The locker room smelled of sweat, grass, and tension. Bottles rolled across the floor as players slumped on benches, some catching their breath, others staring into the distance as if replaying every mistake in their minds. The first half had ended in a deadlock: 1–1. Eternal Era had dominated possession, but the Orion Blades' counterattacks were ruthless, and their striker's speed was like a blade cutting through space itself.

Jason stood at the center, arms folded, eyes burning with calculation. He wasn't pacing, wasn't shouting, he was studying each player as if they were pieces on a chessboard.

"Listen," Jason finally said, his voice low but carrying the weight of command. "We're winning the duels, but not the war. They're baiting us into overcommitting. Grim, keep your Shadow Zone tight. Lionel, I want you higher up the line—force their striker into dead channels. Anastasia, Scarlet, don't just push; draw them in. Make them commit bodies."

The players nodded, some muttering agreement, but Jason wasn't done. He turned toward the substitutes' bench. His eyes swept across the reserves, stopping briefly on Dante, who sat with his hoodie half-zipped, hands clasped between his knees. Jason didn't call his name—not yet. But the weight of his gaze was unmistakable.

Dante's chest tightened. He wasn't even supposed to be here, not with the senior squad. He was just a Rising Star, a trainee. But the thought clawed at his mind: If he calls me, I'll be ready. I have to be ready.

Jason broke the silence. "We don't need reckless heroes—we need solutions. The second half will expose the cracks. If you step onto that pitch, any of you, know this: one mistake is all it takes."

The whistle of the referee echoed faintly through the corridor. Time to return.

The Stadium Shifts

The roar of the crowd doubled as the players re-emerged. The Orion Blades were already lined up, their white kits reflecting under the floodlights. Their captain, Kael, pointed toward the Eternal Era side, smirking. His speed had already rattled the defense once, and everyone in the stadium knew he wanted to break the game open.

The second half began at blistering pace. Aya nearly scored within three minutes with a Moonblade strike that shaved the post. Scarlet darted into the box twice, only for the Blades' keeper to parry her shots with inhuman reflexes.

But it wasn't one-sided. The Blades' counters grew sharper, faster. On the 60th minute, Kael burst through with his signature move—Void Slice, vanishing for a fraction of a second before reappearing in shooting range. Lionel had to throw his entire weight into a sliding block, his Fortress Step shaking the turf as he smothered the shot.

Still 1–1. Still tension.

Jason rubbed his chin. The match wasn't slipping away—but it wasn't being won either. His eyes flicked to the bench again. This time, they lingered.

At the 65th minute, Jason finally stood. His voice carried over the din of the stadium:

"Dante. Warm up."

It wasn't loud, but Dante heard it as if the entire stadium had gone silent. Heads turned on the bench. Some substitutes raised their brows, surprised. A Rising Star? In this kind of match?

Dante's legs moved before his mind caught up. He stripped off his hoodie, stretched, jogged along the sideline. The crowd reacted instantly—waves of chatter rippling through the stands.

"Who's that?""A trainee?""No way Jason's putting him in.""Wait—that's the rookie with the lightning aura!"

The cameras zoomed on him, his name flashing across digital boards: DANTE ANDERSON – FORWARD.

Anastasia caught his eyes from the pitch. For just a moment, her stern mask softened into something like reassurance. Then she turned back, marking her opponent.

Jason's voice cut into Dante's thoughts as he approached the sideline. "You're not here to be a hero. You're here to tilt the balance. Forget the crowd. Read the game with your Cosmic Telepathy. Move with your Elemental Speed. And remember—one chance is all you need. Don't waste it."

Dante nodded, fire flickering in his chest. "Yes, Coach."

The substitution board lit up: Kenji out. Dante in.

The stadium erupted.

Baptism of Fire

The moment Dante stepped onto the pitch, he felt the weight of thousands of eyes crushing him. Every cheer, every murmur, every skeptical glance—they pressed down like gravity.

The Orion Blades noticed immediately. Kael smirked, whispering something to his teammate. The defenders shifted, their formation subtly adjusting to isolate the rookie.

"Fresh meat," one of them sneered.

The ball came to Dante faster than expected—Scarlet whipped a diagonal pass his way, testing him. Dante's pulse surged. His first touch wobbled slightly, too heavy. A Blade defender lunged, nearly stealing it, but Dante snapped into Elemental Speed, his body flickering with afterimages as he recovered and laid it back to Zara.

Not elegant. Not flashy. But safe.

The crowd murmured. Some clapped. Others jeered. Jason simply watched, arms folded.

Finding His Rhythm

Minutes ticked by. Dante moved constantly, scanning with his Cosmic Telepathy. He felt the vibrations of intent—the Blades' defenders watching him, the midfield shifts, the rhythm of Lionel anchoring the backline.

The ball found him again at the edge of the box. This time, instead of forcing a dribble, Dante feinted a step inside, pulling his marker with him, then released a quick pass to Aya, who fired a shot just wide.

It wasn't a goal, but Jason's eyes narrowed with approval. Dante wasn't panicking. He was thinking.

But the Blades weren't fools. At the 78th minute, they pounced. Kael led a counterattack, slicing through midfield. Grim stepped in, shadow tendrils slowing him, but Kael flickered past with Void Slice. Only Lionel remained.

The clash was seismic—Kael's speed against Lionel's immovable wall. For the first time, Lionel staggered, the striker slipping half a step past him. The stadium gasped.

Dante's instincts screamed. Without thinking, he activated Elemental Speed, blurring across the pitch. He intercepted just as Kael wound for the shot, sliding in with a desperate tackle. The ball ricocheted clear.

The whistle blew. Clean. No foul.

The crowd erupted. Half in shock, half in wild approval.

Jason's lips curved into the faintest smile. Not bad, kid.

The Moment Approaches

The match entered the final ten minutes. The score was still locked at 1–1. Every pass, every touch carried the weight of destiny.

The ball cycled back to Dante. He felt it—the anticipation, the growing expectation. His teammates were starting to look for him, even Scarlet.

Scarlet dashed past him, whispering as she passed: "Don't freeze up, rookie. If the chance comes—take it."

Dante's blood surged. His father's words echoed in his mind, his mother's warning, Lionel's training, Jason's cold guidance. One chance is all you need.

The ball spun toward him again, Scarlet having curved it from the wing. Two defenders converged. Dante's lightning flared faintly across his boots.

But instead of rushing, he stopped. The defenders lunged. Cosmic Telepathy revealed their intent—one to his right, one to his left. Dante's body blurred, vanishing between them with a half-step feint.

He was through.

The goal loomed ahead. The crowd screamed. His mind screamed with it: Jörmundgandr…

He planted, coiling for the strike.

And then—

The whistle blew.

Full time.

The match ended 1–1. A draw. The players shook hands, some frustrated, others relieved. But all eyes kept darting toward the boy who'd stepped onto the pitch in the second half.

Some called it reckless. Some called it brave. The media would dissect it for days. But for Dante, as he walked off the pitch, sweat dripping down his face, he knew one thing:

He belonged.

And Jason knew it too.

In the shadows of the stadium, the bounty hunters exchanged glances.

"He's adapting quicker than expected," the woman murmured.The man grinned. "Good. The higher he climbs… the sweeter the fall."

Dante clenched his fists as he disappeared down the tunnel. The taste of the match lingered on his tongue. Not victory. Not defeat. Something in between.

But he wasn't satisfied. He wanted more.

And he would get it.

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