The walk from school to the court known as "The Oven" felt like a funeral procession.The 10–0 score weighed on the Gentle Tigers like a lead cloak. Markin kicked a pebble, Piter dragged his feet, and Lester seemed to be mentally replaying his glorious own goal, each detail a fresh stab. Elismar, the captain, tried to project a confidence he didn't feel, Clara's laughter with Sophia's group hammering in his head.
"Don't give up, guys. We're gonna train. The real game's only this afternoon."Even to himself, his voice sounded hollow.
They reached the court and threw their backpacks to the ground with collective sighs. Defeat was a disease, and they were all infected. That's when Clara appeared at the gate. The "feminine" look was still there, but something had changed in her eyes. A determination Elismar recognized, because it was the same one he was struggling to find within himself.
She didn't come over to the group. Her blue eyes found Elismar's, and she made a subtle nod.
"Elismar, come here."
His heart leapt. He excused himself from his friends, who watched with curiosity, and followed her. She led him to a little spot behind the bleachers, a forgotten place where weeds stubbornly grew through the cracked cement. It was the only spot with shade and privacy.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice slightly trembling.
Clara bit her lip, looking nervous for the first time since her transformation."I saw your game. It was awful."
"Thanks for the honesty," he replied, irony laced with bitterness.
"No, that's not what I meant," she said quickly. "You're not that bad. You just… don't believe. Especially you."She stepped forward, narrowing the distance between them."Want to discover something?"
The question caught him off guard. "Discover what?"
Before he could ask anything else, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. It was quick, a soft, clumsy peck that lasted a second but seemed to rearrange Elismar's entire universe. The scent of her perfume, the warmth of her closeness, the surprise of the gesture… it was a million-volt short circuit in his brain.
He stepped back, eyes wide, instinctively touching his own lips.
Clara smiled — a genuine smile, the first he'd seen from her all day. The smile of his training partner."That," she said, her voice low, almost a secret. "Now listen. You're going back out there. And you're going to win the interclass tournament. Not for you. Not for your team. For us."
For us.
Those two words were like lightning. Elismar's mind, once a swamp of doubt and sadness, exploded into activity. Adrenaline flooded his body, a wave of pure and overwhelming energy. The fatigue, the humiliation, the confusion… all dissolved, replaced by crystal-clear focus, absolute certainty. He felt like he could run a marathon, that his clumsy feet could dance, that the ball would finally obey him.
He simply nodded, unable to speak.
He returned to the court a different man. His friends noticed the change. His eyes were no longer empty — they burned.
"What got into you?" Piter asked.
"The spirit of victory," Elismar replied, grabbing the ball. "Let's go. Two-on-two. Markin in goal. Now."
Clara sat in the bleachers, watching. She was his only audience. And that was all he needed.
The scrimmage began. The ball went toward Piter. The Elismar from an hour ago would've hesitated, afraid to make a mistake. The Elismar of now shot forward like an arrow. With a precise tackle, he stole the ball, spun, and passed to Ryan. He wasn't just playing — he was anticipating. He defended with a ferocity no one had ever seen in him. His feet, once traitorous, now moved with purpose.
The change was contagious. Markin, seeing the fire in his captain's eyes, grew in goal. A low, fast shot came toward the corner. Markin didn't flinch. He dove, parrying the ball away with his fingertips. Even he was surprised by the move.Piter began using his body more wisely to shield the ball. Lester, though still weak at shooting, started passing instead of risking his limp kicks.
They weren't the Gentle Tigers anymore. They were a team. A decent team, but a team.
After nearly an hour of intense training, they stopped, exhausted — but with a new feeling: pride.
Elismar went over to Clara, who was coming down from the bleachers with a satisfied smile.
"So?" she asked.
"We're gonna win," he said, voice full of unshakable conviction.
"I know," she replied. And, looking around to make sure no one was watching, she gave him another quick peck."See you later, champ."
Elismar floated home. He entered like a hurricane, happiness radiating from him.
"Mom, practice was amazing! We're ready!" he shouted from the doorway.
Dona Valdi just smiled. Her son's emotional roller coaster was something she was slowly learning to navigate.
He took the fastest shower of his life, ate like there was no tomorrow, and ran to his room, slamming the door shut. Fuzzball and Soft Paw awaited him, as always.
"You won't believe what happened," he said, his voice overflowing with joy."She… she kissed me! Twice! And she said 'for us!'"
He threw himself on the bed, face buried in the pillow to muffle a scream of pure happiness.
"Forget the Ballon d'Or," he said, turning to his cats."Forget the World Cup, forget Sophia. That's all for later. My only goal now, my only mission… is to win that trophy in two days. For Clara."