The ball rolled away from the post.
Still 3–1.
Still alive.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Not Southside.
Not Nocturne.
Not even the crowd.
Everyone had thought that was it.
The fourth goal.
The end.
The dagger through the heart.
Instead—
the post had saved them.
The roar that followed felt almost violent.
Thousands of voices crashing together.
Believing.
Hoping.
Begging.
Tsubasa climbed back to his feet.
His hands were shaking.
"...Not today."
Theo clicked his tongue.
Aka didn't react.
But Réservoir did.
The French midfielder looked toward the goalpost.
Then toward the crowd.
Then toward Southside.
"...Dangerous."
Marc frowned.
"What is?"
Réservoir's eyes stayed forward.
"Hope."
The match resumed.
Southside immediately attacked.
Not because they had a plan.
Not because they were calm.
Because they had no choice.
The clock hit eighty-seven minutes.
Three minutes.
Three minutes to somehow score twice.
Impossible.
Yet somehow—
nobody wanted to accept that.
Yusuke received possession near midfield.
His legs felt dead.
His lungs burned.
His vision blurred every few seconds.
Still—
he ran.
The crowd rose again.
One defender.
Beaten.
Second defender.
Still there.
Yusuke pushed forward.
Then lost control.
The ball rolled away.
Noah recovered immediately.
Attack over.
Yusuke nearly collapsed.
"...Damn it."
Everything hurt.
Everything.
But he still turned.
Still chased.
Still ran back.
Because the alternative was giving up.
And he hated that more than losing.
The ball moved through Nocturne again.
Pass.
Pass.
Pass.
They weren't rushing.
The scoreboard favored them.
The clock favored them.
The pressure favored them.
Every second was another victory.
Southside knew it.
That's what made it unbearable.
Pambara intercepted a loose pass.
For once.
A clean read.
A clean interception.
The crowd cheered.
He immediately looked up.
Yuma.
Takumi.
Sora.
Yusuke.
Options.
His brain raced.
Too many choices.
Then—
he remembered something.
Stop trying to be Riku.
The words hit him suddenly.
Stop trying to replace him.
Stop trying to fill the gap.
Just play.
Pambara passed immediately.
Simple.
Correct.
The ball reached Hiroto.
Then Takumi.
Then Sora.
Fast.
One touch football.
The crowd began rising.
Nocturne shifted.
Southside pushed.
The attack reached the edge of the box.
Sora crossed.
Yuma jumped.
HEADER.
The crowd held its breath.
Wide.
Barely.
The ball skimmed past the post.
Yuma landed hard.
"...NO!"
His scream echoed around the stadium.
Another chance gone.
Another minute lost.
The scoreboard remained unchanged.
3–1.
The referee checked his watch.
The crowd noticed.
Time was running out.
Fast.
Very fast.
On the opposite side of the field, Aka watched quietly.
No smile.
No emotion.
Just observation.
Like he was trying to understand something.
Yusuke noticed.
And suddenly realized something.
Aka wasn't watching the score.
He wasn't watching the clock.
He wasn't watching Nocturne.
He was watching Southside.
Watching them refuse to quit.
The realization hit strangely.
Because for the first time—
Yusuke thought Aka might actually respect them.
Not enough to lose.
Not enough to go easy.
But enough to notice.
The game restarted again.
Eighty-eight minutes.
Then eighty-nine.
The crowd was standing now.
Almost everyone.
Every tackle felt important.
Every pass felt important.
Every touch felt important.
Southside launched one final attack.
Takumi drove forward.
Passed to Hiroto.
Hiroto to Sora.
Sora to Yusuke.
The ball reached him near the edge of the area.
One defender.
Then another.
Pressure collapsing around him.
Yusuke planted his foot.
Shot.
BOOM.
The crowd exploded.
The ball flew.
Toward goal.
Toward hope.
Then—
BLOCKED.
Marc Pelletier.
Again.
The rebound bounced loose.
Bodies crashed toward it.
Chaos.
Noise.
Desperation.
And as the ball rolled through a sea of legs—
the referee glanced toward his watch one more time.
Time was almost gone.
Very, very gone.
And Southside's last chance was about to begin.