Broken Hands

22. Crossing the boundaries

As the game against the Hawks heated up, the Mediterraneans were already down 1-3, struggling against the Hawks' relentless speed and strength. Russell, however, refused to give in. His legs were aching, muscles burning, but he kept urging his teammates on, even as their faces showed the exhaustion creeping in.

At the 78th minute, Russell scanned the stands, his gaze landing on his family and Emily, with her cheerleading team, who was giving it her all, though her face reflected her disappointment. He felt a wave of pressure from all directions. His team needed this win, his coach depended on it, and most of all—he wasn't one to disappoint.

Russell darted down the field, nearing the 18-yard line when a Hawks player lunged in, sweeping his legs out from under him. Russell tumbled, landing hard on the ground, gasping for breath. The referee's whistle cut through the air, awarding a penalty kick to the Mediterraneans as Russell's teammates rushed over, clapping him on the back, their eyes begging for hope. It was up to him now.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his ankle, Russell steadied himself, taking a slow, deep breath. He feigned a glance to the left, fooling the goalkeeper, then struck the ball to the right. It flew into the net, igniting cheers from his team as they crowded around him, celebrating, though Russell's face stayed focused, far from satisfied.

With the score now at 2-3, the game reignited. Bolstered by the renewed energy, Russell's teammates fought fiercely, pressing forward. Minutes later, he delivered a perfect pass from the center to the left wing, who didn't hesitate, sending the ball flying past the goalie for a score. 3-3.

The Hawks quickly substituted in new players, and the Mediterraneans responded in kind, bringing in Cooper. The Hawks' defense turned aggressive, aiming to shut down Russell. The game took on a brutal edge as Russell collided repeatedly with opponents, each hit unlocking fresh waves of pain. He gritted his teeth, barely standing, yet pushing his team forward. Then, Cooper lashed out in frustration, throwing a punch that earned him a red card. They were down a player.

As the extra minutes ticked by, Russell gathered his team. "All right, guys, one last push. Give it everything. No holding back."

Revitalized, the Mediterraneans threw themselves into the game with newfound energy. But the Hawks defended fiercely, their players moving in perfect sync, blocking every pass and tackle.

Finally, Russell found himself with the ball, his path to the goal obstructed by a wall of defenders. He had no other option but to take a wild shot from a distance, putting every ounce of strength he had left behind it. The ball soared through the air and, as if guided by pure determination, landed perfectly in the net. The crowd erupted, cheering as the referee's whistle signaled the end of the game. 4-3. They had won.

The coach placed a hand on Russell's shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he offered a quiet, "Good work, Russell. All of you—fantastic game." Russell's teammates crowded him singing and chanting his name.

After the game, Russell headed to the locker room, exhaustion weighing heavily on him as he changed out of his jersey. Just as he finished, he overheard voices echoing down the hall.

"Yeah? You really wanted to be part of them," someone sneered.

"Part of that? Never," Cooper's voice responded. "I'd rather die."

Rounding the corner, Russell caught sight of Cooper and a Hawks player, both of them stopping to stare as he walked by. Russell shot Cooper a hard look, then moved on, dismissing it. Outside, the evening air hit him, cool and refreshing. He smiled with his eyes shut. It feels good.

Suddenly, he felt arms around his shoulders. "There he is—the GOAT!" Julian yelled, his voice filled with admiration.

Russell laughed, shrugging him off. Alex approached with a proud grin. "I didn't know you had that in you. The best."