who's that shadowy figure?

Kenny stood at the edge of the pitch, clad in his familiar goalkeeper jersey, eyes fixed on the goalposts.

Tony, the Rosewood team's forward, jogged over, breathing heavy but wearing a grin. "You ready for this, Kenny? This is our shot at glory!".

"I'm ready. Just keep your shots on target," Kenny replied, forcing a cheerful nod. In truth, he could see the flashes of the game, snippets of pressure, and potential goals from both sides. The future lay open before him like a cracked book, every line leading to possible outcomes.

Across the pitch, Emma waved her hands as she cheered for both her friends. "Come on, Rosewood! You can do it!".

As the referee blew the whistle, the match erupted with energy. The Thunderbolts pressed hard from the start, invading the Rosewood defense and releasing a barrage of shots that flew dangerously close to the goal. Images flickered in Kenny's mind—he saw himself diving to the left, his hands stretching out just in time to connect with the sphere. He forced himself to focus, breathing deeply as he prepared for the initial assault.

Kenny's vision warned him of an oncoming shot from a Thunderbolts player whose striking prowess was notorious. He steadied himself, anticipating the ball's angular speed and trajectory before anyone else on the field could. As the player made his move, time slowed. Kenny launched himself to the right with a powerful dive and caught the ball in mid-air, saving what could have been a crucial goal. The crowd erupted, his teammates rushing to congratulate him.

"Nice one, Kenny!" Tony shouted, his voice carrying over the cheers. "You've got this!"

But Kenny's heart raced. He wasn't just seeing what was happening; he was seeing what could still go wrong. He could still glimpse the Thunderbolts' relentless counterattack—a tidal wave crashing toward him. This knowledge weighed heavy as he stood between the posts, like standing at the edge of a cliff without a rope.

Minutes passed, but to Kenny, they felt like hours. The Thunderbolts matched the Rosewood players at every turn, their team chemistry evident. Every time Tony received the ball, Kenny felt a surge of hope; every missed pass drew unease. It happened in waves, visions assaulting him with possibilities. He yelled out directions to Tony during plays, sensing where the opposition would strike; he strategized in the blink of an eye.

As the second half carried on, the Thunderbolts finally broke through Rosewood's defense. In the chaos, Kenny's vision snapped ahead. He saw the Thunderbolts' forward break loose from his marker, charging down on him like a freight train of pure determination. The player was relentless, having combated defenders throughout the match, and now he found his moment.

A snapshot of the goal appeared in Kenny's mind, and he prepared to react. A moment later, the forward pulled back, and within a heartbeat, Kenny dove to his right, anticipating the shot as it soared past the outstretched leg of Rosewood's defender. It flew towards the bottom corner of the goal, a blazing strike destined for glory.

In a blur, Kenny stretched his body, his fingertips grazing the ball just enough to redirect it. The football ricocheted off the post and back into the pitch, the crowd erupting into a symphony of disbelief and cheers. The lucky escape was celebrated, but Kenny's heart pounded mercilessly against his ribs. Deep down, he felt dread creeping up, for amongst the cheers, he glimpsed a dire future—the Thunderbolts would return stronger, more desperate.

Minutes later, amidst high-energy gameplay, the whistle for extra time blared. "This is it," Tony said as exhaustion lingered in the air. "We've got to win now, Kenny."

"I know," Kenny replied. "But remember, I can't do it alone. We have to play smart."

With the game once again underway, Kenny focused, knowing that time was running out. The tension tightened like strings pulled taut. The boys fought on, a passionate blend of grit and determination, but every time Kenny dove, every time he saved, he felt the weight of their collective hope resting solidly on his shoulders.

Then, in the final moments, it happened. A perfect shot from Tony—a curling volley aiming for the top corner of the net. Behind him, Kenny saw a flicker of the future: a Thunderbolts' defender, lunging to block it. In that instant, Kenny was torn between the outcome he saw and the desire for Tony to score. He screamed across the pitch, "Aim lower, Tony!"

The forward hesitated for just a millisecond at the sound of Kenny's voice, adjusting his aim. The ball glided beautifully, caught by the defender's foot just enough to deflect it past the post! Kenny felt an avalanche of emotion surge forward, a rush of adrenaline across the entire field.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the match. The Rosewood team had emerged victorious, their hard-fought win sealing their place in history. Kenny was swept up in a sea of jubilant teammates, their voices raised in triumph.

Among the sea of faces in the stands, Kenny's eyes locked with Emma's. It was a special moment, seeing her there, supporting him with such unwavering devotion. Tony clapped Kenny on the back, his contagious laughter filling the air.

As the celebrations continued, Kenny's gaze wandered beyond Emma, towards the edge of the stand where a figure stood, cloaked in shadows, looked the same as he saw two days back. A shiver ran down Kenny's spine as he tried to make out the features of the mysterious onlooker, but they remained hidden in the darkness.

Ignoring the strange feeling, Kenny turned his attention back to his teammates, reveling in the victory and the camaraderie that came with it.

But as the celebrations began to wind down, Kenny couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He glanced back towards the stands again, searching for the mysterious figure, but the figure was nowhere to be seen.

Kenny's heart quickened with multiple thoughts. What did this mysterious person want? And who was that person following?