The ball came fast.
It was clear immediately—4-C had momentum. Quick passes, sharp footwork, aggressive openings. One of their forwards—tall, lean, clearly played outside the academy—was already cutting down the flank with the kind of speed that turned casual games into highlight reels.
Damien moved to intercept.
And immediately realized something.
He was rusty.
Not in the body—his reflexes, his reach, his speed, they were fine. But the feel for the game—the rhythm, the angles, the balance of controlling space and reaction time? It wasn't there.
He moved wrong. Reached too early. Misjudged the bounce.
The forward slipped past.
The first goal wasn't his fault entirely, but he hadn't stopped it either.
There were no taunts. No jeers.
But he felt it.
The look from Rin. The hesitation from Aaron.
And Victoria, standing near Celia, her lips twitching like she was already preparing a smug little comment.
Damien exhaled slowly through his nose.
'Not great.'
