Chapter Two

They continued warming up—light jogging, quick stretches, a few passes between them.

The rest of the players did the same; some cracked jokes, others focused, and others lost in their own pre-game rituals.

"Dear God, let us win tonight." Some of the players were praying. Well, that was weird.

Wasn't it just street soccer? Play for fun?

Still, Elion continued his warm-up. He stretched his legs, rolling his shoulders as he took his spot—right winger. He was trying to get back the feeling of playing.

Jordan, of course, was a striker because where else would he be? The guy was built for scoring goals, and he knew it.

The others jogged onto the court, passing the ball around as they warmed up. The air buzzed with anticipation, but something still felt... off.

Elion nudged Jordan. "Alright, be real with me—why is everyone acting weird?"

Jordan grinned, casually juggling the ball between his feet. With a grin, he said, "There must be bets involved. That's the only possible explanation."

Elion stopped mid-stretch. "Bets? Money?"

Jordan smirked. "Big game, big stakes. Wouldn't be the first time."

Elion frowned. "You must be kidding... Things have changed a lot, huh?"

Jordan laughed as he tossed the ball into the air and easily trapped it with his right foot. "Don't be silly, Elion. We were kids back then. Now? We're adults. Life changes people."

Elion sighed. He hated when Jordan said things that actually made sense.

After about ten more minutes, Raymond clapped his hands from midfield, calling everyone in. "Alright! You all know the rules—no refs, no whining, no mercy."

Elion leaned toward Jordan. "Is that, like, his catchphrase?"

Jordan grinned. "Oh yeah. Guy loves saying that."

Raymond continued. "One rolling sub per team. Match is first to three goals or twenty minutes—whichever comes first. Play clean, play hard, and don't embarrass yourselves."

Jordan elbowed Elion. "Try not to embarrass yourself, rookie."

Elion smirked. "Funny. I was just about to say the same to you."

The teams moved into position.

Elion flexed his fingers, rolling his neck. His pulse was steady, his body remembering the old rhythm, the way the game felt before everything else in life got complicated.

Malik was onto him. Elion could see that on Malik's face, one could read, 'Where have I seen this face?'

Well, it was too obvious. Some people were squinting at him, like their brains were running on low battery, trying to process where they'd seen his face before.

He knew that look.

The I-know-this-guy-but-where-from look.

Which, honestly, was fair. Elion used to play here all the time, but he'd never been the type to socialize much. No pre-game banter, no post-match celebrations. He'd just show up, play, and leave—mostly because Jordan had dragged him along.

Back then, Jordan had been the loud, charismatic one who made friends with literally everyone.

Elion? He was just the dude standing next to him, nodding occasionally like an NPC in the background.

So yeah. People sort of recognized him. But actually, remembering him?

That was a whole different challenge.

Still, Elion chose to ignore him. He was trying his best to get his sense of the game as quickly as possible.

Raymond placed the ball at the center.

"Three."

Jordan bounced on his heels, eyes locked on the ball.

"Two."

The other team tensed. Marcus flashed Elion a cocky smirk from across the court. It seemed like he remembered Elion.

"One."

The match began.

Elion took his first step, and suddenly, it felt like he had never left. The ball was passed from Jordan to Raymond.

Raymond held the ball at midfield, eyes scanning the court for an opening. "Move it, you snails! Find open spaces!"

He was shouting at his teammates with the ball still on his feet, eyes looking around. Finding a free teammate seemed like a trouble for him.

"Over here, dumbass! I'm free!"

"Me! Me!"

The opposing team, too, moved quickly into position, marking players closely and pressing hard. They were not just here to play; they aimed to win.

Well, of course. If what Jordan told Elion was true, they must win.

"Where did I meet you?" Malik asked as he had locked onto Elion like a heat-seeking missile, shadowing his every move.

"No idea," Elion replied. He was not really into talking right now. He felt his pride had hurt so much tonight when everyone forgot about him. His mood was bad.

Raymond knew Malik's reputation; the guy was ruthless when it came to marking. Seeing Elion stuck under his pressure, Raymond sighed and decided against passing to him. "Well, another rookie, it seems."

Elion noticed how Raymond was looking at him. 'He thinks I can't handle it,' Elion thought. That was when Elion did something that nobody noticed.

Meanwhile, on Raymond's mind, if Malik had Elion locked down, then it would be a wasted play. Just as he turned to find another option, something caught his eye.

Elion was free.

Elion did not shout or wave his hand. He simply made eye contact with Raymond. That was more than enough to convey his intention of where he wanted the ball to be passed.

"How on earth..." Raymond blinked, momentarily thrown off.

Just seconds ago, Malik had been glued to him, yet now he was looking around, confused, his hands out as if trying to figure out where Elion had disappeared.

Jordan, watching from the center, grinned and muttered under his breath, "Now you guys won't forget Elion anymore."

Without hesitation, Raymond launched the ball toward Elion with a powerful, direct pass.

Marcus, one of the white-team strikers, laughed. "What the hell, Ray? You trying to send the ball out of bounds?"

Several players on the opponent's side smirked, already assuming possession. The ball was moving too fast, carrying too much force and a bit high for one to stop.

To them, it was an obvious mistake—there was no way Elion could control it before it went out.

That was when Elion stunned everyone. He didn't even think—his body just moved.

With perfect timing, he jumped backward, twisting his body in mid-air. As he spun, he extended his right foot and, with the outer edge, stopped the ball dead.

The trap was perfect. Some people called it a soft-tofu trap. There was no wild bounce, no struggle for control—just an instant, clean trap.

"Who… the heck is he…"

"This is unfair. They must have called a pro."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Raymond, who had assumed his pass had been wasted, stood frozen, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. That was when he felt something had triggered his memory.

"Wait a minute... Elion… That Elion?!"

Even Jordan, who had expected Elion to do something, raised an eyebrow in approval. "Whoa. Awesome as always, Elion."

Elion just landed when Malik, furious at being outplayed, lunged at him with a full-force slide tackle. But Elion was already moving. He jumped over Malik's legs in one quick move as if Malik wasn't there at all.

Once his feet hit the ground, he took off running.

Elion sprinted down the right flank, moving at a pace no one had expected. One defender ran to block him, but Elion faked left and then quickly cut right, causing the player to stumble the wrong way.

Another defender approached from the front, trying to steal the ball, but Elion spun past him smoothly, leaving him reaching for nothing.

The sudden shift in momentum sent a jolt of urgency through the white team. "Stop him!" Marcus bellowed as he tore down the court to reinforce the defense.

Elion wasn't stopping. He had no reason to.

With every step, he left another opponent in the dust. The Cage had seen fast players before, but Elion wasn't just fast—he was precise, his movements fluid and controlled. There was no wasted energy, no unnecessary showboating. He knew exactly where he needed to be, and he got there effortlessly.

By the time he neared the corner, the entire red team was watching in disbelief. Meanwhile, the white team was scrambling, desperate to shut him down.

"Quick! Just do anything! Something!"

"Tackle him!"

Meanwhile, Jordan was already in position, his body tense and waiting. "Come on. I'm ready, Elion."

Elion smiled as he saw Jordan's position. He didn't hesitate. He swung his foot and sent a perfectly timed cross curling toward the center of the goal.

The ball arced through the air, landing exactly where Jordan needed it. "Thanks for the delivery!" Jordan said, and without a second thought, he leaped, meeting the ball with a powerful header that slammed into the net.

The impact was loud and final. The ball hit the back of the goal. The goalkeeper was helpless.

1-0.

For a moment, everyone was silent. Then, the court erupted.

"Goallllll!"

The red team cheered loudly, some still in shock from what they had just witnessed. Raymond ran a hand through his hair, showing both surprise and respect.

On the white team's side, a few players were already arguing, clearly unsettled.

"Just break his leg! Why did you hesitate?!"

"How?! I can't even catch him."

Jordan brushed the dust off his bib, walking up to Elion with a smirk. "Welcome back, man."

Elion let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he glanced around. Every single player on the court was staring at him now.

Someone on the red team finally broke the silence. "You're that Elion, right?" His voice carried a mix of awe and excitement.

Another guy smacked his teammate's shoulder. "Dude. We're winning this. We've got Elion Hayes."

"Man, it's been years!"

"We're confirmed to win tonight, guys!" someone shouted.

Elion just smiled. Yeah. They remembered him now.

But the white team wasn't just going to roll over and die.

From the second the ball was back in play, they came at him with everything they had. The smugness in Marcus's expression was gone—replaced with something colder, sharper. They weren't playing for fun anymore. They were playing to break him.

And yet, it didn't matter.

Malik, who had spent the first half of the match tailing him, got more aggressive—pushing, pulling, trying to disrupt his rhythm. But Elion had already figured him out. He baited Malik into lunging for the ball, only to flick it between his legs, leaving him spinning in the dust.

The crowd gasped. Someone actually shouted, "Ankles! He took his ankles!"

Elion didn't stop. He sprinted down the sideline, faking out two defenders before cutting inside and threading a perfect pass to Jordan.

Jordan grinned. "Oh, now we're really cooking."

Boom. Goal. 2-0.

The white team was in trouble.

Desperate, they started playing dirty—throwing elbows, clipping heels, shoving just hard enough that the ref-less game wouldn't stop them. But the red team wasn't intimidated. They were fired up.

Elion took another hit to the ribs. He staggered but kept going. The ball rolled toward Raymond, who immediately launched it forward—straight into the chaos of the penalty box.

Jordan, mid-stride, went airborne.

The keeper dove. He managed to block it. The ball then moved toward Elion's direction. 'A chance,' he thought. He jumped high into the air.

A perfectly timed bicycle kick. The moment his foot connected with the ball, time seemed to slow.

The ball slammed into the net with a sickening thud.

3-0. Game over. Seventeen minutes after the game started, it ended.

The red team had wrecked the opposition. Jordan had netted two goals, his striker instincts still sharp enough to slice through steel, while Elion had scored one and assisted two.

Every time the white team thought they had their attack figured out, Elion and Jordan broke through like a wrecking crew with zero regard for their pride.

The final whistle—well, Raymond's deafening "GAME OVER!"—rang through The Cage, and the red team exploded into cheers.

"Dude, where have you been hiding?!" Raymond shouted, clapping Elion on the back so hard he nearly dislocated his soul. "You're much better now. You played like a pro!"

Another teammate shook his head in disbelief. "Man, I swear you were possessed or something. That footwork? Straight-up wizardry."

Elion smiled as he caught his breath. He had missed this feeling—the excitement, the teamwork, and the thrill of competing. He thought he was just filling in, but it turned out that tonight marked his official return.

Well, for the summer break, at least.

But not everyone was celebrating.

Across the court, the white team wasn't just mad. They were furious.

That was when it hit Elion. They had money on this match.

The prayers before the game. The weird tension in their huddle. They were all way too into it for just a casual street game.

Elion's stomach twisted. He had just wrecked someone's payday.

"I smell trouble," Elion muttered.

Jordan let out a low whistle beside him. "Yeah… they're not happy."

Elion glanced at the opposing players. Some were locked in heated, frustrated conversations, but a few?

They were staring directly at him and Jordan. And not in a "Wow, great game, man" kind of way.

More like a "We're debating whether to jump you in the parking lot" kind of way.

Elion turned to Jordan. "I believed we just make some enemies."

Jordan exhaled, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Maybe. Probably." He shrugged. "Either way, not our problem. Game's over."

Elion frowned. "Did we do the right thing?"

Jordan's expression was unreadable for a second, but then he gave another shrug. "I don't know. In the end, we played to win. That's on them for betting on it."

"That's helpful," Elion let out a slow breath, looking back at the white team.

He had joined just to play, but somehow, he and Jordan had just decided the fate of a whole lot of money. And judging by the way the white team kept glaring at them—this wasn't over.

Not even close.