There’s a moment right before you’re subbed in — your name appearing flush at the Megatron, churning your stomach while the fans perch on the edge of their seats ... waiting like you were some kind of soccer Jesus. You see that moment: I have lived it, experienced all the heart-wrenching emotions that came with it, and in most cases, my fingers could barely twitch.

But today was different. Today was just pure, unabated conviction, fueling me even when I put my shirt on to prepare.

And it started sixty minutes into the match. We were losing 3-2. All the players were already drenched in sweat, clustering around Joseph, our captain, while he yelled out orders like the boss he was. That was during the water break, back when the coach called me from the bench, his voice tight with urgency when he said

“Go in there and get me a goal.”

“Yes, sir.” And that was it. The only thing I thought to say before he sent me dashing towards the touchline.

A couple of seasons passed, and this would have been the moment I usually tucked my chin in defeat, accepted the impending loss, and played like shit all over again. But today ... even though the odds were still against me, I still took it as my last chance at keeping my spot. The last chance for my redemption.

So, when the sound of the whistle carried across the pitch and I received that one pass from Jamie, the ball suddenly felt like it was mine again.

Then, after ten minutes of just pure domination, my name, reigning nearly in everyone’s lips, the moment came: I breezed past one player, soon two, the next making it three before Alejandro sprinted alongside me.

“Over here.” He called out and I obeyed. Despite the rage, his voice welled up in my chest.

“It’s all yours.” I passed the ball over to him, and as soon as he took the reins, two defenders slid in from opposite directions, my heart soaring as I feared they would nick it off him, but then the unthinkable happened.

With the flick of his toe, he lifted the ball over their legs and jumped along with it, landing past them with effortless ease. He was incredible, simple, and short. The guy even glided past another marker before he put me through, and I kicked the ball far beyond the keeper’s flying reach.

“Goal!!”

My ears surged into overdrive, brimming full with the crowd’s roar of that word only.

Seeing them celebrating like this was sort of a miracle because before the match started, most of us would have settled for a draw, but later... when the adrenaline eventually wore off and the game slowly resumed, one thing became certain among us: We were taking the game for ourselves...

--------

We won. 4-3. First game in and guess who the MOTM was ... Me. Without any doubt, my best game since my exceptionally dry spell. It felt so good, I didn’t even mind the last thing I did before we were all called inside: Facing the media.

Five minutes ago, a pack of journalists chased after me as usual, each one with an arm outstretched.

I tried to evade them, but they inevitably trapped me in this circle, keeping me still while a slew of voices sifted through my ears. Most of them I couldn’t catch, and the ones I did all ranged from:

“Miki ... Miki, how does it feel to win the man of the match?”

-to this-

“You were assisted for the third goal, then scored the winner. How do you feel since they all involved in the new signing?”

-This one got on my nerves-

“You were brought in at the 60th minute. How much can we attribute your performance to tired legs?”

-And what the hell was this one-

“How hot is Alejandro? Can you get him my number, pleaseeee?”

Overall, I answered the simple ones and briefly touched on the kind that made my head spin. It was starting to become a fun experience until a glimpse between two shoulders froze me.

It was the gaffer discussing with Mr Kennedy, the owner himself, with nothing but a frown on his face. I squinted to check for any positive indication... anything that would make the swirling in my stomach stop, but all I could see were just furrowed brows, fast-moving mouths, and excessive gesticulations: all of them hinting at my worst fear.

Unfortunately, my eyes lingered for too long, letting them spot me from the distance. First by my manager, then by the other older man awkwardly peeling off him.

It was then that I ripped my eyes out, but not before he jerked his head toward the tunnel, the message very clear.

“Get your ass out of there.”

Despite this, I still kept a cheerful facade, and my answers were still sharp. Besides, each question distracted me from the dread festering inside me — only for one to throw me off completely, forcing me to face it head-on.

“What would you say about the current situation regarding the rumors about the club’s turbulent finances?”

I should have told the truth, or something close to it, but when my lips parted, the only thing that slipped out was the complete opposite. A blunder that haunted me even after I slipped out of the newshounds, forcing me to replay it as I marched along with my teammates.

“Great, we are doing just great.”

--------

The team barely piled into the locker room, our voices loud with celebrations, before Coach Lannister slammed the door shut, silence rippling all over the space the instant he told us to sit.

“I have some bad news to ... to” his breath snagged halfway through, cutting his sentence short. But I knew what he was going to say, so I urged him to finish it.

“Say it. We all deserve to hear it.”

Several looks darted towards my direction, and each one shared a confused look on their face. Jamie, my best mate, was right beside me, telling me to stop, but I couldn’t. It was already too late. The gaffer had raised his chin, meaning he stood on business as he announced audibly.

“You all know that things have been... Rocky financially. And however bad you think it is, the reality of everything is much worse. So basically, we need money, and we must sell some players immediately.”

“Who?” One of the lads – Elias – let out a flat, monotonous laugh.

“You... some of you. Any of you who are young, got a lot of years in your contract, all that shit.” Lannister shot me a look before he ripped it midsentence. A clear sign that I fit the bill perfectly.

The silence that ensued after that reply was the “I could even hear my heartbeat” type. The kind you knew always preceded a storm. So, when it came, I just curled up in my seat and let it all happen. From the yelling cries of disloyalty to the pained outbursts of anger, the floor was open for everyone to speak... or rather shout out their minds.

Unfortunately for them, nothing still changed, and I guess the realization of that lulled each person back to an unsettling calm, letting a familiar quiet claim the room again.

The next logical thing to do was for everyone to disperse, but to my surprise, Joseph rose to his feet and walked up to the coach, taking him into his arms. Two other players followed after, pressing in from both sides. Then three more joined – the room echoing with heavy steps as the whole squad huddled into one hug. Everyone took part, except Alejandro, who just sat on his own, half staring at the ceiling. That was until I threw him a look and he took notice, a glaze of regret hazing his eyes before they snapped away from me.

We stayed like that for five painful minutes, not a single word spoken between us, for it was common knowledge that some would leave...

And I was going to be the inaugural lamb.

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I went home, letting the night swallow me whole. My apartment felt colder than usual, the silence so sharp it sliced through my thoughts. I had just dropped my bag when a knock caught my attention. Slow. Rhythmic.

Prying it open, I saw him — the masked stranger that is, eyes glinting with something dangerous and familiar.

Neither of us said anything. He just stepped inside, closing the door till it clicked in front of him.

The air shifted. So did my heartbeat.