3:00… 2:99…

With just three minutes left in the final match, LukeChester's future hung by a thread. A loss would mean relegation to the lowest league—Ranked League. The opposing team, Rochester, controlled the ball, and the tension was palpable. The air was thick with anticipation, the roaring crowd making it impossible to think straight. Sweat beaded on Xander's forehead as he maneuvered across the field, his heart pounding in tandem with the echoing chants of the crowd.

The ball shifted quickly between Rochester players, their movements calculated and precise. Xander's sharp eyes darted between them, looking for an opening. His legs felt like they were on fire, but he pushed forward, closing the distance with determination. A misstep from one of the Rochester players gave him the opening he needed, and with a lightning-fast move, he intercepted the ball.

This was it.

The ball was in his control now, and adrenaline surged through his veins as he sprinted across the field. The game's intensity doubled as the clock continued its relentless countdown. His breathing was ragged, and the shouts from his teammates barely registered in his ears. Across the field, Noah, one of his teammates, waved his arms frantically, trying to get Xander's attention.

He was wide open.

Xander's mind raced. Should he take the shot himself or pass to Noah? A moment of hesitation slowed his steps. The crowd's roars became deafening, drowning out all reason. Time was slipping away.

0:16… 0:15…

The choice had to be made.

Gritting his teeth, Xander decided to pass. He made the kick, sending the ball sailing cleanly across the field to Noah, who caught it perfectly. The decision felt right—Noah was in a prime position to score.

Noah steadied himself, his body tensed like a spring about to snap. With a fierce cry, he struck the ball with all his might. The stadium seemed to hold its breath as the ball soared through the air, its trajectory straight and true.

And then it happened.

The ball collided with the plank, bouncing off with a hollow, metallic thud. The whistle blew three sharp blasts, piercing through the collective gasp of the crowd. Silence followed—a suffocating, deafening silence.

They had lost.

The scoreboard confirmed the devastating truth. LukeChester's journey had come to a bitter end, and they were being demoted to the Ranked League.

Xander stood frozen, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his failure. Pain etched itself into his features as he glanced at Noah, whose eyes were filled with regret and disbelief. Around them, the crowd's once-thunderous cheers had diminished to murmurs of disappointment. The players of Rochester celebrated unabashedly, their victory echoing like salt on LukeChester's collective wound.

What made it even worse was that they had lost in their own stadium.

As the realization sank in, a few members of Rochester's team approached. One of their players stepped forward, extending a hand toward Xander. "Let's exchange jerseys," he offered, holding up the token flag of their victory.

Xander hesitated. The gesture caught him off guard. Was it out of pity or admiration? He couldn't tell. The emotions swirling within him made it difficult to think straight, but he finally nodded, accepting the exchange. As he handed over his team's jersey, it felt less like a sign of respect and more like a symbol of defeat—a bitter reminder of the game they had lost.

The walk back to the changing room was heavy with unspoken sorrow. Xander gripped the jersey tightly, its once-proud weight now feeling mocking in his hands. Around him, his teammates shuffled silently, their gazes glued to the ground. No one spoke; no one dared to break the fragile silence.

The changing room door creaked open, and they stepped inside. The air was thick with tension, a mix of sweat, disappointment, and something unnameable. Xander glanced around, expecting Noah to bear the brunt of the team's discontent. After all, it had been Noah's shot that missed. But instead, all eyes turned to him.

Confused, Xander took a step back. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before anyone could answer, a fist connected with his face.

The impact was sudden and jarring, sending him stumbling backward. Pain flared across his cheek as he pressed a hand to the spot, his wide eyes meeting the fiery glare of his assailant.

It was Luke.

The teammate who had been silent all this time now stood before him, his fist still clenched and trembling with fury. His face was a mask of anger, his breathing harsh and uneven.

"What the hell, man?" Xander exclaimed, his voice laced with shock and confusion. "What's your problem?"

The room erupted into murmurs as the other players turned toward the commotion. Their expressions ranged from confusion to disapproval, but no one intervened. They seemed as frozen as Xander himself, caught in the storm of emotions that Luke had unleashed.

"This jerk knows why we lost!" Luke growled, his voice thick with accusation. His words hung in the air, heavy and damning.

Xander's disbelief was evident. "What are you even talking about?" he shot back, his tone incredulous.

Luke took a step closer, his jaw tightening as he spoke. "Don't play dumb. You passed the ball on purpose. You could've taken the shot, but you didn't. You threw the game."

The room fell silent again, the weight of Luke's words pressing down on everyone. Xander could feel the eyes of his teammates boring into him, their gazes questioning, doubting.

"That's ridiculous," Xander snapped. "Where are you even getting this from?"

Luke's expression darkened further, his voice dropping to a low, bitter growl. "I overheard Coach talking earlier today. You're transferring to Rochester's team, aren't you? You betrayed us."

Gasps rippled through the room, a collective intake of breath that mirrored the shock Xander felt. He stared at Luke, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words to refute the accusation.

"That's not true," he said finally, his voice firm but tinged with desperation. "I would never—"

"You expect us to believe that?" Luke interrupted, his tone dripping with venom. "I saw the way you played. You had the chance to win, and you passed it up. You handed them the game on a silver platter."

Before Xander could respond, another voice cut through the tension. It was Chris, one of their more level-headed teammates. "Luke, stop," he said, stepping between the two of them. "This isn't helping. We're all upset, but blaming Xander won't change anything. We're in this together, remember?"

But Luke wasn't ready to let it go. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving Xander. "Together?" he spat. "Not if he's already planning to leave us behind."

The room descended into uneasy silence once more. The team exchanged uncertain glances, their faith in each other shaken.

Xander clenched his fists, his mind racing. The weight of Luke's accusation felt like a noose tightening around his neck, and he knew he had to say something to clear his name. But as he opened his mouth to speak, the words wouldn't come.

Instead, he stood there, the silence stretching on, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.