Chapter 68: Chapter 68: The Twin Storm
Julian exhaled slowly, feeling his body return to himself once more. Relief flooded his chest. Thank the heavens it had happened during the holiday.
If that breakthrough—if that clash with his own demon—had erupted on a match day, it wouldn’t just have been his problem.
It could have cracked the team. Maybe they’d lose outright... or worse, win while leaving a fracture that would haunt Lincoln High for the rest of the season.
But for now, it was fine.
He had endured. He had grown stronger.
A power-up, plain and simple.
Even so, he could feel it—the constant pull of Earth’s limits. This body, this vessel, was still human. Flesh and bone. He couldn’t fly, couldn’t bend the skies, not yet.
But one day... one day he would. His strength would burst past this world’s records and redefine what humans thought possible. That much, he was certain of.
For now, he fell into rhythm. Holiday days blurred together—workouts, football drills, and the occasional escape into video games. Sweat. Grass. Steel in his muscles.
And then Monday came.
The last match before midseason will come this week
Julian stretched in the cold morning light, breath steaming in the winter air.
He already knew what this meant: win, and Lincoln would close the first half of the season as undisputed league leaders.
The schedule ahead was clear—after this game, a break. A pause for what the world here called Christmas and New Year.
Julian had studied those words when he first heard them. Christmas—born of religion, yet embraced as culture, lights and gifts spread across believers and non-believers alike.
New Year—just the shifting of numbers on a calendar, yet celebrated with fireworks, music, and reflection.
His old empire had its own rituals of passing time—fire festivals marking the end of a reign, sacred duels marking the start of a new era.
The trappings were different, but the instinct was the same: humanity yearned for closure, for a way to draw a line in the sand and start again.
Julian tugged his jacket tighter against the cold and allowed himself a faint smile.
The break was coming. But first, there was a battle to fight.
...
The school day ended, and Lincoln High’s squad gathered in the locker room.
The air was colder than usual—steam rising from breath, jackets still half-zipped as they settled onto benches.
The winter bite had sharpened; Christmas and New Year were almost here.
Coach Owens stood in front, hands folded behind his back, his presence filling the cramped space."The weather’s dropping fast. That means the holidays are close—and so is our midseason break," he said, voice even but carrying weight. "This Friday is our last match before the pause. We’ll gather again in mid-January to continue."
His eyes sharpened, hawk-like, scanning each of them.
"I want us to end this first half with a bang. A straight run of victories. That means we’re already qualified—as long as we don’t stumble and lose everything afterward. But we’re not just here to qualify. We’re here to win. To finish first."
"Yes, Coach!" the team answered, voices striking the walls together.
"Good. Laura—take it from here."
Their manager stepped forward, blackboard in hand, the faint squeak of marker breaking the tension. Laura’s calm, precise tone cut through the room.
"Crenshaw North High. Formation: 3–4–3. They thrive on chaos. Players abandon positions constantly—chasing duels, pressing in unpredictable waves. Most teams would collapse if they tried it, but not them. Somehow, in the middle of their disorder, they click. Their instincts are terrifying. They can’t be predicted, only endured."
She drew the lines: three defenders, four midfielders with dual center mids, three attackers spread wide.
"They have four key players—the engine of their chaos," she continued, slapping printed photos onto the board one by one.
Darnell ’D-Ro’ Ross — CF (#9)
Donnell ’D-Lo’ Ross — RW (#19)
Tyrese Vaughn — CM (#8)
Javion Ellis — CB (#5)
Julian leaned forward, eyes narrowing. The photos of the twins caught his attention immediately.
Light brown skin, braided hair, same sharp features. Same grin. Same aura. At first glance, they looked like carbon copies.
"The Ross twins," Laura said firmly. "Their coach gave them numbers so close—nine and nineteen—that even opponents hesitate mid-play. D-Ro, the older brother, plays aggressive, flashy, unpredictable. Pure chaos. D-Lo? Calculated, clever, patient. Together, they’re impossible to read."
The room stirred. Even seasoned players shifted uncomfortably, whispering about the danger of facing twins like that on the field.
Aaron rubbed the back of his neck. "So... we’re supposed to mark both of them? How the hell do you man-mark chaos?"
Ethan muttered, "You don’t. You survive it."
Even Cael’s grin had dimmed for a second, though he quickly bounced back, slapping his gloves together. "Fine. Two brothers, one net. Let’s see which one I embarrass first."
Julian’s gaze lingered on their frozen smiles pinned to the blackboard. Identical faces. Identical fire. It wasn’t just chaos they thrived on—they thrived on confusion itself.
"That’s our opponent this Friday," Laura finished, voice steady but edged with warning. "So let’s prepare and win this."
"YEAHHHH—let’s win this!" Cael bellowed, fists pumping, his voice cracking through the tension like a flare.
Laughter rippled through the locker room. Shoulders eased. The atmosphere lightened—charged not with fear, but with belief.
They were Lincoln High, undefeated. And they weren’t planning to stop here.
Coach Owens clapped his hands, sharp as a whip.
"Alright, boys. Enough talk. Back to training. And wear your gear properly—the temperature’s dropping fast. No excuses."
"Yes, Coach!" they shouted in unison.
One by one, they filed out of the locker room. The cold hit instantly—sharp, biting, carrying the smell of damp turf and winter air. Their breaths came out in pale clouds as they stepped onto the pitch.
And then, like always, it began.
Warm-up jogs. Stretches. Push-ups in the frozen dirt. Core drills that burned lungs and legs alike.
Physical training, relentless as ever, forged them into one rhythm.
Julian’s eyes scanned his teammates as they ran—Leo’s golden focus, Noah’s sharpened resolve after his comeback goal, Riku’s steady anchor.
They weren’t just a team anymore. They were an army.
Winter might freeze the world outside—but here on the pitch, sweat still fell like rain.