The referee looked at his watch. Added time was coming to an end.

Sanu's bench was shouting. The coach was waving his arms like a madman, asking for calm. But anxiety had already infected the team.

Dante made a short pass to Rodrigo, who switched the play all the way to the right, to João Vitor. The fullback pushed forward and crossed it into the box, looking for Kazana once again.

The striker jumped higher than everyone else. His forehead cracked against the ball.

It dropped toward the corner...

But the goalkeeper punched it away.

On the rebound, Ian tried a first-time shot.

Post.

Another rebound.

Rodrigo attempted a volley.

Wide.

Sanu's fans were on their feet. Shouting. Crying. Praying.

But the goal… wouldn't come.

The referee raised his arm, signaling the final minute of stoppage time.

The ball now belonged to Héra.

And worse… the goalkeeper launched it straight to Erick's feet.

He received it in the defensive half, near the sideline, surrounded by two Sanu players. But he didn't seem pressured at all. He lifted his eyes, scanning the field like someone watching a play, knowing he was the lead actor.

With a subtle touch, he spun past the first defender, and the second rushed in, desperate.

Erick flicked the ball behind with a backheel, smooth, and slipped through the other side as if he were dancing, as if it were easy.

Héra's bench stood up immediately. They knew what was coming.

"I'M STOP HIM!!!", Sanu's coach screamed,

But no one could stop Erick. And he wasn't even at 100%.

He drove forward down the wing, carving out space with short, sharp touches. Dante came flying in, trying to end the play with a foul, but Erick simply tapped the ball forward and left the defensive midfielder sliding into emptiness.

The entire stadium went silent.

Only the sound of rapid footsteps, the ball bouncing off the turf, and the heavy breathing of defenders trying, and failing, to keep up.

Kelvin sprinted to track back, glued to the left flank.

"I GOT HIM!", he shouted,

But he didn't.

Erick cut hard toward the middle. João Vitor tried to block the shot, but got a flashy elastic dribble instead, stumbling as if the ground had vanished beneath him.

Rodrigo came to close off the top of the box. Erick stopped. Stepped on the ball. Looked into his eyes. And smiled.

"Too late"

Rodrigo lunged with a slide tackle.

Erick lifted the ball with a simple flick.

Rainbow Flick.

Rodrigo fell onto his back.

The ball rose, bounced once on the grass, and Erick kept running, leaving trails across the pitch like he was made of something else. Another material. Another time. Another will.

At the edge of the box, Victor and Márcio tried to form a final wall.

Still smiling, Erick let the ball roll a little to the side. Stopped. Called them forward.

And then came the final move.

He loosened his posture, pretending to retreat. The defenders took two steps forward. That was all he needed.

Erick hit two lightning-fast touches, threading between them like a needle through fabric.

Murilo, the goalkeeper, rushed out in desperation.

Erick saw him.

And decided.

No power. No arrogance. Just precision.

Another chip shot. Short. Surgical.

"You never learn, do you?"

The ball floated over Murilo, spinning slowly in the air as the keeper leapt, trying in vain to jump higher than his soul.

The ball hit the ground gently, sliding into the goal.

No rush.

As if it had a mind of its own.

As if it knew exactly who had kicked it.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!

3–4.

The referee blew the whistle. Game over.

Erick turned his back once again. No celebration. No shouting. He just walked, hands in his hair, yawning.

The stadium erupted. Héra's fans were hugging each other, going wild.

Sanu's fans… didn't move.

Silence.

Kelvin sat down on the grass, hands on his knees, gaze lost.

Kazana closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His body was still hot with adrenaline, but his soul felt cold.

Ian stood tall, staring at the sky, not understanding how a match where they gave everything… still wasn't enough.

In the stands, Júlia couldn't even speak. Her hands covered her mouth, eyes fixed on Erick like she was seeing something that went beyond the definition of a player.

And there he was.

In the center of the pitch.

The reason.

The end.

Erick.

The player who didn't play to win.

But somehow… always did.

Erick was in his second year at Héra. He and the team were the current National champions. Opposing fans already felt fear just seeing him step onto the field. The fear was so deep, they compared him to Ronaldo Fenômeno.

But Erick didn't like that comparison.

He preferred another name.

A name that said exactly who he was, and how he liked to be known.

As Erick walked across the pitch, the Héra fans began to chant something.

"Black Canary!"

"Black Canary!"

"Black Canary!"

The chant echoed like thunder through the stadium. First shy, then loud, then absolute.

It was more than a nickname. It was an identity. A symbol.

Erick raised his head for the first time. Looked around, seeing thousands of raised arms, waving flags, eyes gleaming as if witnessing a legend.

Kelvin was still on the ground, but now his eyes were on him.

Not with envy.

Not with anger.

But with something deeper.

An uncontrollable drive.

"I want to destroy you, Erick"

Dante came over and offered his hand.

"Get up, brother. We lost… but we didn't go down quietly"

Kelvin took it.

"We lost to someone great,"

"A guy who yawns on the pitch", Dante said, trying to smile.

On the other side, Erick was walking toward the tunnel, the "Black Canary" chant growing stronger. He didn't look at anyone.

But everyone looked at him.

A regional reporter tried to approach, mic in hand, camera by his side.

"Erick! Erick! Any words about the game?"

The star stopped for a moment. Thought.

Turned his face toward the lens.

"The result was decided the moment I stepped onto the field"

He turned his back and kept walking.

Backstage, as the players retreated, social media exploded:

"Erick and the rainbow flick of the century!"

"Black Canary flies again!"

"The end of Sanu? Or the start of a new rivalry?"

Kelvin entered the locker room in silence. The pain of defeat was still there.

But something was burning inside. It wasn't regret.

It was a thirst.

He sat on the bench, pulled off his sweaty jersey, looked down at the mud-caked studs of his cleats, and clenched his fists.

"I'm going to catch up to him", he whispered.

"Who?" Kazana asked, sitting beside him.

Kelvin took a deep breath.

"Erick"

Kazana turned serious.

"No… you won't, Kelvin. The one who's going to destroy him… is me"

And while Sanu's locker room was wrapped in silence and reflection, Héra's was alive with chants, laughter, and applause.

But deep in the tunnel, in the darkness where no one could see, Erick stood before a mirror.

Took off his shirt.

Touched his chest.

And whispered to himself:

"Will someone ever fill this boredom I carry?"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.