The scoreboard glowed in the rain.

BARNSLEY 1 - 2 TOTTENHAM

Eighty minutes played. Nine men on the pitch.

Most teams would have parked the bus. They would have protected the respectable defeat.

But the Misfits were not most teams.

Michael Sterling stood on the touchline. The rain soaked his suit, but he didn't feel it. He felt the electricity. The Fortress was not just a stadium anymore; it was a living, breathing creature, and it was screaming for blood.

"ATTACK! ATTACK! ATTACK!"

The chant was simple. Primal.

On the pitch, Kai Sora stood over the ball. He had just scored a Panenka penalty. He looked tired, but his eyes were sharp.

"Arda," Kai said to the Turkish midfielder. "Can you run?"

Arda Guler was holding his ankle. "It hurts, Kai. It hurts a lot."

"Ignore the pain," Kai said. "Pain is just information. Run into the space."

MINUTE 82

Tottenham had the ball. They tried to keep it. They passed it around the back, trying to kill the game.

But the Barnsley nine were possessed.

Danny Fletcher, the captain, sprinted like a madman. He chased the ball from left to right.

"PRESS THEM!" Danny roared. "DO NOT LET THEM SLEEP!"

The Tottenham defender panicked. He played a loose pass.

Benjamin Pavard stepped out. The World Cup winner intercepted it.

He didn't clear it. He drove forward. A center-back, playing as a midfielder, running past three Tottenham players.

"Allez!" Pavard shouted.

He saw Kai. He passed it.

Kai didn't stop the ball. He let it run through his legs.

A dummy.

Behind him was Arda Guler.

Arda controlled it. He was twenty-five yards out.

"SHOOT!"

Arda wound up his left foot.

He hit it.

THWACK.

The ball swerved violently. It dipped.

Vicario, the Spurs keeper, scrambled. He pushed it wide.

"CORNER!"

The stadium roared. A corner felt like a penalty when you had nine men.

Michael looked at the bench. He had no strikers left. No giants.

"Sam!" Michael shouted. "Go up!"

Sam Jones looked at him. "Me?"

"Yes! Go up! Cause chaos!"

The goalkeeper sprinted up the pitch. The crowd went berserk.

The corner came in.

It was chaos. Bodies everywhere.

Sam Jones jumped. He missed the ball, but his presence distracted the defenders.

The ball fell loose.

Who was there?

Tom. The eighteen-year-old academy kid who had come on as a sub. The kid who had made the mistake for the second goal.

Tom swung his leg. He closed his eyes.

BANG.

The ball hit the net.

GOAL.

2 to 2.

The noise was not a sound. It was an earthquake.

Tom ran to the fans. He didn't know what to do. He just screamed.

Michael fell to his knees. Arthur Milton hugged the fourth official by mistake.

"HE DID IT!" Arthur cried. "THE KID DID IT!"

The Tottenham players looked shell-shocked. They had been leading 2-0 against nine men. Now it was 2-2.

MINUTE 90

The board went up. 6 MINUTES ADDED TIME.

"We take the draw," Arthur said, grabbing Michael's arm. "Park the bus now. Please Boss."

Michael looked at Kai Sora.

Kai was standing in the center circle. He was looking at the Tottenham goal. He didn't look like he wanted a draw.

"No," Michael whispered. "We go for the kill."

MINUTE 90+4

Tottenham had a free kick. Twenty yards out. James Maddison stood over it.

This was it. The final dagger.

Maddison curled it.

It was heading for the top corner.

Sam Jones flew.

FINGERTIPS.

He touched it. Just enough. The ball hit the bar and bounced out.

"CLEAR IT!"

Pavard smashed the ball upfield.

It was a clearance. A Hail Mary.

But Isaiah King wasn't there. Diego wasn't there.

Only one man was forward.

Kai Sora.

Kai was on the halfway line. He trapped the ball dead.

He was alone. No support. Three Tottenham defenders between him and the goal.

He was tired. He had run more today than in his entire life.

But he started to dribble.

He went past Porro. He nutmegged Romero.

He was thirty yards out.

The stadium held its breath.

"Go on Kai!" a fan screamed.

Kai looked up. He saw the goalkeeper off his line.

He tried to chip him.

WHOOSH.

The ball floated. It looked perfect.

But Vicario backpedaled. He jumped. He caught it.

"NO!" the crowd groaned.

But Vicario landed awkwardly. He stumbled. He dropped the ball.

It rolled.

Kai had continued his run. The lazy genius had not stopped.

He slid in.

He poked the ball.

It rolled towards the empty net.

Time slowed down.

The ball hit the post.

It bounced along the line.

And then... it spun out.

CLEARANCE.

Van de Ven hooked it away at the last millisecond.

PHWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

The final whistle.

Barnsley 2. Tottenham 2.

The players collapsed.

It wasn't a win. But it felt like a Champions League victory.

To come back from 2-0 down with nine men was impossible. It was magic.

Michael walked onto the pitch. He felt goosebumps all over his arms.

The fans were not leaving. They were singing "Barnsley til I die".

He hugged Tom, the goalscorer. The kid was sobbing.

"I made a mistake Boss," Tom cried. "For their goal."

"You fixed it," Michael said. "You are a hero."

He found Kai Sora.

Kai was lying on his back in the mud. He was smiling.

"We almost won," Kai said. "So close."

"You were incredible," Michael said. "I have never seen you run like that."

"I am retired from running now," Kai sighed. "Wake me up in December."

The tunnel was chaotic.

Shaun Higgins and Isaiah King were waiting there. They had watched the second half on a small TV.

They hugged everyone.

But Michael wasn't celebrating yet.

He saw the referee walking down the corridor. The man who had given two red cards. The man who had almost destroyed the game.

Michael walked towards him.

Arthur tried to stop him. "Boss, don't. You'll get fined."

Michael ignored him. He reached into his pocket.

He pulled out... a coin.

A single pound coin.

He walked up to the referee. The official stopped. He looked nervous. He expected Michael to shout. He expected abuse.

Michael held out the coin.

"Here," Michael said calmly.

The referee frowned. "What is this?"

"It is for a phone call," Michael said. "Call your optician. You need glasses."

The referee went red. "Mr. Sterling, that is disrespectful. I will report you."

Michael smiled. A cold, Shark-like smile.

"Report me. Fine me. Ban me from the touchline. I don't care. Because you tried to kill us today. You tried to bury us."

He pointed back at the pitch, where the fans were still singing.

"But you forgot one thing. Misfits don't die easily. We survive."

He dropped the coin into the referee's hand.

"Keep the change."

Michael turned and walked away.

Behind him, Arthur Milton was laughing so hard he had to lean against the wall.

"You are crazy Boss," Arthur wheezed.

"You bribed the ref with a pound coin."

"It wasn't a bribe," Michael said, walking into the dressing room where the party had already started. "It was a tip. For the entertainment."

The door closed behind them.

Inside, the music was blaring. Pizza boxes were being opened. They had drawn a game. But they had won something much bigger.

They had proven that even when the world is against them, even when the odds are zero...

The Dynasty refuses to fall.

And as Michael looked at his battered, bruised, beautiful team, he knew that they were ready for anything.

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