Chapter 118: Chapter 118: No-Loss Run
One by one, Lincoln’s players drifted into the locker room.
Noah first. Then Riku. Then Leo.
And finally—Cael.
The door swung open, and there he was, his usual fire blazing. The bandage that once wrapped his head like a crown of scars was now smaller—just a strip across his brow. The wound still marked him, but less than before.
The second he stepped in, his voice exploded through the room.
"I’M BETTER!"
He threw his arms up like he’d just scored the winner in overtime.
The boys laughed, but Riku didn’t let him off easy.
"But can you play?" he asked, one brow raised.
Cael froze, caught mid-celebration. His bravado cracked, leaving a flicker of nerves on his face.
"I... can," he said, but his voice wavered.
Riku leaned back, smirking. "But?"
Cael rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish.
"I need one more check on Thursday. If the doctor clears me... then I can play." His words trailed into a low mutter, and he dropped onto the bench.
The sound of cleats clattering against tile filled the silence, sweat-stained jerseys hanging open as boys exchanged glances.
Even the faint sting of liniment in the air seemed sharper after Cael’s confession, as if the whole room inhaled and held its breath.
Silence lingered for a second—until Leo cut through it, his tone steady.
"Hey. It’s fine. You’ll play when you’re ready. We’ve got plenty more matches ahead."
Cael’s face lit up like sunrise, the weight lifting from his shoulders. His grin was raw, boyish—like the fire in him couldn’t be snuffed out.
But Julian... Julian didn’t smile.
His face tightened, shadows in his eyes.
Plenty more matches ahead?
For them, maybe. But not for him.
The words sank into his chest like stones. He couldn’t tell them yet. Not before San Dimas. Not before he led them through one last battle. But guilt gnawed at him, the kind that didn’t fade no matter how deep you buried it.
Noah nudged his shin guards into place, muttering under his breath. "Don’t rush it, Cael. You’ll just mess us up if you’re half-fit." But his tone was light, almost teasing—a brother’s jab.
The laughter broke the tension again, rolling through the benches in waves, but beneath the noise, every player carried the same thought: they needed their keeper back.
The chatter quieted when the door creaked open again.
Coach Owen stepped in, Laura at his side with her clipboard hugged to her chest. The usual pair—the steel and the shield.
Coach Owen stopped in the center of the room, his gaze sweeping over the team like a commander surveying his soldiers.
"How are we, boys? Ready for the last match of the week?"
"Yes, Coach!" the locker room roared, voices slamming together like a war cry.
Laura stepped forward, her eyes sharp, pen clicking in her hand like a metronome.
"You’ve already faced San Dimas once," she began, her voice steady, slicing through the noise of the locker room. "But this time things are different. Victor’s back to full fitness—and in his last three matches, he’s scored five goals. He’s closing in on Julian’s record. Without that injury, he’d be neck-and-neck for the Golden Boot right now."
The words hung heavy. Even the air seemed to tighten.
Laura’s gaze swept the room, catching each player in turn. "And it’s not just Victor. You remember Miles Becker? Their midfielder who showed up late in our last match? He’s matured. His control, his vision—he’s become the engine that holds their shape. San Dimas now has five key players in peak form. They’re not just a wall anymore. They’re a giant. A giant with a spearhead sharp enough to kill."
The room quieted. Every player remembered that last clash—ninety minutes of crashing into San Dimas’ defense, wave after wave with no breakthrough. It had been a stalemate, only because their attack lacked the edge to finish.
But this time? Their spear was ready. Their edge was honed.
Laura closed her notebook with a snap, her voice dropping lower. "Be ready."
Julian watched her. Their manager, their analyst. Always the one with clarity. He felt a strange flicker in his chest—not just respect, but hope. She could go far in this role. Maybe even further than she realized.
Coach Owen’s gravelly voice cut in, pulling every eye back to him.
"You heard her. This will be the peak of our season. Scouts will be there. People will be watching. It’s your chance, all of you. Don’t waste it."
His fist clenched, the veins in his forearm standing out like cords.
"Win it. No excuses. Let’s win this."
"Yes, Coach!" the room thundered back in unison, voices echoing off the lockers.
And with that, they rose. Jackets zipped. Cleats in hand. The air in the room had shifted—tighter, sharper, burning with anticipation.
They streamed out of the locker room, ready for training, ready for war.
And then—
Ding.
A faint chime rippled through Julian’s head—soft, invisible, meant for him alone.
...
[System Quest Complete]
Rise to the Team
Qualify for CIF Southern Section Playoffs
Reward: Rare Skill → Legendary Skill
[ Accept Reward ]
[Yes] [No]
...
Julian’s lips curved. Lincoln had already secured their qualification—mathematically untouchable, even if they lost the final match. This was confirmation. Proof.
He pressed [Yes].
[Congratulations, Host. Due to your exceptional performance, reward tier upgraded.]
Legendary Skill granted.
His chest stirred as letters burned into his vision.
...
➤ [Phoenix Pulse Lv.1] [0/50]
Type: Active
Rank: Legendary
A flame buried within your vessel ignites when called. Exhaustion, pain, and injury are consumed by rebirth.
Upon activation, stamina is instantly restored, fatigue purged, and light-to-medium wounds healed. Severe injuries stabilize, allowing you to continue the fight.
Cooldown: Usable once every 2 matches. Activation requires stamina < 30% or significant damage sustained.
...
A fire skill. Not for destruction—for rebirth.
Julian’s fingers curled into a fist. Perfect. Exactly what he needed to drag his body beyond its limits, to keep fighting when others broke.
But before he could savor it—
[Ding.]
...
[System Quest Alert]
No-Loss Run
Win against San Dimas
Reward: Legendary Pack
[ Accept Quest? ]
[Yes] [No]
...
Julian didn’t hesitate. His thumb pressed [Yes] in his mind. His pulse beat harder, steadier. He would win. No matter what San Dimas threw at him—he would carve the path forward.
"Julian?"
He blinked, pulled back into reality. Leo was watching him, brows raised.
"Yeah?" Julian answered, masking the fire behind his eyes.
"You look like you’re plotting something," Leo said with a half-smile, golden gaze sharp as ever.
Julian chuckled, scratching his neck. "Hah, sorry. Just... nothing."
"Nothing, huh?" Leo narrowed his eyes, but let it go.
The whistle blew. Training resumed.
But deep inside, Julian carried it now—a flame hidden under his ribs, waiting for the right moment to roar back to life. The Phoenix would rise when the battle demanded it, and San Dimas would be the first to feel its heat.