CHAPTER 90: CHAPTER 90: THE DEVIL’S COLORS

Friday came fast.

Match day.

An away game.

They weren’t just facing another opponent. They were stepping into a battlefield against a team known for playing dirty, for clawing, for provoking. Even inside the bus, no one spoke much.

Silence wrapped around the Lincoln players, each of them bracing, steadying their nerves for what was coming.

When the bus finally screeched to a stop, one by one they filed out.

East Valley’s grounds loomed ahead—bleak, harsh, like the shadow of a castle built for war. The air itself seemed heavier.

"Hey, don’t be so tense," Leo’s voice broke the silence, a calm edge as he tried to lighten the mood.

Cael, as always, took it further. He slapped his own cheeks, left, right, harder each time.

"Arghhhhhh!" His scream echoed across the lot.

Even Julian glanced sideways at him, while a few students nearby stopped to stare.

"Idiot," Riku muttered, before giving Cael a love-punch square on the back.

"Awahhhhhh!" Cael howled, spinning around with wide eyes.

Riku didn’t flinch. "Please. Don’t embarrass us."

The little scene loosened the tension, even if just a notch.

They walked on. Step by step toward the pitch.

The first thing Julian noticed was the red and black of East Valley’s kits. The colors weren’t just colors—they bled menace.

Red for blood, black for shadow. They carried it well. A devil’s uniform. A devil’s style.

Around the field, their supporters weren’t just cheering—they were snarling. Students in red hoodies slammed drums, stomping bleachers like war chants.

Some even spat insults before the whistle had blown, hurling words like stones at Lincoln’s players. "Break his legs!" "Send ’em home crying!" It wasn’t normal school spirit—it was tribal, hostile, a mob painted in red and black.

...

Lincoln High settled on their bench. Coach Owens stood in front, voice steady, eyes sharp.

"We do the same as always. Stick to our system. No fear, no hesitation." He scanned them one by one. "I expect a better performance today. Not just effort—precision."

"Yes, Coach," the players answered in unison.

Julian rose with the others, walking toward the pitch. His voice came low, but everyone around him heard it.

"Right now, we are the new emperor of this league. And emperors..." His eyes narrowed as he scanned East Valley’s players. "...are always tested. Always challenged. They’ll come at us to see if we deserve it. So—do we?"

A brief silence. Breath hanging in the cold air.

Then Leo spoke first, the captain who always teased Julian’s title yet carried it with pride.

"Of course."

"Let’s win this," Noah added, firm and clear.

"Yeahhhh!" Cael clenched both fists, veins bulging, roaring like a bodybuilder on stage.

Riku just nodded, his calm steadier than any words.

Together, the fire returned. Lincoln High moved as one, stepping into their warm-up under winter’s bite.

The war had begun before the whistle.

During the stretches and passing drills, Julian activated his Scan.

[Activating Scan Lv.2...]

Numbers flickered into his vision. As expected, most of East Valley’s squad fell between the 100–110 range. Ordinary. Nothing special. But three names stood out.

...

User: Malik Okoro

Position: CM

Best Attributes: Strength, Instinct

Skill: Iron Clamp — Locks down strikers in duels with grappling-style defending. A defender who uses his whole body—leaning, pulling, suffocating.

Age: 17

Total Attributes: 150

...

User: Sergio "El Toro" Ramirez

Position: CM

Best Attributes: Perception, Instinct

Skill: Anchor Breaker — Master of tactical fouling and clogging midfield. He doesn’t foul brutal—he fouls smart. Enough to disrupt rhythm, to break counters, to frustrate.

Age: 17

Total Attributes: 160

..

Julian’s eyes narrowed. Two bruisers in the middle. Strong, but compared to crenshaw or san dimas ? Dust. Weak embers against a blaze.

And yet—one name snagged his attention.

...

User: Dante Cruz

Position: RM

Best Attribute: Charisma

Skill: Needle Tongue — Trash talker. Shoves after the whistle. Dives to bait cards. Specializes in getting into opponents’ heads.

Age: 17

Total Attributes: 120

...

Julian stilled. Needle Tongue. Not speed. Not strength. Not even technique. A skill born only to poison minds. A weapon that didn’t touch the ball—only the soul.

It reminded him of an old rival from his past life—a cultivator who used "soul corrosion," whispering illusions mid-fight until proud warriors doubted themselves.

Julian had defeated that man, but not before losing comrade to madness. Seeing it again in this world made his blood run cold, then hot.

First time I’ve seen someone built like that, Julian thought, a cold glint in his gaze.

Prrriitttt—

The referee’s whistle sliced through the air. A signal. Both squads broke from their warm-ups, walking toward the center circle.

Red and black shadows on one side. Blue flame on the other.

The handshake ceremony. Tradition. Routine.

But as Lincoln High stepped forward, Julian already felt it—the first sparks of East Valley’s game. Eyes that didn’t just look at you. They searched for weakness. They searched for cracks.

And when Julian’s hand met Dante Cruz’s in the middle, the boy’s smile was too wide. Too sharp.

The war had only just begun.

...

As the away side, Lincoln opened the kickoff.

Julian tapped the ball back, letting it roll to Leo’s boots. The match had begun.

And instantly—Dante Cruz was there. Shadowing him. Grinning like a fox.

"Hey," Dante’s voice slithered low, cutting under the roar of the crowd. "I know a bit about your past. They say you were born crippled... and your precious Ashford parents dumped you."

Julian’s brow arched, but his gaze stayed flat, unreadable.

Dante leaned closer, muttering like a serpent.

"And not just that—your adopted brother? He took everything. Changed you into nothing. Must sting, huh? Watching someone else live the life you never could."

Each word dripped with venom.

Needle Tongue. Not just trash talk—surgical strikes meant to dig under skin, to bleed pride.

Julian’s steps didn’t falter. His pulse didn’t waver. Only his eyes narrowed, cold as winter steel.

This kid’s mouth... pure poison.

But poison only kills if you drink it.

Julian turned his head slightly, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"You think words will break me?" His voice was a whisper sharp enough to cut. "Try harder."

For the first time, Dante’s grin twitched—just a flicker.

The ball zipped across the midfield. Malik Okoro slammed into Riku with a shoulder barge that rattled bones, but the ref waved play on.

Seconds later, Sergio Ramirez clipped Noah’s ankle in a "professional foul," halting a counter before it began.

East Valley didn’t wait—they bared their fangs immediately. The match wasn’t just football. It was survival.

The ball was moving. The war had begun.