The ball spun toward the goal in a slow, perfect arc, and for one frozen second the entire field seemed to hold its breath. Tomov's foot was still hanging in the air from the follow-through, his eyes wide, almost confused by what he had just done. Even he didn't look sure whether he meant to shoot it like that or whether fate simply took pity on him. The enemy goalkeeper jumped, arms stretched desperately, but the ball curved just above his fingertips—barely—and slammed into the top right corner of the net with a sharp thwack before dropping inside the goal line.
Top bin. Perfect. Clean.Lucky as hell.
For a moment, nobody moved. Not even the enemies. Not even Cinister. The entire group needed a full half second to process that Tomov, of all people, had just hit a shot that professional players dream about.
Then Cinister burst into laughter, slapping Tomov on the back so hard he nearly fell over."BRO!" he shouted, half yelling, half wheezing, "YOU DID NOT MEAN TO SHOOT IT LIKE THAT!"
Tomov's face went red as a tomato. "I—I don't know what happened, okay?! I just kicked!"
Lite threw both hands up in the air. "WHO CARES, IT WENT IN!"
Choi shook his head in disbelief, but he was smiling too. "That was… insanely lucky."
"Hey!" Tomov barked, embarrassed but glowing from the inside. "A goal is a goal!"
And with that, the score stood at 3–5.The match was officially over.
The enemy team just stared at the ball inside the net like it had personally betrayed them. Their goalkeeper let out an annoyed sigh, tossed his gloves on the ground, and walked away without a word. The midfielder scratched the back of his head, muttered something like "whatever man," and followed. The strikers gave each other a look that said everything: We lost to these losers? Then they turned around and headed off the field, shoulders sagging in defeat, too frustrated to even try a rematch.
Cinister watched them shamelessly, hands on his hips, wearing the smuggest half-smile imaginable. "They actually quit," he said, almost disappointed. "And I was just warming up."
"Bro, shut up," Lite said, laughing. "Let us celebrate at least a little."
The four of them ran toward each other and slammed into a messy group hug that immediately fell apart because Tomov tripped, Choi stumbled over him, and Cinister had to catch both before they fell. Everyone was laughing, everyone was out of breath, and for the first time, the victory felt like something real—like it meant something.
"Alright," Cinister said, clapping his hands once. "Let's head home before the field lights shut off."
They grabbed their bags, shoes muddy with grass stains, shirts sticking to their backs, cheeks flushed from the cold night air and the thrill of winning. The sun was already gone, and the sky was dark blue with scattered stars, the field lights buzzing overhead. The night had that peaceful, tired feeling that comes after a full day of playing outside.
The four of them began walking together down the long path out of the park, the cold breeze cooling their sweat.
Tomov stretched his back with a long groan. "I still can't believe I scored that."
"You didn't score that," Choi corrected. "The universe scored that. You were just the vessel."
Lite burst out laughing. "THE VESSEL OF LUCK."
Tomov shoved him lightly. "Say whatever you want, bro. Scoreboard doesn't lie."
Cinister looked over at him with that older-brother grin of his. "Still, you did good. For your 'skill level,' that was impressive."
"Why'd you say it like that?" Tomov complained.
"No reason," Cinister said with the fakest innocent tone.
They kept walking, joking, pushing each other, replaying every moment of the match."Bro, that curve shot Cinister did from midfield?" Lite said. "I swear I thought that was going out."
"It was going out," Choi added. "Then it bent at the last second. I've never seen that."
Cinister shrugged. "I mean… I was bored. Might as well make something fun happen."
"Bro," Tomov groaned, "of course YOU were bored. The rest of us were dying."
"True," Lite nodded, "Tomov was literally squatting in the grass at one point."
"I WAS TIRED, OKAY?" Tomov yelled, making them all laugh.
They talked about the game, about how stupid the enemies looked when Cinister faked the goalkeeper, about how Choi somehow saved the ball even though he tripped, about how Lite managed that perfect pass under pressure.
As they reached the main road, they started talking about what they were going to do once they got home.
"I'm hopping on my PC," Lite said immediately. "If the game servers are back up, I'm grinding ranked."
Choi sighed. "Bro, every time you say that, you lose like five matches in a row and log off crying."
"I DO NOT CRY."
"You cry emotionally," Tomov corrected. "It counts."
Cinister smirked. "I'll join you guys later. I want to shower first. I feel like a sewer rat."
"Bro you always smell like one," Tomov teased.
Cinister grabbed him by the neck playfully. "Say that again."
"NOPE. I'M GOOD."
They all laughed again, the streetlights flickering above them, the sound of distant cars passing by. Eventually, they reached Tomov's bus stop. The bus was already pulling up, brakes hissing, headlights washing over them.
Tomov tightened his bag strap. "Aight, see you nerds tomorrow."
"Don't forget to practice," Cinister said, pointing at him like a coach.
Tomov rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."
"NO," Lite said dramatically, "follow the teachings of MASTER CINISTER."
Choi bowed like a monk. "Praise be to the Vessel of Luck."
Tomov flipped them off as he boarded the bus. "Clowns. All of you."
They laughed as the bus door closed and drove off, leaving Tomov sitting by the window, watching his friends shrink in the distance.
The moment he got home and locked his room, he dropped onto his bed, opened his phone, and typed:
"How to shoot top bin football tutorial"
His history had similar searches already:"How to dribble simple moves,""How to defend in football,""How to pass under pressure,""Beginner football skills."
He clicked on a video titled "5 Beginner Tricks Anyone Can Learn in 1 Day."He watched carefully—elastico, scissors, simple feints, body movement.Then another:"How to shoot with accuracy.""How to curl the ball.""How to place shots in corners.""How to control the ball with your laces."
His eyes were focused, serious.He replayed moves over and over, mimicking motions with his foot on the side of the bed.For the first time in a long while, he actually felt motivated—not by jealousy, not by pressure, but because he wanted to get better for real.
The screen's glow reflected off his determined expression.Tomov wasn't naturally talented.He wasn't strong.He wasn't fast.But he wanted to improve—and tonight lit a small spark in him.
The next day came quickly.
School felt the same as always—boring hallways, loud classrooms, annoying teachers, students half asleep. The four of them met during break, joking around, eating snacks, replaying the goals from the night before like a movie.
But when PE class came, something was different.
They were still weak.They were still among the worst in the class.Most people were miles ahead of them in skill and stamina.
But for the first time ever…they didn't look lost.
Tomov wasn't tripping over the ball anymore—well, not as much.Choi actually stopped a few attacks.Lite made cleaner passes.Cinister was, of course, still miles above everyone, but he wasn't carrying them—he was watching them try, genuinely try.
Their class ran laps.Played small games.Did drills.And for the first time, they weren't dragging behind like dead weights.
Some classmates even noticed.
"Yo, Tomov, you actually hit a pass," one kid said in disbelief.
"Choi, nice interception," another added.
Lite walked by with the smuggest expression. "We're improving, boys."
Cinister just smirked, hands behind his head. "Slowly… but yeah."
They weren't good.They weren't even average.But they weren't useless anymore.
When the final bell rang and the school day ended, the four of them walked out together, bags on their shoulders, ready to go home, ready to play, ready to keep improving—even if it was barely, even if it was slow.
The small spark from last night hadn't faded.
If anything…
It was growing.