Alethea leaned back against the cushioned seat, eyes narrowed at Zorion. "Do you remember how much time is left in the second half?"
Zorion blinked. "Uhh…"
"Bro," she said, deadpan, "the second half in these international games lasts exactly as long as it took the leading team to score three goals in the first. And guess what? That was one and a half hours." She threw up her hands in frustration. "One and a half hours to cover a three-goal lead—or we lose. Why didn't they just slow the game down when Zaherra's captain was on fire in the first half? At least drag it out!"
Eirene, who'd been listening quietly, glanced at Alethea with a flicker of amusement and maybe… pride. "You're surprisingly passionate about this sport," she said with a small smirk. "Quite the contrast to your bro here."
Zorion scratched his head. "Well… she plays."
Eirene turned, surprised. "Wait, really? You are a player?"
Alethea nodded, tone shifting. "Women's duo football's grown a lot. They even gave Zaherra vs. Indra women's teams a three-match series during the final days of this Equinox Series." She glanced down at the floor as her voice softened. "I was supposed to be in it."
Zorion stepped closer, gently lifting her chin with two fingers. "Be more cheerful," he said softly. "Sadness doesn't suit you."
Eirene watched, curious. "What am I missing?"
"She almost made it to the international team," Zorion explained. "Got injured last year. Some player tackled her way too hard. The fall took her out for over a year."
Eirene's face shifted—more open, more human. "Zahir has had some brutal injuries too," she said, voice lower. "Not like this though." She looked at Alethea. "You're still young. Nothing better than a comeback story."
Zorion glanced at Eirene. "Hey… that Zahir guy—the one you were cheering for during the match. Is he your brother or something?"
Eirene smiled softly. "Not biologically. But we grew up together. My parents raised him as their own, so… close enough."
Alethea leaned in, eyebrows raised. "Wait, the captain of Zaherra's national team is basically your honorary brother? That's insane."
Eirene let out a light laugh. "He's good, isn't he?"
Alethea nodded quickly. "Super good."
Then Alethea smiled faintly. "Thanks, you guys." Then, with a wave and a breath of fresh air, she walked off.
Now it was just Eirene and Zorion. Alone.
"So," she said, arms crossed, one brow raised. "Your name is Zorion, huh?"
Zorion froze inside. Crap… she caught on. Barrator's voice echoed in his head: Of course she did. Her IQ is double the multiple of yours and Eucliea's combined.
Zorion scratched his neck and laughed awkwardly. "Well, I thought you'd introduce yourself first. Hah… hah…"
Eirene gave a short, dry chuckle. "Hmph. And why would I?" She looked off slightly. "If it were Alethea… I might've. Amazing girl, that one."
Zorion gave an exaggeratedly sad face, lips puffed and eyebrows drooping like a cartoon.
Eirene turned away slightly—hiding the amused smile that tugged at her lips. She was enjoying this. It was rare—almost unfamiliar. Eirene never really had informal, light-hearted conversations like this with anyone. The only ones who ever saw this side of her were Eucliea and Zahir.
Eirene glanced at the field. The stadium lights flared brighter, and the crowd's cheer had started to rise again.
"Okay, the match is about to start. We should get seated." Then she looked at him, suspicious. "Wait. You didn't eat anything during the break. Stomach alright?"
Zorion scratched the back of his neck with the same energy as a kid caught lying about finishing his homework. "Uh... I had the free bus meal and complimentary snacks here. Everything in the stadium is, y'know... priced like it's been blessed by ten monks."
Eirene gave a short sigh. "You could've said something."
And just like that, she reached into her bag—which seemed less like a bag and more like a government-aided food portal—and pulled out a snack.
"Here," she offered, casually, like it was no big deal.
But to Zorion, it felt like someone offering a golden apple in the middle of a warzone.
He hesitated.
"Take it," she said, arm still outstretched. "I'm not training to be a javelin thrower. My arm's tired."
He still didn't move.
So she kept holding it there.
Five seconds. Six. Seven.
By the time he finally took it, it felt less like accepting a snack and more like retrieving a sacred scroll from the high priestess of Zaherra.
Scene: Zaherra scores a goal.
Eucliea jumped from her seat like a spring-loaded firecracker, cheering with both hands in the air.
"Yessss! That's how it's done!"
Phylax, watching her with quiet amusement, couldn't help but smile. "You look so cute like this."
Eucliea froze mid-bounce. Her eyes widened. In a single motion, she dropped back into her seat like someone had pulled her plug.
Face flushed, she stared straight ahead, lips zipped, avoiding all eye contact.
Phylax blinked. "Wait… did I say something wrong? Eucliea? Hey, look at me. What happened?"
She turned her head even further away, doing everything in her power to hide the glow on her cheeks.
Phylax just scratched his head, utterly lost.
Scene cut: Later, Alethea approaches Sathvic after the goal.
Alethea stormed up beside him. "You missed the goal. Where were you?"
Sathvic, calm as ever, glanced at her sideways. "I was… getting air."
"Oh, so now you care?" Alethea snapped, folding her arms. "I was stuck in the corridor, missed Zaherra's best goal so far, but no big deal, right?"
Sathvic analyzed her expression like a scientist defusing a bomb. "...Did you at least get your ice cream?"
Alethea scoffed. "Someone who couldn't even follow me shouldn't ask personal questions."
Sathvic raised both hands in defense. "Hey, I was scared, alright? You were blazing mad. Last time I followed you while you were angry—back in Indra—you threw a chair."
"That was different."
"Who decided that?"
"ME."
After a while...
The final whistle echoed like a gunshot. Zaherra 7 : Indra 2.
The stadium buzzed with scattered applause, but from Eirene's seat, silence reigned.
She sat upright, legs crossed, expression unreadable.
Her fingers tapped the edge of the seat once, then stopped.
A slow inhale, followed by the softest exhale.
"Well, well." Her tone carried no glee. "Seems like my motivational speech paid off."
Zorion, slouched beside her, blinked at the scoreboard and shook his head. "Well, well. I should've given Indra one myself, huh? Maybe stood on a table and said, 'Play like your border pass depends on it.'"
Eirene didn't even look at him. "Someone really should shut you up." She stood, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. "I've got work. See you tomorrow."
A pause. Then, without glancing back: "Try not to be as clueless about rules as today, Mr. Spectator."
Zorion raised a hand like a soldier at ease. "You bet. Thumbs up."
She was gone before he could say more.
— On the road back to the hotel
The Zaherran evening was warm, but Alethea's mood wasn't.
"Crap crap crap! Those Zaherra team players—ugh!" She kicked a pebble hard enough to send it flying into a bush.
Zorion raised an eyebrow. "What's the big deal? Someone's gotta lose. That's sports, right?"
She spun toward him. "It's not that! In high-stakes games like this, teams usually push hard in the first half, then clamp down, go defensive—protect the lead. That's the meta. But Zaherra?" She flailed her arms. "They went more aggressive in the second half! Who does that?!"
Zorion blinked. "...Teams who like scoring?"
"They scored more goals in the second half than the first! You know how rare that is? For a leading team to score more than three in a half that short?! Ugh, I'm so furious—"
Sathvic chuckled as he walked a few steps behind them, hands in pockets. "There goes my little coach again," he said warmly. "Want a whiteboard and a headset next?"
She glared over her shoulder. "Don't make me regret forgiving you."