The road to the 2026 World Cup began in a cafeteria.
Soccer sat with a tray piled high with unidentifiable brown meat.
"What is this?" he poked it with a fork.
"Meatloaf," Marcus Kane said, sitting down. "American classic."
Marcus, Dylan, and Elijah had officially made the U-20 Reserve squad. They weren't in the starting lineup yet, but they were in the mix.
"It bounces," Soccer noted, dropping a piece. It thudded on the table.
Coach Steele walked in.
"Listen up! We leave for Los Angeles tomorrow. The Opening Ceremony is in three days. Our first match is against **Portugal**."
Portugal.
A hush fell over the cafeteria.
Portuguese football wasn't just skill; it was athleticism. Speed. Power.
And **Cristiano Jr.**
Wait, no. The new striker was named **Rafa**. But they called him **The Arrow**.
He ran the 100m in 10.2 seconds. He leaped higher than anyone on Earth except maybe vintage Ronaldo.
"He's fast," Dylan squeaked, looking at a hologram of Rafa on his phone. "Like... scary fast."
"Speed is linear," Silas Vance sat down with a tray of broccoli. "Linear speed can be intercepted if you calculate the angle."
"He jumps over angles," Kai Rivers sneered from the corner table (where he sat alone with his sparkling water). "You can't calculate gravity, four-eyes."
"I calculated you getting beat by Noa," Silas fired back.
"Shut up or I'll buy your family," Kai snapped.
Soccer ignored them. He was focused on the meatloaf.
He tore a piece of bread. He stuffed the meatloaf inside.
"Sandwich," Soccer announced.
"Genius," Vincent grunted, grabbing a whole loaf.
Coach Steele tapped the microphone.
"Rafa isn't the only threat. Their midfield is legendary. They control possession. If you chase them, you tire. If you tire, Rafa sprints past you."
Steele looked at Soccer.
"We need a strategy for the Arrow."
Soccer swallowed his sandwich.
"Arrows fly straight," Soccer said.
"And?"
"And they stop if they hit a wall."
Soccer looked at Vincent. At Marcus.
"We don't race him. We block him. We make the field small."
"Compress the space?" Silas nodded. "Zone press."
"No," Soccer wiped crumbs from his face. "We build a castle."
"A castle?"
"Yeah. Walls. Vincent is the gate. Marcus is the drawbridge. Zero is the dungeon."
Zero waved from the ceiling rafters.
"And what are you?" Kai asked.
Soccer grinned.
"I'm the dragon in the moat."
***
**Match Day 1. USA vs Portugal.**
SoFi Stadium. Los Angeles.
100,000 seats. Sold out.
The American Anthem played. The crowd roared. It felt different this time. Before, it was hope. Now, it was expectation. They expected miracles.
Portugal stood in dark red.
Their captain, Rafa, looked like a statue. Perfectly groomed. Muscles rippling under his tight jersey.
He stared at Soccer.
"The Bouncing Boy," Rafa said in accented English. "I saw the videos. You jump good."
"Thanks," Soccer replied. "You run good."
"I run perfect," Rafa corrected. "Catch me if you can."
The whistle blew.
**KICKOFF.**
Portugal passed. Clean. Fast.
Rafa started his run. He sprinted down the left wing.
Silas tried to track him. Left in the dust.
Rafa cut inside.
Marcus Kane stepped up. The Drawbridge.
Rafa pushed the ball forward. A heavy touch. He relied on his speed to catch it.
Marcus saw the touch.
He didn't run for the ball.
He stepped *across* Rafa's path.
**Body Check.**
Rafa crashed into Marcus.
*THUD.*
Marcus stumbled but held his ground. Rafa bounced off, surprised by the solid contact.
"Foul!" Rafa yelled.
"Shoulder to shoulder!" the ref waved on.
Soccer picked up the loose ball.
"Dragon time!"
He didn't sprint forward. He sprinted sideways.
Across the field.
The Portuguese defense shifted to follow him.
"Shift left!"
Soccer saw the shift.
He stopped on a dime.
**Heel Flick.**
He backheeled the ball blindly into the space he just vacated.
**Kai Rivers** ran into that space.
Kai controlled it. 30 yards out.
"Too far!" the Portuguese keeper yelled.
Kai didn't care.
He shot.
**The Golden arc.**
The ball bent impossibly. Around the defenders. Away from the keeper.
Post.
In.
**GOAL.**
**USA: 1 - Portugal: 0**
**Time: 5:00**
"Speed is nothing without direction!" Kai yelled at Rafa.
***
**Minute 30.**
Portugal woke up.
Rafa stopped running straight lines. He started running diagonals.
He cut through the defense. Vincent tried to tackle him, but Rafa hurdled the tackle like an Olympian.
He was one-on-one with Zero.
Rafa shot. Low.
Zero saved it with his foot.
Rebound.
Rafa followed up.
Zero saved it again—punch.
Rebound again.
Rafa headed it.
Goal.
**Portugal: 1 - USA: 1**
"Persistent," Zero mumbled, lying in the net. "Like a mosquito."
***
**Minute 60.**
Stalemate.
The heat in LA was brutal. Even inside the domed stadium, the air was heavy.
Soccer was tired. His titanium leg felt heavy.
"They're faster," Soccer told Silas. "We're slowing down."
"Fatigue accumulation: 70%," Silas checked his wrist monitor. "Portugal retains 85% stamina. Their conditioning is superior."
"We need a trick," Soccer said. "A big one."
He looked at Rafa.
Rafa was still sprinting. Full speed.
"He likes to run," Soccer muttered.
He looked at the corner flag.
"Hey!" Soccer yelled to Vincent.
"What?"
"If he likes running... let him run."
"What?"
"Open the gate."
***
**Minute 75.**
Portugal attacked.
Rafa had the ball. He faced Vincent.
Usually, Vincent would tackle. Crush.
But Vincent stepped aside.
He literally stepped out of the way. He opened a lane down the sideline.
Rafa hesitated. *Trap?*
But the goal was there. He took the bait.
He sprinted down the line.
"I'm free!" Rafa shouted.
He reached the corner. He prepared to cross.
But he had run too fast.
The corner was a dead end.
Soccer appeared.
He hadn't chased Rafa. He had anticipated the destination.
He pinned Rafa against the corner flag.
Rafa tried to turn. Blocked.
Tried to cross. Blocked.
"Nowhere to go, Arrow!" Soccer smiled.
Rafa panicked. He tried to force a pass through Soccer's legs.
Soccer clamped his titanium foot down.
He trapped the ball.
Then he flicked it up.
Off Rafa's chest. Off Rafa's face.
Out of bounds.
"Goal kick USA!" the ref pointed.
Soccer laughed. "Arrows get stuck in corners!"
***
**Minute 88.**
USA had possession.
Soccer had the ball at midfield.
"Last push!" Titan screamed.
Soccer ran. But his energy was gone.
Rafa chased him down.
"I have you!"
Soccer felt the tackle coming from behind.
He did the unthinkable.
He passed... to the referee.
Well, near the referee.
He kicked the ball *off the referee's leg*.
*Bonk.*
The ball deflected off the ref's calf. It changed direction completely.
The Portuguese defense, tracking the original line, was wrong-footed.
The ball rolled into the path of **Vincent**.
"REF ASSIST!" Vincent roared.
Vincent smashed it from 40 yards.
A piledriver.
It didn't curve. It knuckles.
The keeper guessed right... then the ball moved left.
**GOAL.**
**USA: 2 - Portugal: 1.**
"Illegal!" Rafa screamed. "The ref touched it!"
"Play to the whistle!" the ref shrugged (rubbing his bruise). "Incidental contact. Play on!"
***
**Final Score: USA 2 - Portugal 1.**
They beat the European giants.
Soccer limped off.
"Using the ref," Kai shook his head. "You have no shame."
"The ref is part of the field," Soccer winked. "Just a moving rock."
Coach Steele met them in the tunnel.
"Celebrate fast," Steele warned. "Argentina is next. Messi's team."
Soccer stopped smiling.
Messi.
Wait. Messi retired. (Writer note: Adjusting timeline).
The new Argentine King. **Julian "The Spider"**. And **Enzo**.
"The Spider," Soccer whispered. "Spiders have webs."
He looked at his titanium leg.
"Webs are sticky."
"We need scissors," Vincent suggested.
"Or fire," Soccer said. "Fire burns webs."