Street Game: Dante

Leo lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his chest was tight with anger and frustration. The rejection still burned inside him, like a wound that refused to close. Silvercrest Academy had tossed him aside like he was nothing. The dream he had chased for years, shattered in an instant.

His mind raced with thoughts, suddenly he was brought back to reality when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He hesitated before picking it up, already dreading what he would see. His name was trending again, and not for a good reason.

{Leo Foster, another overhyped flop.

Maybe he was never good to begin with.

From rising star to benchwarmer. A tragic fall.}

His fingers clenched around the phone. It took everything in him not to hurl it across the room. The people who once praised him were now laughing at his downfall. He shut his eyes, trying to block it all out. But the words stayed with him, digging deeper into his mind.

He had no time to think about the mockery, as his mother's voice called from the kitchen. "Leo, breakfast is ready."

He didn't answer, he didn't have the appetite. Instead, he grabbed his hoodie, threw it over his head, and slipped out of the house. For once in his lifetime circumstances forced him to ignore his mother and sneak out.

'How do I even continue facing her? she has been doing everything for me to be in the best football academy, and what, I have already let her down' his mind was full and he was not yet ready to continue facing his mother, who has been struggling alone to make sure he had the best and now, he had nothing but disappointment to offer.

Leo could remember that since his father's mysteries disappearance it was only her who has been taking care of everything after all the family members neglected them, took everything that they owned and send all the blames to his mother for making their son get lost.

The cold morning air bit at his skin, but he welcomed it. He was ready for anything to distract from the storm in his head.

His feet carried him through familiar streets, past the park where he used to practice for hours. Back then, every kick, every sprint, every drop of sweat was for one purpose to make it to the pros. Now, it all felt meaningless.

Somehow, he ended up at the old Kitale street football pitch in Eastwood. The place where he first fell in love with the game. The concrete was cracked, the metal goalposts rusted, but the energy was the same. Kids played barefoot, shouting, laughing and dodging imaginary referees.

"Yo, isn't that Leo?" A voice cut through the chatter. Heads turned. A group of teenagers gathered near the fence, watching him like he was an exhibit.

"The academy reject?" another one sneered. "Man, I saw the videos, they were brutal."

Through the Laughter. He kept his head down, jaw clenched. He should've walked away. But pride wouldn't let him.

Then came the voice he didn't want to hear…"Well, well, if it isn't the fallen prince himself."

Leo turned and there stood Dante Moreno. A name everyone in Eastwood knew. Tall, broad-shouldered, with tattoos creeping up his arms and an ego bigger than the city traffic. Dante was more than just a local player, he was a street legend and a menace.

"Didn't expect to see you back here, Fos," Dante said, smirking. "Thought you big-shot academy boys forgot about the streets."

Leo held his glare. "I didn't forget."

Dante chuckled. "That so? Prove it."

Immediately a ball rolled to his feet. The challenge was unspoken, but everyone knew what it meant.

Leo exhaled slowly. His heart pounded. He hadn't played street football in years. The rules were different, no refs, no fouls, what was required was just pure skill and survival.

"Let's make it interesting," Dante said. "Win, and you get respect. Lose, and you leave your boots here."

'What!...' Leo stiffened, his cleats were the last link to his dream. The only thing tying him to the career he had chased his whole life. He wanted to walk away for he knew Dante wasn't just playing for fun, he wanted to humiliate him. But something inside him refused to back down. The fire, dimmed by rejection, flickered back to life.

"Fine," Leo said, rolling his shoulders. "Five-on-five. First to three."

Dante grinned. "Let's play."

The teams formed quickly. Leo got Marco, a quick-footed winger, Jace, a former academy dropout, and two local kids he didn't know.

Dante's side, was built like warriors with street ballers who knew every trick and every dirty play.

The match kicked off and Leo immediately felt the difference. Street football wasn't about structured plays or tactical formations, it was full of chaos. The ball moved like it had a mind of its own. Every touch and every turn had to be instinctual.

Dante's team was ruthless. Shoves, shoulder checks, even light trips and a knee on the ribs, their were no fouls and no time to think, it was just pure survival.

Leo struggled at first, his academy training told him to play clean, to look for space, to pass with precision. But here? Space didn't exist. Precision meant nothing if you couldn't hold your ground.

Dante danced past him with ease, flicking the ball between his legs before slamming it into the net. Gaining his team fist goal, 1-0.

Then with a wide smark he faced Leo, "Looking a little stiff, Foster," he taunted. "Silvercrest messed you up that is bad?"

Leo gritted his teeth, he needed to adapt, faster. Marco sent him the ball. Dante lunged at him, expecting hesitation. But Leo didn't hesitate, he let the ball roll, then flicked it behind him, spinning past Dante in one motion. Gasps from the street children observing filled the air . Dante turned, but Leo was already gone, slipping a pass to Marco, who buried it in the net. Making it,

1-1.

Dante's smirk faded. "Alright. Now you're awake."

The match turned into all out war. Every move, every pass felt like life or death. Leo stopped thinking and started feeling. His feet moved on their own, dodging tackles, feinting past defenders, playing the kind of football that had gotten him into Silvercrest in the first place. The kind that made him fall in love with the game.

By half time(if it could even be called that), since they didn't know if it was actually 45 minutes because Leo doubted, it was more than the actual Ist half. The score tied.

They were now at 2-2.

After a questionable "halftime break" full of smack talk and exaggerated storytelling, they went into what Dante called the 'Killer Minutes.' He knew he only needed less than 2 minutes to score another goal and win the bet.

Dante came at Leo hard, too hard. A reckless tackle sent Leo stumbling, pain shot up his leg, but he pushed on. The ball bounced loose and he saw his golden chance.

The crowd roared as Leo slipped the ball through Dante's legs, then sprinted past him. Dante twisted, eyes wide, but it was too late. Leo's foot connected with the ball, sending it soaring into the net and with that the game was over. They had reached their maximum agreed goal bet.

Leo turned to Dante, expecting anger or maybe even a fight because he knew well Dante was not one to let that go, but instead, Dante just stared, his expression unreadable. Then he smirked. "Not bad."

Leo's breath came fast, his body ached, but for the first time in days, he felt alive.

Jace knew well what Dante's real target was whenever he had a bet, he clapped Leo on the shoulder. "You just made an enemy, man."

Leo didn't care, because in that moment, he realized something. Silvercrest was behind him. But football? Football was still his, he just needed to find his own way.

Just as he started to enjoy the moment with his mind racing again but with positive ideas, Dante stepped closer, and with a low voice almost a whisper he leaned towards Leo's ears and told him, "You're good, Foster, but out here? Talent isn't enough."

Leo frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Dante chuckled darkly. "You'll see."

Before Leo could press him, he felt a presence behind him. Heavy footsteps. A shadow looming, then a deep and cold voice, "You beat Dante? That means you're ready for the real game."

Leo turned. And what he saw made his stomach drop. The man standing before him was far worse than Dante and had been watching.