IShowSpeed:Never Stop Dreaming!

The locker room buzzed with the low hum of chatter and the occasional clink of cleats against the tiled floor. The faint smell of sweat and disinfectant clung to the air, mixing with the distant aroma of freshly cut grass that drifted in through the open door.

Dante sat on the wooden bench, his jersey clinging to his damp skin as he stared at his mud-streaked cleats. The adrenaline from scoring that goal still echoed in his veins, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

"Not bad out there, Walker."

Dante looked up as Ethan dropped onto the bench beside him, casually untying his laces with a grin. The midfielder's light brown hair was still plastered to his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed from exertion.

"I still lost control too many times," Dante muttered. His fingers clenched the fabric of his shorts. "Speed's useless if I can't control it."

Ethan shrugged. "Yeah, but you're improving. That last goal shut Jack up, at least for a bit."

"Only until the next game." Dante could still feel Jack's glare from across the field, the unspoken challenge burning in his eyes.

As if summoned by the thought, Jack's voice cut through the hum of the locker room.

"Don't get cocky, Walker. One lucky goal doesn't make you a star."

Dante stood, the scrape of his cleats against the floor sharp against the background noise. His pulse quickened as he faced Jack, who stood near the lockers, arms crossed and eyes cold.

"Why do you care so much, Coleman? Afraid I'll take your spot?"

A few heads turned, the air in the room growing heavier with anticipation. Jack's smirk was sharp as a blade.

"I care because this team needs players who can deliver when it matters. Not some hot-headed rookie who can't even keep the ball at his feet."

Dante's fists clenched at his sides, the heat of frustration rising in his chest. The faint scent of damp grass and sweat seemed stronger now, mixing with the metallic tang of adrenaline on his tongue.

"Say that again on the field, and we'll see who delivers," Dante shot back.

Before Jack could respond, Coach Brooks's voice cut through the tension like a whip.

"Enough!" The coach stood at the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping over them. The air seemed to chill slightly under his stare. "Coleman, Walker—if you've got that much energy, use it in training. I need results, not trash talk."

Jack held Dante's gaze for a heartbeat longer before scoffing and turning away. The moment broke, and the room's hum of conversation resumed, though the tension still lingered like static in the air.

Coach Brooks stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back.

"Listen up, everyone. We've got a friendly match against Coventry's U18s this weekend. They're faster, stronger, and more organized than anyone you've faced so far. I expect every one of you to prove you deserve to wear that jersey." His gaze settled briefly on Dante. "And that includes you, Walker. Show me you can control that speed of yours."

Dante swallowed hard, the weight of expectation pressing against his chest. The murmur of the other players faded into the background as his thoughts raced.

This is my chance. I can't mess it up.

Match Day

The stadium wasn't large, but the air crackled with anticipation as the stands filled with spectators. The faint scent of popcorn and freshly cut grass hung in the air, mingling with the distant hum of conversations and the occasional shout from the crowd.

Dante stood at the edge of the pitch, bouncing lightly on his toes as he inhaled the cool morning air. The faint chill bit at his skin through the thin jersey, but adrenaline warmed his veins. Around him, the sounds of players stretching, coaches barking instructions, and soccer balls thudding against the ground created a symphony of competition.

"Stay focused, Walker," Ethan said as he jogged up beside him. "Coventry's defense is tight—they won't give you much space."

Dante nodded, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension coiling in his muscles. Across the field, Jack stood near the midfield line, stretching with a calculated calmness that only fueled Dante's determination.

The referee's whistle pierced the air, and the game began with a burst of motion. The sound of cleats digging into grass and the sharp thud of the ball echoed across the pitch as both teams fought for control.

Dante stayed near the right wing, eyes locked on the ball as it moved between players with rapid precision. His pulse quickened as Ethan intercepted a pass near midfield, pivoting with a smooth grace that sent the opposing player stumbling.

"Walker—go!" Ethan shouted.

Dante took off, the grass damp beneath his cleats as he sprinted down the sideline. The world blurred around him, the wind biting against his skin and the distant roar of the crowd muffled by the blood pounding in his ears. Ethan's pass arced through the air, perfect in its timing—

—but too far.

Dante pushed harder, his legs burning as he closed the distance. The muscles in his thighs strained as the ball neared the touchline.

Faster. Come on, faster!

His cleats skimmed the grass as he lunged, tapping the ball with the outer edge of his foot just before it crossed the line. The impact sent a jolt through his leg, but he barely registered it as he spun and charged toward the penalty box.

A defender closed in, his breath audible even over the crowd's rising cheers. Dante feinted left, then right, muscles burning as he pushed his speed to the limit—

—but the ball slipped too far ahead again.

"Damn it!" Dante hissed through clenched teeth as the defender cleared the ball out of bounds.

The frustration was like a weight in his chest, crushing his breath. He clenched his fists, the sting of sweat in his eyes only fueling his determination.

"Focus!" shouted Coach Brooks from the sideline. "Use your speed, but stay in control!"

Ethan jogged past, clapping Dante on the shoulder as the throw-in was taken.

"Shake it off, man. Next time."

Dante forced himself to nod, swallowing the lump of frustration in his throat. The air tasted of grass and anticipation as he repositioned near the box, waiting for his next chance.

The game surged on, the minutes ticking past in a blur of sweat, shouts, and near misses. Coventry pressed hard, their passes crisp and their defense unyielding. Jack, playing in central midfield, orchestrated their counterattacks with ruthless precision, his voice cutting through the air as he directed his teammates.

But Dante refused to back down. His legs ached from sprinting, his chest burned with every breath, but the fire in his heart only burned hotter.

I can do this. I have to do this.

The opportunity came in the final ten minutes. Ethan intercepted a misjudged pass and surged forward, the ball glued to his feet as he weaved through defenders.

"Walker—inside!"

Dante sprinted toward the penalty box, dodging past a defender as Ethan sent a low cross skimming through the grass. The goalkeeper lunged, but the ball slipped past his fingertips—

—and Dante was there.

Time seemed to slow as he tapped the ball with the inside of his foot, guiding it past the keeper's outstretched leg. The net rippled as the ball struck home, and for a heartbeat, the world fell silent.

Then the cheers erupted, a roar of sound that echoed through Dante's chest like a second heartbeat. The air tasted sweeter, the grass beneath his cleats softer as he pumped his fists in the air, adrenaline and triumph surging through his veins.

"Yes!" The shout burst from his throat, raw and unrestrained.

Ethan tackled him in a rough hug, both of them laughing as their teammates crowded around, clapping his back and shouting congratulations. Even Jack, though distant, gave a grudging nod before jogging back into position.

As the final whistle blew minutes later, signaling their victory, Dante stood at the center of the pitch, heart pounding and breath ragged. The air still smelled of grass and sweat, but now it carried the faint, electric promise of something more.

A new beginning.

And this time, he wouldn't let anything hold him back.

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