Titans carried the narrow lead, but nobody inside the arena looked comfortable. Not the crowd. Not the players. Not even the coaches pacing along their technical boxes like caged animals waiting for someone to leave a gap.

Jason glanced up at the scoreboard for the hundredth time.

TITANS 1 – 0 RIFT STRIKER

45:00

A slim advantage against a team like Rift Striker never felt safe. They were built for chaos. Built for comebacks. Built to run until your lungs burned and your legs begged to stop. And they were very much alive.

Their captain felt the weight of it on his chest, but his face didn't show it. His teammates looked at him during the warmup jog. When they were tired, they checked him. When the match demanded calm, they followed his breathing. When nerves crawled into their bloodstream, they waited for his shoulders to stay relaxed.

If the captain was steady, they could be steady.

He tightened the strap on his left glove, rolled his shoulders back and stepped into formation. The referee raised the whistle to his lips.

One more breath.

Then the shrill sound cut through the air, sending the final into its second half.

KICK-OFF

Rift Striker wasted no time. Their forward, Kian Olorun, jabbed the ball backward and immediately sprinted down the right flank. Their midfield pushed up in one coordinated wave, the kind of synchronized pressure that only came from hours of drilling and a burning hunger to flip the script.

Titans weren't surprised, but the intensity still hit like a splash of cold water.

Aya watched the ball settle at the feet of Rift Striker's playmaker, Zahir Adu. Calm, tall, and annoyingly composed, he scanned the field with that quiet arrogance that made even neutral fans respect him.

Zahir didn't pass. He waited.

Aya stepped up, cutting the angle.

Zahir smirked and slipped the ball through a tiny gap Aya didn't even realize existed.

Rift Striker broke down the left instantly. The entire stadium gasped as their winger sprinted clear, covering yards in seconds before firing a sharp cross to the far post.

Leo, Titans' center-back, threw himself into the path, heading the ball out for a corner.

It took less than thirty seconds for Rift Striker to remind everyone the final wasn't anywhere near decided.

Jason clapped sharply. "Wake up. That's their first punch. We answer."

The corner swung in fast, curling toward the near post. Titan's goalkeeper punched it out, but the ball didn't travel far. Rift Striker regained it and immediately fired a shot from outside the box. It ricocheted off Malik's shin and rolled wide.

Another corner.

The pressure kept growing.

Jason planted his boots and braced. This was where finals were won or lost. Not in the pretty passing. Not in the clean counterattacks. In moments like this, chaotic, unpredictable, nerve-gnawing moments where one second of hesitation could end everything.

The corner came again.

This time, Blaze rose above everyone else and headed the ball away.

Titans finally broke forward. Scarlett sprinted down the right, collecting Blaze clearance and pushing the ball past his marker. Blaze followed, lungs burning but mind sharp, shouting for support from midfield.

Scarlett tried to cut inside but was met with a perfectly timed sliding tackle that knocked the ball out for a throw-in.

The crowd roared, half in frustration, half in admiration.

Rift Striker weren't joking today.

For the next ten minutes, the game turned into a grind. Nobody gave an inch. Every pass had a body attached to it. Every loose ball felt like a fistfight waiting to happen.

Blaze dropped deep, guiding the rhythm like a conductor who had to play every instrument himself. He saw patterns forming, holes appearing. Rift Striker pressed high, almost recklessly. The plan was obvious: force Titans to panic, force an error, force the match open.

But Titans were stubborn. Their passes tightened. Their shape steadied. Blaze dribbled past one marker, spun out of a challenge and sent a clean pass to Devonte on the left.

Devonte danced past a defender, whipped in a cross and...

The keeper punched it wide.

A groan rolled across the stadium.

Blaze clapped again, breath steady. "That's good. Keep that up. It's coming."

But Rift Striker didn't slow down. If anything, they got even bolder. They sent bodies forward with reckless belief, and in the 58th minute, they almost caught Titans flat.

A long diagonal ball found Kian breaking through the defensive line. He controlled it on his chest, flicked it over Leo, and let it bounce once before smashing a shot toward the far corner.

Titans' keeper barely got fingertips on it.

The ball smacked the post and rolled away.

The stadium screamed.

Blaze sprinted back, sliding to clear the rebound before anyone else could react. He felt the turf scrape his thigh, but he didn't care. He stood quickly, breathing heavy.

That was too close.

The fans knew it too.

The energy shifted. Not dramatically, but enough for both teams to feel a new tension crawling across the field.

Rift Striker saw weakness.

Titans saw danger.

And Jason knew the next goal, wherever it went would flip the final upside down.

It happened in the 62nd minute.

Rift Striker earned a throw-in deep in Titans' half. Their fullback hurled the ball into the box with the kind of force normally reserved for long-range passes. It bounced awkwardly between bodies. Titans didn't clear it fully. The ball spilled out to the edge of the area.

And Zahir was waiting.

He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He just struck it clean.

The ball cut through the air like a blade and smashed into the bottom corner.

1–1.

The entire Rift Striker fan section erupted, shaking the stadium with noise so explosive Jason felt it in his teeth.

Titans stood frozen for a moment. Not in fear just in that raw shock that comes from watching something you fought against finally land.

Blaze jogged to the center circle, chest rising and falling as he forced himself to stay calm.

He looked at his teammates.

"We're still in control," he said quietly. "Look at me. We stay sharp. We strike next. They haven't taken anything from us."

He believed it. But he also felt the shift deep in his bones.

The final was truly alive now.

The equalizer sparked the match into a storm.

Titans pushed forward immediately.

Blaze took a short pass, slipped between two midfielders, and fired a long-range shot that curved toward the top corner. Rift Striker's keeper stretched full length and tipped it over the bar.

Another groan. Another tease.

Titans earned a corner. Aya trotted over, wiping sweat from his brows. He planted the ball and scanned the box. Players jostled and shoved. Legs tangled. Jerseys stretched.

He raised his hand.

Delivered the cross.

Leo rose above everyone else and smashed a header downward....

It bounced off the ground, skipped toward the corner and....

Hit the side netting.

The entire Titan section thought it was in for half a second.

Jason cursed under his breath. Leo held his head, frustrated beyond words.

But they didn't stop. They couldn't afford to.

Rift Striker countered fast every time Titans missed. Their speed forced Blaze to keep dropping deep, covering spaces others couldn't. His thighs burned. His lungs felt like sandpaper. Sweat trickled down his face, but he stayed focused.

The match was starting to feel like a tug of war between two teams refusing to blink.

By the 70th minute, players from both sides began showing cracks. Passes were a little slower. Touches a bit looser. Tackles heavier and sometimes a touch too late. But adrenaline covered everything.

Blaze recovery wasn't perfect, but he kept going. Every stride he made was fueled by instinct and that stubborn fire that wouldn't let him disappear from a match of this magnitude.

Rift Striker sensed this too. They targeted him, throwing bodies his way, testing whether he had the energy left to keep dictating the match.

He did.

But barely.

In the 73rd minute, he intercepted a dangerous pass, spun away from a challenge and fed Diego through the middle. Diego shot instantly, but the keeper parried it away.

Another chance gone.

Jason wiped his face again. The frustration stung, but he locked it down.

"Stay hungry," he told himself. "Keep the pressure."

The final fifteen minutes of regulation turned into pure suspense. Rift Striker moved with desperate determination, throwing caution aside. Titans responded with equal force, fighting to reclaim the lead before time ran out.

The match swung like a pendulum.

One minute, Titans nearly scored.

The next, Rift Striker burst forward with a dangerous run.

The stadium pulsed with every movement.

Coaches shouted instructions that players barely heard. Fans screamed until their voices cracked. Every clearance, every tackle, every counterattack sent waves of emotion rolling through the arena.

Jason kept the team breathing, but even he could feel time slipping.

He checked the clock as the referee pointed to his watch.

89:12

One final push.

Jason gathered the team mentally with a simple glance. They understood. The last seconds belonged to grit, not tactics.

Rift Striker tried for a final attack, but Blaze intercepted it again, sprinting forward with the last burst of strength he had left. He threaded a pass to Aya, who beat his marker and fired a shot toward the bottom corner.....

The keeper saved it with his foot.

The rebound spilled into chaos, but Rift Striker cleared it.

Seconds later, the whistle blew.

Full time.

1–1.

The stadium erupted into anxious applause and nervous muttering. Everyone understood what came next.

Extra time.

Blaze bent forward, hands on his knees, chest heaving. He wasn't afraid. Just burning with frustration and determination.

This final wasn't done with him yet.

And he wasn't done with it.

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