Emre Demir's knuckleball free-kick had done more than just level the score; it had thrown a lit match into a barrel of gunpowder.

The game, which had started as a clash of styles, now descended into a wonderfully chaotic, gloriously petty, and utterly captivating street fight.

The rest of the first half was a blur of crunching tackles, theatrical dives, and furious, vein-popping arguments.

It was less of a football match and more of a 15-minute rolling brawl that occasionally involved a ball.

The two managers were the conductors of the chaos.

Ethan, having seen his team respond to the physical intimidation, was a whirlwind of passionate energy, living every kick.

"Don't let them bully you! Get tight! Win your battles!" he roared, his voice hoarse.

The Fleetwood manager, meanwhile, was a spectacle of pure, unadulterated rage.

He yelled at his own players for not being aggressive enough. He yelled at the referee for being biased. He yelled at the linesman for having the audacity to exist.

At one point, he even yelled at a fan in the front row for not shouting loudly enough.

It was magnificent.

The half-time whistle blew on a 1-1 scoreline, but the game felt like it was balanced on the edge of a knife.

The Apex dressing room was a hive of buzzing, combative energy.

"I love this!" David Kerrigan was saying, a wild grin on his face. "This is proper football! None of that tippy-tappy nonsense. This is a fight!"

"Stay smart, Davey," Kenny McLean cautioned, a welt already forming on his calf. "Don't get drawn into their game. We're better than them. We just have to prove it."

Ethan stood before them, a calm, focused expression on his face. "He's right. That was a battle, and we stood up to it. I'm proud of that. But in the second half, we are not going to be fighters. We are going to be assassins. They want chaos? Fine. We'll use their chaos against them. They are so focused on kicking us that they've forgotten how to defend. The space is there. Be calm, be clinical, and we will win this game."

The second half began, and the promised chaos was delivered.

It was a gritty, defensive stalemate, with both teams cancelling each other out in the middle of the park. It was a war of attrition, a game for the purists of muddy tackles and agricultural clearances.

Then, in the 55th minute, the game exploded back into life.

Fleetwood won a free-kick on the right wing after a clumsy foul.

Their best crosser of the ball stood over it, and the box was flooded with their biggest, most physically imposing players.

"Giants! We're marking giants!" Ben Gibson yelled, trying to organize his defense.

The free-kick was a thing of beauty, a vicious, in-swinging delivery that was impossible to defend.

Their giant number nine, who had been a nuisance all game, met the ball with a header of such immense power that Angus Gunn didn't even have time to react.

The ball flew into the net like a cannonball.

2-1 to Fleetwood.

The home crowd erupted, and the Fleetwood manager sprinted down the touchline, a picture of pure, unrestrained joy.

"AND THE HOME SIDE ARE BACK IN FRONT!" the commentator roared. "A text-book set-piece! A perfect delivery, and a thunderous header! Fleetwood's physical dominance has paid off, and the league leaders are staring down the barrel of a second consecutive defeat!"

But Apex didn't panic. They didn't complain.

They just got the ball, placed it on the center spot, and looked at each other with a new, cold, hard determination in their eyes.

From the kick-off, they went on the attack. Emre Demir, who had been quiet, suddenly burst into life. He picked up the ball and drove at the heart of the Fleetwood midfield.

He skipped past one, then two, his feet a blur. He laid the ball off to Viktor, who took one touch and fired a shot that was brilliantly saved by the keeper.

The ball went out for a corner. The Apex players swarmed the box. The corner was cleared, but only to the edge of the area. Another shot came in, blocked.

A third, blocked again. It was a desperate, heroic defensive stand from Fleetwood.

But the pressure was too much.

In the 58th minute, just two minutes after going behind, David Kerrigan got the ball. He wasn't on the wing; he had drifted inside. He ran at the heart of the defense.

He was tripped, but he stayed on his feet, stumbling. He was tripped again, but he refused to go down. He somehow managed to poke the ball through to Viktor Kristensen, who, with his back to goal, controlled it with one touch and, on the turn, hooked the ball into the bottom corner.

2-2! An instant reply!

"GOOOOOOOOAL! THEY'VE DONE IT AGAIN! APEX UNITED ARE LEVEL!" the commentator screamed, his voice hoarse. "THEY WERE BEHIND FOR LESS THAN THREE MINUTES! A moment of incredible persistence from David Kerrigan, and a striker's finish of pure instinct from Viktor Kristensen! This game is absolutely bonkers!"

The game was now completely open, two teams just throwing haymakers at each other.

There were no tactics, no formations, just pure, unadulterated, end-to-end chaos.

And as the game ticked past the 60-minute mark, Apex won a corner.

Emre Demir swung it in. It was a poor delivery, easily headed clear by the first man.

The ball looped out to the halfway line, where a Fleetwood player was waiting to launch another counter-attack.

But Jacob Sørensen, the Apex defensive midfielder, was there first.

He won a thunderous, crunching fifty-fifty tackle, the ball breaking loose.

It fell to Kenny McLean.

The veteran midfielder looked up and, seeing the Fleetwood defense out of position, he clipped a beautiful, searching pass over the top, into the path of a charging blue shirt.

It was the S-Rank defender, James McCarthy, who had stayed up from the corner.

He brought the ball down with a touch that was more like a center-forward than a center-back. He was clean through on goal.

He didn't panic. He looked up, saw the keeper rushing out, and with a calmness that defied the chaos around him, he simply passed the ball into the back of the net.

3-2 to Apex United.

The away section erupted. The Apex bench exploded. Ethan was on the pitch, a wild, joyful roar tearing from his throat.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT! I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!" the commentator shrieked, his voice now just a series of happy, incomprehensible noises. "THREE GOALS IN FIVE MINUTES! APEX UNITED WERE BEHIND, AND NOW THEY LEAD! IT'S THE 17-YEAR-OLD CENTER-BACK, JAMES MCCARTHY, THE S-RANK WONDERKID, WHO HAS SCORED WHAT MIGHT JUST BE THE WINNER! THIS ISN'T A FOOTBALL MATCH! IT'S A ROLLERCOASTER!"

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