The whistle shrieked through the humid air above the roaring crowd. Thirty-thousand eyes watched from the stands of the Skyward Arena, where banners of two prestigious academies flapped in the wind. On one side—the crimson and jet-black of Valkyries Hasteball Academy, the pride of southern Vaelora. On the other—sleek navy and silver: Frostgard Institute, renowned for their brutal pace and cold efficiency.
The massive digital clock showed 26:10. The score glared like a curse from the top of the stadium. Frostgard 3 – Valkyries 0.
Kael Drayden, wearing the number 6 jersey and the captain's red wristband, crouched on the pitch, sweat rolling down his jaw. His faceguard steamed with each exhale. His knuckles were tight around the black-and-yellow Hasteball—his lifeline, his pride, and right now, his tormentor.
"Damn it…" he muttered. "Why can't we break them?"
Frostgard's formation was relentless. Their Anchor, a 6'4 wall named Varn Tenrik, had shut down every lane near the semi-circle goal. Kael had tried three break-ins—each stopped with perfect timing, forcing him to drop the ball to avoid a foul. Frostgard's Blitzer, Yuli Solvek, kept tearing down the field after every intercept like a phantom, scoring two of their three goals. Their Threader, a long-haired tactician named Kyren Elth, manipulated space with terrifying grace.
"Kael," came a low voice behind him.
He turned slightly. Ravi Quen, Valkyries' Pulse, knelt beside him, catching his breath. Short and stocky, Ravi looked nothing like a stamina monster, but his jersey was already soaked from constant motion.
"They're running layers," Ravi said. "We go left, they close. We go right, same story. They're reading us."
"No," Kael snapped, standing. "They're reading me. I'm too predictable."
Behind them, Coach Draven Ohlan adjusted his glasses from the sideline, arms crossed, his gaze like steel. He hadn't called a time-out. He wanted them to figure it out.
Kael stared up into the crowd. The silver box on the highest balcony was packed with elite scouts from the Vaelora Super Nation League (VSNL). Titans of the sport. Men and women with power to change destinies. All watching.
"They're gonna think I'm washed," Kael muttered.
"They'll think you're human," Ravi said with a chuckle. "It's not over."
A whistle. Reset in play. Valkyries' Anchor, Lys Mara, scooped the ball near their own semi-circle and passed it to Kael on the right wing. He took off down the line, pushing off the turf with trained precision, knees high, scanning.
Frostgard's Pulse was already closing the distance. Kael pump-faked left, then darted right—but the Pulse didn't bite. The ball was nearly touched—Kael dropped it, avoiding a foul, but lost the break. A roar erupted from the Frostgard side as Yuli Solvek picked it up like a blur and streaked down toward the Valkyries' zone.
"Get back!" Kael shouted, but it was too late.
Yuli launched the Hasteball from midrange—a low, vicious arc that curved perfectly into the semi-circle goal post.
4-0.
Another whistle.
The clock read 29:03.
Kael slammed his fist into the grass, biting back a scream. He could see them—the scouts. One writing something. Another whispering.
Not about him.
About Yuli.
---
Half-time. 30:00.
The locker room was dead silent. The Valkyries sat on the bench, panting, heads bowed. No one looked at Kael.
Until Coach Draven Ohlan finally stepped forward.
"I didn't bring you here to impress the damn scouts," he said, voice razor-sharp. "I brought you here to play Hasteball. With everything. Not pride. Not pressure. Just the damn game."
Kael raised his head. "We're trying. I'm trying."
"You're fighting," Draven said. "There's a difference. This isn't a solo arena. You've been forcing threads that aren't there. Shocklines score, yes—but you're not alone out there."
He looked around the room.
"Ravi. Pulse. I want you covering both thirds, non-stop. Give us motion. Venn," he nodded to the Threader, a lean-eyed strategist with fast hands, "I need passing lanes. Stop reacting—create chaos."
Then, he looked at Kael.
"You're the hammer. But even a hammer needs a good grip."
Kael clenched his jaw. "Got it."
---
Second half. 31:00.
The crowd buzzed as Valkyries returned with fire in their step.
From the backline, Lys passed to Ravi, who immediately zig-zagged left, drawing Frostgard's attention. Venn sprinted in a shallow diagonal, arms wide, calling the ball. A fake. A switch.
Kael was open.
Pass. Catch. Sprint.
He saw the Anchor Varn Tenrik setting up for the block—massive arms ready.
Kael didn't dodge.
He dived—sliding, twisting midair, launching the Hasteball underhanded just before contact.
It curved.
Into the post.
4-1.
The crowd erupted. Kael rolled on the grass, staring at the sky. His chest heaved.
"I'm not done yet," he growled.
---
36:27.
Ravi intercepted near the center line and launched a fastball to Venn, who spun past two defenders. Kael was already mid-sprint down the left.
Venn tossed it low and fast.
Kael caught it one-handed, sidestepped a lunging Pulse, and hurled a high throw with enough backspin to drop sharply.
4-2.
Scouts started standing now. Talking. Noticing.
---
40:12.
A brutal shove from Frostgard. Foul. Point deduction.
4-3.
Free run awarded. Kael took it.
He charged, slowed at the last second, and flicked the ball behind his back—to Venn, who launched it clean into the post.
4-4.
Tied.
---
46:55.
Coach Draven shouted, "Stay calm! You've got the momentum!"
Kael nodded, sweat pouring down his faceguard. "One more."
As the final quarter began, something had shifted. Valkyries weren't just reacting now—they were dictating the rhythm.
The ball moved like electricity. From Anchor to Pulse to Threader.
Kael broke left. Venn tossed. Kael snatched it from the air mid-leap and landed right on the boundary of the semi-circle.
Varn was there.
Kael feinted—then dropped the ball, stepping aside.
Ravi caught it mid-bounce.
Shot.
Goal.
4-5.
The stadium exploded.
---
Full-time: 60:00.
The whistle blew.
Valkyries 5 – Frostgard 4
Kael stood in the center of the pitch, hands on his hips, breathing heavily.
One of the scouts, a tall man in a VSNL jacket, stared down at him from the box, then slowly began to clap.
Kael didn't smile. Not yet.
But inside, the fire had returned.
His Hasteball odyssey… had just begun.