Chapter 147: Chapter 147: Thirty Thousand Feet Above the Pitch
The hum of the engines faded into a steady rhythm—soft, endless, almost like the heartbeat of the sky.
Julian sat comfortably in his seat, a sleek handheld console glowing faintly in his hands.
He’d brought it as a small reward for himself—his latest toy, something Crest had reluctantly approved of.
The game loaded up with cheerful music and bright colors. Pokeman.
In it, you didn’t play as a hero catching monsters...
But as the monster—capturing humans in glowing spheres and forcing them into battle.
Julian smirked faintly.
A world where beasts command men. Now that’s a twist.
He leaned back, thumb tapping the buttons, the screen flashing with colors and cries.
Tiny pixelated figures flung glowing chains, their shouts muffled beneath the soft roar of engines. It was absurd. And oddly poetic.
Between duels, he glanced outside—clouds rolled past like oceans of silver.
A gentle chime sounded. The scent of roasted chicken and warm bread filled the cabin.
Flight attendants wheeled carts down the aisle, polished smiles steady.
Moments later, a tray appeared before him—grilled salmon, buttered vegetables, and a small slice of cake.
Julian blinked. "Huh... this looks good."
He took a bite. His eyes widened slightly. It is good.
That surprised him.
From what he’d read online, airplane food was supposed to be terrible.
Maybe this was the perk of business class—a realm of quiet luxury and edible meals.
Across from him, David sipped his coffee, brow arched. "You like playing games, huh?"
Julian nodded, eyes still on his screen. "Yeah. My go-to when I’m not training. Keeps my mind sharp."
David chuckled, setting his cup down. "Good. You’ll need something to fill the hours. Better that than parties."
His tone shifted—still calm, but edged with warning.
Julian caught it. Understood it.
He’d read enough—stories of prodigies in this world, bright as comets, who burned themselves out in clubs and bottles.
Talent devoured by indulgence. Promise traded for pleasure.
Julian’s fingers stilled on the console.
His gaze drifted toward the endless blue beyond the glass.
That won’t be me.
Not in this life. Not ever.
He turned the game back on, the screen’s glow flickering across his calm, determined eyes.
While others wasted their time chasing noise and shadows—
He’d chase greatness.
...
The hum of the cabin wrapped around him as the plane drifted steady through the clouds.
Julian’s thumbs moved absently over the console, more out of rhythm than focus now.
Then—
Bzzt.
His phone buzzed.
Julian blinked, lowering the console to his lap.
A notification flashed across the screen—
[Laura]: I’ll start the livestream in a few minutes.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
He set the console aside, unlocked his tablet, and tapped the link.
The screen lit up—dark at first, just a blank canvas and a quiet hum of waiting.
Then, with a soft flicker, the feed came alive.
Laura’s face filled the frame, framed by the lights of the stadium.
Her voice broke through the background noise, bright and steady:
"—You’re here, Julian, right?"
Julian’s fingers moved across the keyboard.
[Julian]: Yeah.
Laura grinned, turning the camera toward the others.
Leo popped into view first, grin wide and chaotic as ever.
"Hohoho! We’re taking the W today, boss!"
Julian chuckled softly. Same old Leo.
Next came Cael, pulling on his gloves, calm but sharp.
"How’s the plane?" he asked, voice faint over the noise.
Julian typed back:
[Julian]: Flying. Still alive.
Noah appeared next, giving a small nod toward the camera—quiet, but solid.
Then Riku leaned in, expression firm.
"I won’t let a single attacker break through our line today."
Julian’s eyes softened. Good. That’s the spirit.
Laura panned the camera out as the team jogged toward the pitch.
Rows of blue shimmered under the floodlights, Lincoln’s warm-up routine in motion.
The ball zipped between feet, the air alive with shouts, cheers, and the faint echo of music.
Across the field, their opponents lined up—Silver Heights High.
Top-ten seed. Silver and black stripes gleaming like armor.
Even through the screen, Julian could feel it—the tension, the weight of the match ahead.
He leaned back, tablet steady in his hands, gaze unwavering.
Even thirty thousand feet above, his heart moved with every pass.
With every shout.
With every step they took onto that field—his battlefield, his brothers-in-arms.
Fight well, he thought. I’ll be watching.
...
Julian stayed glued to the screen as the referee’s whistle pierced the air.
Kickoff.
The match began in a blur of motion—boots striking turf, jerseys flashing under floodlights.
Instinctively, Julian narrowed his eyes, activating Scan.
A faint pulse flickered through his vision—then faded.
Nothing.
He frowned, leaning closer.
No numbers. No stats. No data.
So it doesn’t work through a broadcast...
It made sense, but still—it tugged at him.
Why hadn’t he tried scanning players through a screen before?
Guess I wanted to see them face-to-face. Feel their intent. Their pressure.
A flicker of movement pulled him from thought—Lincoln’s first attack.
Leo, already in rhythm, danced through the midfield with that effortless grace.
Julian recognized it instantly—the Maestro State.
That trance where instincts took over, where the game slowed and brilliance flowed.
But it wasn’t just Leo.
All of them—Cael, Riku, Liam, even Noah on the sideline—moved with sharpened purpose.
And with Julian absent, Ricky had stepped in as a starter, slotting neatly into Lincoln’s formation.
They flowed together—each pass crisp, every press synchronized—
like a unit forged in his absence.
Like a team determined to prove something.
Julian’s gaze softened.
Are they... doing this because I’m watching?
The thought sank in quietly, deep as the hum of the engines.
They wanted him to see.
To know they could stand tall even without him.
That Lincoln High wasn’t a one-man army.
A quiet chuckle escaped his lips. "Really, guys...?"
He leaned back in his seat, eyes never leaving the screen, warmth rising beneath his calm exterior.
No guilt. No regret.
Only pride.
Even from thirty thousand feet above, he could feel it—
Lincoln’s spirit, burning bright without him.
And as the camera caught Leo raising a hand to the sky, a grin splitting his face, Julian smiled too. Somewhere between cloud and earth, two captains shared the same fire.