The match wasn't over.
Not even close.
Southside refused to let it end.
The scoreboard still showed 3–1, but the energy on the field had shifted completely. Every player could feel it. The crowd could feel it. Even Nocturne could feel it.
The game was becoming uncomfortable.
For the first time all day.
Hiroto received the ball near midfield and immediately pushed it forward. He wasn't interested in playing safe anymore. There wasn't enough time left for that.
"GO!" he shouted.
Takumi exploded into space.
Theo moved to cut him off, but Takumi released the ball before contact arrived. One touch. Simple. Fast.
The pass reached Sora.
Sora immediately flicked it forward.
Yusuke attacked the space.
The crowd rose.
Again.
The pressure kept building.
Nocturne recovered possession briefly, but Southside won it back almost immediately. Ren stepped in front of Theo and stole a pass cleanly before feeding Daichi, who quickly moved it into midfield.
Everything felt faster now.
The ball wasn't sticking to anyone's feet.
Nobody was holding it.
Nobody was trying to be a hero.
For the first time all match, Southside looked like eleven players working together.
Réservoir noticed immediately.
"...There it is."
Marc glanced toward him.
"What?"
"The team I expected."
The compliment wasn't spoken loudly.
But it was genuine.
That alone showed how much things had changed.
Meanwhile, Pambara continued running.
His body felt awful.
Every step hurt.
His lungs burned.
But his eyes remained sharp.
Watching.
Tracking.
Learning.
He had spent the entire match trying to keep up with Nocturne's movements.
And now—
he was starting to understand them.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to recognize patterns.
Enough to recognize habits.
Enough to recognize one specific thing.
His eyes widened.
"Hiroto!"
The captain looked over.
"Right side!"
Hiroto didn't question it.
He trusted him.
For the first time.
The pass immediately switched play.
Nocturne reacted a fraction late.
A fraction was all Southside needed.
Sora collected near the sideline.
Accelerated.
Then cut inward.
Noah stepped forward.
Sora slipped the ball past him.
The crowd exploded.
The attack was alive.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The pressure wouldn't stop.
Yuma charged into the box.
A defender followed.
Another defender followed.
Then another.
Everyone was focused on him.
Exactly as Pambara expected.
"NOW!"
The shout echoed across the field.
Sora looked up.
Saw the opening.
And crossed.
Low.
Fast.
Dangerous.
The ball skipped through the box.
Past one defender.
Past another.
Past Yusuke.
Everyone missed it.
Everyone except Yuma.
The striker launched himself forward.
Studs scraping across the grass.
Full commitment.
No hesitation.
The contact wasn't clean.
It didn't need to be.
The ball smashed toward goal.
Adrien reacted.
Too late.
The net exploded.
GOAL.
The stadium erupted.
Yuma crashed into the advertising boards before immediately jumping back up.
"COME ON!"
His scream echoed throughout the entire arena.
The crowd lost its mind.
Teammates sprinted toward him.
Sora arrived first.
Then Hiroto.
Then Takumi.
Then everyone else.
Even Pambara.
Southside's supporters were shaking the stands now.
The impossible suddenly felt possible.
The scoreboard changed.
3–2.
Only one goal behind.
Only one.
Yuma stood in the middle of the celebration breathing heavily.
His eyes found the scoreboard.
Then Aka.
Then Réservoir.
"We're not done."
Across the field, Nocturne gathered near midfield.
Theo looked annoyed.
Marc looked annoyed.
Lucien looked annoyed.
For the first time all match—
they looked human.
Réservoir folded his arms.
His expression remained calm.
But there was something new in his eyes.
Respect.
"They're getting dangerous."
Aka looked toward Southside's celebration.
Then toward Pambara.
Then toward Yusuke.
His smile slowly disappeared.
The playful version of Aka was gone now.
Completely gone.
What remained was the version Southside should've feared from the beginning.
The serious version.
The one that wanted to win.
The referee signaled for kickoff.
The celebrations ended.
Players returned to position.
The crowd was still roaring.
The momentum belonged to Southside.
The pressure belonged to Nocturne.
And for the first time all day—
Nocturne looked like a team that might actually lose.
To Be Continued.