Sentimental offside
stood at half-court, eyes darting across the unfamiliar setup. The Red Star women's team, clad in white and crimson training gear,
here for ba
e of being too much-too loud, too
p!" someo
dden
s of the bleach
ng at the temples. A scar ran subtly along his ja
o Vu
man who, according to Google, had once thrown a chair mid
one used to commanding atte
ned the group, then se
smi
n
th
e, like a soldier evaluating
the accent thick but authoritative. "You are here to win.
e swept
on't care what language you speak. Her
fists. Her Frenc
before. But this... this was w
d, pointing s
inked.
're
utes early," she replie
. Your eyes, not focused. Your feet, too heavy. You
r. Lana, the tall, blonde team
he air had changed, thick
laps
ha
brow. "Or you
ne m
eammates. Not a singl
i
g around the court. Each step was a s
Marko's eyes on
minutes
il
ila kept up-barely-but her movements weren't perfect. Her m
e hesitated for a split second, and
e whistle. Sh
toward h
ga
She reset, this time exe
ga
repe
ga
s, until her legs burned an
he turn
was
"better." Just
much she wante
om. After
le
sat on the bench, unwrapping her ankle t
drop balls like that, or only
chuc
o drop one and learn than to p
smile v
d w
sky
that e
m-like apartment provided by the club.
s in, but the music couldn't block o
t belong
t. But
r mom, Fatou, taken back home in their cramped kit
on't come back defea
– Belgrade
ripped tightly in his trembling hands. Explosions th
Nikola, calm, steady, mouthed
nd you'll have to find somethi
red the silence
nf
didn't
ust
sent – Coac
oster. Mila Touré. Born 2006. France. Positio
uld cu
sho
. Too raw. To
her eyes-it wa
s sur
afford distractions. He wouldn't be that
da
l had so
ing da
Mor
ed first t
pt
le
d again. Her breathing synced with the bounce
t h
the
ty minutes
tu
the doorway,
't say
wat
rned an
t-maybe, just maybe-that his foots
. Later
w dr
lled Mil
one t
this one
ooked
unsure if she'
stepped
bbl
ss
ugh the
h
is
didn't
t blow the w
mehow, me
f Cha
_______