If Hayes could break quickly to the wings, there'd be space.
He wanted to shout it, but who would listen? He was just a benchwarmer.
At halftime, the whistle finally came. Hayes trudged off, battered but not broken.
Score:
Silvervale 1 – 0 Hayes Academy.
Arthur followed them into the locker room, heart pounding. He wasn't on the pitch, but he could feel the weight of the battle.
And somewhere above, in the stands, he wondered if Selene still watched him.