"That bastard Adams, he totally ditched me!"
Michael paced back and forth near the center of the rented football pitch, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His breath came out in visible wisps against the cool evening air as he threw an irritated glance at his teammates.
The small field was lit by tall floodlights, casting long shadows across the artificial turf. Around them, the low hum of other games and distant laughter filled the air—several fields were being used, but this one was reserved specifically for them.
A few of the players stretched, others bounced the ball between them, but the atmosphere was tense.
"What do we do now?" one of the guys, Jared, asked, stuffing his hands into his hoodie. "We have an uneven number, and no one wants to play as goalie besides Chubby Tom, whom you already bribed with free lunch."
"I'm too short to be in goal," Michael muttered, crossing his arms. He hated playing keeper.
"Should we just call it off and plan properly next time?" another guy suggested, shifting uncomfortably.
Michael hated that idea even more.
He had been looking forward to this. He wasn't some hardcore athlete, but football was one of the few things that made university feel less miserable. The thrill of the game, the bets, the friendly trash talk—he wasn't going to just walk away.
But playing with an uneven number would throw off the balance. And ditching one player to even things out? No way. That would make him look like the bad guy.
Michael clenched his jaw. He was running out of options.
Just as he was about to sigh and apologize to everyone, a voice rang out from the side of the pitch.
"Sorry, I was looking for my outfit."
Michael's head snapped up.
There, walking toward them with a cigarette in his mouth, was Elias.
For a second, the entire group just stared.
Dressed in an old FC Barcelona kit, Elias looked completely unfazed by the fact that he had kept everyone waiting. The faded colors of the jersey contrasted against the artificial green of the field, and the name printed on the back, though slightly worn, was still visible:
Elias Adams.
Michael felt a wave of relief flood through him, quickly replaced by excitement.
"Yo! You actually came!" Michael grinned, jogging over. He clapped a hand on Elias's shoulder, only to immediately recoil when he got a whiff of cigarette smoke.
"Man, you're seriously still smoking? Can't you stop for one game?"
"Not a chance," Elias replied smoothly, exhaling a small cloud of smoke. "I'm a goalkeeper. No problem."
Michael clicked his tongue. "Yeah, yeah, we'll see when you start wheezing after five minutes."
One of the other players, Danny, narrowed his eyes at Elias. "Wait, is he actually playing?"
Michael turned to Chubby Tom, the guy he had lured him for a free meal. "Hey, man. You can be the keeper. And they will take Elias on their team instead."
Tom puffed out his chest proudly, adjusting his sweatband. "Fine by me."
But the other team immediately refused.
"No way," Jared cut in, shaking his head. "You were the one who brought him, so you take him."
Danny smirked. "Especially since there's a bet on the line."
Michael's brows twitched.
The bet.
Losing team buys dinner for the winners.
That meant there was actually something at stake here.
Michael turned to Elias, giving him a long, hard look.
Smoker. Latecomer. Indifferent as hell.
He already knew the guy was antisocial, but now he was doubting his skills, too.
"...Fine," Michael relented, throwing his hands up. "Let's get started, then."
He turned to his team and clapped. "Alright, boys! Game on!"
*********************************************************************************************************
Despite the lighthearted mood, Michael couldn't shake his unease as the game started.
Their opponent had possession first, moving the ball quickly among their midfielders.
Elias stood in front of the goal, hands in his pockets, looking as if he couldn't care less.
Michael cursed inwardly. Please don't be a disaster.
Then, the inevitable happened.
A quick series of passes cut through the midfield, leading to a through ball straight into the penalty box.
Michael's stomach dropped.
Their opponent's striker, a tall, athletic guy named Leo, broke free and was one-on-one with Elias.
Michael's heart pounded.
If Elias messed this up, it was going to kill the mood. Everyone was already doubtful about him, and if he started conceding easy goals, the whole match would turn into a joke.
Michael could already hear the complaints.
"Man, this isn't fun, the teams are too unbalanced.""Why did you invite that guy if he can't play?""Let's just end it early."
He grit his teeth. No, no, no. This was exactly what he didn't want to happen.
Leo lined up his shot.
Michael tensed.
And then—
Elias moved.
Fast.
Quicker than anyone expected.
He lunged forward, closing the gap in a split second, his body lowering perfectly as he went for the ball.
A clean, decisive interception.
The ball barely even bounced away before Elias had already recovered, sending a precise pass straight to Michael's feet.
Michael froze.
Not because of the pass.
Not because of the save.
But because of how effortless it looked.
The entire field went silent for a brief second.
Then Michael grinned.
"Oh, we're definitely winning this."
He glanced toward the other team, who were still processing what just happened.
"I'm going to order the most expensive dish."