Tasha’s POV

My heart thumped loud enough to drown the noise from the audience and only focus on the field. Roman stood near the center circle, tossing the ball up and down, that smug grin plastered on his face like he’d already won. Jeremy, on the other hand, looked calm—too calm. His fists were tucked in his pockets, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly when he caught me staring.

The whistle blew.

Jeremy moved first. Fast. The ball rolled beneath his feet as he darted left, cutting through Roman’s team like smoke. The crowd roared. He slid the ball toward his teammate, Theo, who kicked it back instantly. But before Jeremy could reach it, Roman appeared out of nowhere, intercepting the pass with a sharp spin.

“Too slow,” Roman taunted, flicking the ball backward with his heel.

Jeremy didn’t answer. He sprinted after him, closing the space between them in seconds. Roman feigned right, turned left, and aimed for the goal. Jeremy slid, clean and fast. The ball shot out of Roman’s control, bouncing off his shin. Gasps rippled through the students.

Jeremy was up before Roman could blink. He scooped the ball, ran across the midfield, his shoes digging into the grass as he switched feet effortlessly. Roman charged from behind, bumping into his shoulder hard enough to make him stagger.

“Foul!” I shouted before realizing I’d said it out loud.

The referee didn’t even flinch. It was a friendly match, apparently, and anything went.

Jeremy recovered, his breath sharp, eyes locked on Roman. He faked a pass to Theo again, making Roman lunge the wrong way, then spun the ball between his legs and shot forward. Every movement was clean, controlled. My stomach knotted. He wasn’t playing just to win—he was fighting for something.

Roman caught up again. They clashed near the sideline, shoulder to shoulder, boots tangling. Roman shoved him—hard. Jeremy stumbled but didn’t fall. He straightened, jaw tightening.

“That all you got?” Jeremy muttered.

Roman’s face twisted. He lunged, trying to snatch the ball away, but Jeremy turned at the last second and flicked it through his legs. The crowd exploded.

“Megged him!” someone shouted, laughing.

Jeremy didn’t stop. He charged toward the post, Roman chasing furiously. The goalie braced himself. Jeremy struck the ball with his right foot, clean and precise. It curved like lightning, slicing through the air—then bang!—hit the goalpost and bounced back.

Roman was there instantly, booting it down the field toward Jeremy’s side.

My heart sank.

Jeremy spun around, sprinting after him. The sound of his shoes pounding the grass mixed with the wild cheers from the students. Roman was fast, but Jeremy was faster. He closed the gap, slid again—this time clipping the ball before Roman could shoot.

They both went down, rolling in the dirt. The whistle blew again. No foul. The referee was enjoying the show.

Jeremy stood, brushed the dirt from his knees, and kicked the ball to Theo. Roman lunged again, dragging at Jeremy’s shirt, and Jeremy shoved him off with his shoulder. Theo crossed the ball back to Jeremy, who jumped, twisted in midair, and slammed a header toward the goal.

The goalie dove—missed.

The net shook.

The crowd screamed.

“GOAL!”

I didn’t even realize I was jumping until my throat burned from shouting. Jeremy turned, eyes finding mine through the noise, and smiled like the world belonged to him.

Roman’s expression darkened. He stormed toward Jeremy, grabbed him by the collar, and hissed something I couldn’t hear. Jeremy smirked and said something back. Roman’s fist shot out, but Jeremy ducked it easily.

The crowd gasped again as Jeremy stepped back. The referee tried to stop them, but Roman kept coming. Jeremy blocked the next punch with his arm and shoved Roman away.

“Enough!” I yelled, pushing through the circle forming around them.

But it was too late.

Roman grabbed Jeremy again, and this time Jeremy didn’t hold back. His right fist cracked across Roman’s jaw, snapping his head sideways. The sound of it echoed through the field.

Roman staggered but came back swinging. Jeremy dodged, hit again—once, twice, a third time. Roman’s lip split. Blood sprayed. Students screamed and backed away.

“Jeremy, stop!” I cried, reaching out.

He didn’t hear me. Roman tried to fight back, but Jeremy caught his arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him against the ground. Roman groaned, trying to push up, but Jeremy’s knee pinned his chest. He threw another punch, then another until Roman’s body went still.

The crowd scattered, panic spreading. Someone shouted for the teachers.

I stood frozen, trembling.

Jeremy’s breathing was rough, his knuckles bleeding. He looked down at Roman, then at me. His eyes softened a little, guilt flickering through the anger.

Teachers rushed in, pulling Jeremy away. The principal followed, shouting orders as a few students carried Roman to the infirmary.

The field emptied in minutes.

Jeremy stood there, silent, head bowed. I just stared at him, tears stinging my eyes until the principal’s voice cut through the air—stern and cold.

“You’re suspended for one week, Jeremy. Until exams begin. I’ll deal with you then.”

Jeremy didn’t argue. He just turned his gaze toward me once more before walking away, shoulders stiff, the back of his neck red under the sunlight.

I stood there, the echo of the crowd still ringing in my ears, Roman’s blood on the grass, and Jeremy’s last look burned into my chest.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was terrified… or in awe of him.