Ficorpio
Chapter 1
Final round of China League One. Kingsport FC versus Dragonflare FC.
Eighty minutes were gone, and the scoreboard still read 0-1.
Kingsport trailed by a goal, and they were down to ten men.
On the touchline, head coach Daniel Hayes stood rigid with anxiety written all over his face.
A win or even a draw would be enough to send Kingsport into the Promotion Playoff, so Daniel had gone conservative in the first half—patient possession, compact defending, and counters when the chance appeared.
Dragonflare, meanwhile, sat safely in mid-table. They had no hope of going up.
Daniel had expected a team with nothing left to fight for.
Instead, from the opening whistle, Dragonflare had come at them like a side playing for its life.
So the rumors were true after all.
Lionheart FC, another promotion contender, wanted automatic promotion and had reportedly offered Dragonflare a five-million bonus if they could beat Kingsport.
In football, this kind of thing was an open secret no one ever admitted to out loud.
And for a China League One club, five million was serious money.
In the thirteenth minute, Dragonflare striker Colin Reeves met a cross from the wing and powered in a header. 0-1. Kingsport behind.
After that, Dragonflare dropped straight into a shell.
As soon as the first half ended, their coach made a double change.
He pulled Colin Reeves off and sent on Nate Walker, a striker known for his pace. He also withdrew another forward and added an extra defender at the back.
A 5-4-1 Formation.
All five defenders sat practically inside the box. The four midfielders stationed themselves around the top of the area. The only player left upfield was Nate Walker, lingering near the halfway line, waiting for one long clearance and a chance to break.
Then came the fiftieth minute.
Kingsport won a corner kick. The header was cleared by a Dragonflare defender with a desperate hoof upfield—and by some cruel twist of fate, the ball dropped right at Nate Walker’s feet.
He took off immediately.
With Kingsport’s back line exposed, a defender had no choice but to slide in from behind. Nate hit the turf at once, clutching his shin and rolling across the grass in apparent agony.
The referee didn’t hesitate. Red card.
A second later, Nate was back on his feet.
Dragonflare reacted instantly, too. They swapped out two attack-minded midfielders for defensive ones.
Now Kingsport were a goal down and a man down.
The situation had turned ugly.
Daniel looked toward the bench, where his substitutes were warming up.
He had already used two substitution windows and sent on four attacking players earlier. At this point, only two attacking options remained available to him: Tyler Reed, a winger, and Evan Mercer, an attacking midfielder.
Tyler was twenty-six, an inverted winger who liked to drive inside and shoot.
Evan was eighteen. Excellent technique. Excellent dribbling. And his passing was special. He could organize, dictate, and deliver a final ball sharp enough to split a defense open.
But Daniel had barely used him all season.
It wasn’t because Evan was young.
It was because Evan was a classic number ten.
Modern football wasn’t what it had been twenty years ago. The game now was built on speed, compact spaces, and rapid transitions between attack and defense.
A player like Evan could slow a team down.
Daniel had never doubted the boy’s talent. But no individual mattered more than the system. A player had to serve the team’s tactical identity.
So most of Evan’s season had passed on the bench. Even when he did play, it was usually meaningless garbage-time minutes near the end.
And now, with the match slipping away, Daniel still leaned toward Tyler.
Betting on Evan? He didn’t dare.
Besides, the mental pressure out there was crushing. Sending on a more mature player might, at least in theory, give them some kind of spark.
“Tyler, once this corner’s over, get ready to go on,” Daniel said.
“Got it.” Tyler immediately stripped off his training bib, revealing the number on his jersey.
“The corner’s been cleared—let’s see if Kingsport can recover the second ball,” the commentator said, voice rising with excitement.
“It falls to a Kingsport player—number eight looks hesitant on it. He loses possession! Dragonflare play it into Nate Walker. There’s acres of space behind the Kingsport back line now. Walker is charging through like no one’s there. What are Kingsport doing? They aren’t even chasing him! Have they given up?”
Daniel stared at the pitch, helpless.
At this point, all he could do was pray.
“Walker is one-on-one with the keeper! He shapes to shoot—no, it’s a feint! The goalkeeper’s gone to ground! Walker carries it into the net himself. That’s humiliating. But the bigger problem is Kingsport. They’ve quit before the whistle. Looks like promotion is slipping through their fingers yet again.”
“Kingsport, get out!”
“Kingsport, you’re a joke!”
Along the sideline, Kingsport’s own supporters had turned on the team, hurling abuse in perfect unison at every player in blue.
Losing wasn’t the worst thing.
Losing your nerve was.
That goal had done it. The crowd was truly furious now.
On the field, Kingsport’s players looked hollow-eyed and lost.
There were eight minutes left, maybe fifteen with stoppage time. To score twice under any circumstances would be hard. To do it with ten men, against a team Parking the Bus this deep, felt close to impossible.
So this was it again.
Another failure.
Even Daniel’s own fight had drained away.
Chapter 2
This was his third year in charge, and this was supposed to be the year they finally had their best shot at promotion.
Instead, the old nightmare had found him too—the curse of only needing a draw and somehow still throwing everything away.
Kingsport’s players trudged back toward the center circle while Dragonflare celebrated like mad. One stadium, two halves of the pitch, and they might as well have belonged to two different worlds.
Then Daniel turned his head.
“Evan, you’re on.”
Evan Mercer looked back at him, expressionless.
If they had already lost, then the least Daniel could do was give the kid a little experience at the end.
By next season, maybe neither of them would still be at the club.
Tyler let out a long breath, relief washing over his face.
Coming on at 0-1 and coming on at 0-2 were two completely different things.
Now the result looked settled. Whoever stepped onto that pitch would have to carry the full weight of the fans’ rage. Tyler felt like he wouldn’t be entering a football match so much as walking into hell.
Evan said nothing. He pulled off his bib with practiced calm.
The fourth official raised the board. A defensive midfielder came off. Evan went on.
“A youngster entering in the dying moments,” the commentator said. “It looks like Daniel Hayes has accepted defeat. This season, the young man named Evan Mercer has played less than a hundred and fifty minutes in total. Surely Daniel can’t expect him to turn this around?”
The abuse from the stands only got louder.
If anything, the commentator’s words seemed to pour fuel on the fire.
After slapping hands with the player he replaced, Evan jogged onto the field.
He didn’t head to his position right away.
Instead, he ran to each teammate in turn, clapping hands, murmuring a few quiet words to some of them as he passed.
Dragonflare were still celebrating.
Celebrating—and running down the clock.
At last Evan reached Kingsport striker Marcus Cole and leaned in to whisper something to him.
Marcus froze for a beat, stunned.
Then came confusion.
He looked toward the sideline at Daniel, then back at Evan.
In the end, he gave a small nod.
The whistle blew.
The final five minutes of regulation had begun.
Marcus Cole stood alone over the ball at midfield. The whistle blew, and he tapped it to Evan Mercer.
After taking the pass, Evan didn’t play it forward.
Instead, he turned and dribbled back toward his own goal.
The Dragonflare players were completely thrown by it.
They were behind on the scoreboard. Time was almost gone. Shouldn’t he be moving the ball upfield?
Why was he carrying it backward?
Was the kid cracking under the pressure? Had his mind just gone blank?
“Get back! Drop into shape!” Dragonflare head coach Victor Shaw roared from the touchline.
He was the first to realize something was wrong.
The moment Marcus restarted play, every Kingsport attacker had exploded toward the Dragonflare box.
A quick strike. That was the whole point—hit them before they could react.
Kingsport wanted to launch one last fast attack before Dragonflare’s defenders could reset. And with so many runners crashing the area at once, chaos was guaranteed.
Evan’s retreating dribble had been nothing but a decoy.
As he carried the ball backward, he kept glancing over his shoulder, tracking every one of his teammates’ runs. Then, without warning, he spun to face Dragonflare’s goal and drove a long pass upfield.
The ball flew like a shell, screaming toward Marcus.
It wasn’t especially high, but it was hit viciously hard.
If you wanted to catch a defense unready, that was exactly the kind of ball you had to play.
Marcus had already made it to the edge of the six-yard box, waiting for the delivery the entire time.
“What a pass—right on the money. Marcus Cole is already near the six-yard area, and he’s only got one defender with him. Physically, that defender is giving up a lot to Marcus. Kingsport are clearly trying to catch Dragonflare cold here. I don’t think anyone in the stadium saw this coming—maybe not even Victor Shaw!”
Here it comes.
Marcus locked onto the flight of the ball and read the drop early.
As he went up, the Dragonflare center back jumped with him.
Marcus had the edge in height and leap.
But once they were both in the air, the defender slammed into him with his body.
Trying to throw me off?
Marcus understood immediately.
If you couldn’t win the aerial duel outright, then at least make sure the other guy couldn’t get a clean look at it.
The defender clearly wasn’t trying to beat Marcus to the header. He was trying to stop him from getting a comfortable one—and buy time for help to arrive.
Still airborne, Marcus snapped his head toward goal.
The instant he made contact, he knew something was wrong.
A striker’s instincts told him at once that the challenge had affected him. He hadn’t gotten enough power on it, and his contact point was off.
“Oh, what a shame! He headed it too straight at the keeper—he gathers it comfortably! Kingsport have wasted their best chance of the match. Once Dragonflare get everyone back and set their defensive block again, Kingsport may never get another opening like that. What a waste. If that had gone in, this game would’ve become a completely different story.”
Even the commentators sounded heartbroken for Kingsport.
On the sideline, Victor Shaw broke into a cold sweat.
Chapter 3
He shot Daniel Hayes a look.
So even this late, Daniel still hadn’t given up?
The truth was, Daniel had already been prepared to.
That move had caught him off guard too.
It had obviously been designed in advance, and it had very nearly worked.
Was that Evan’s design?
Yes. It had to be.
Daniel thought back to the moment Evan had come on and leaned in to whisper to his teammates.
What a gifted young player.
Too bad I can’t give him a bigger stage.
And now that attack had failed. Which meant Kingsport’s season had failed with it.
Dragonflare’s goalkeeper held the ball against his chest, pretending to look for an outlet while blatantly wasting time.
Boos rolled down from the stands.
The referee ran over and showed the keeper a yellow card.
Then, with one huge kick, the Dragonflare keeper sent the ball all the way downfield—straight to the Kingsport goalkeeper.
Kingsport’s keeper moved it quickly to Evan.
This time, Evan didn’t hesitate for a second. He drove forward with the ball until he reached the area just outside the arc.
Dragonflare had already dropped all the way back. Even Nate Walker had tucked in so deep he was practically playing as a holding midfielder.
Every Dragonflare player, along with most of the Kingsport side, was packed into Dragonflare’s half.
They were defending zonally, with one clear objective: do not let Kingsport combine through the middle and get a shot inside the box.
A cross from wide? A shot from distance?
Fine. The penalty area was jammed with bodies. The odds of success were tiny.
Three minutes remained in regulation.
Evan looked left.
Kingsport’s left back had pushed so high he was practically a winger now.
The player marking Evan saw the glance and started shifting early, expecting the pass to go left.
But Evan only looked that way.
When he finally released the ball, he switched play to the right.
The defender hadn’t expected the feint at all. Fortunately for Dragonflare, Evan was still far enough from goal that losing position for a moment wouldn’t be fatal.
But the instant he passed it, Evan burst into the box.
“The ball’s out on the right for Kingsport now. As Coach Zhang always says, the simplest football can be the most effective—maybe a diagonal cross from that angle will produce something. Here comes the delivery! It’s hanging into the area. Marcus Cole is being crowded by two defenders now. It’ll be incredibly difficult for him to get a shot away.”
Marcus planted himself near the line of the six-yard box and rose to challenge.
Pinned between two defenders, he had to strain for everything just to make contact.
But this time he wasn’t trying to score.
He flicked the header into the path of the onrushing Evan.
Dragonflare’s defenders had been focused on the other Kingsport runners flooding the area. They hadn’t tracked Evan’s late run.
But because Dragonflare were playing zonal defense rather than man-marking, the moment Evan arrived, another defender stepped into the newly exposed space.
“Marcus wins the header! He nods it down to the young substitute Evan Mercer, who’s charging into the box! Evan brings it under control—Dragonflare react quickly and swarm him immediately. The shooting angle is gone. He’s shaping to strike—no, that’s a fake! Is Evan trying to shift it and create space? There are bodies everywhere in there. He may have to force the shot—he’s down! Evan’s down! Let’s see what the referee gives… Penalty! It’s a penalty! The referee points straight to the spot!”
The commentator nearly lost his mind. Everything that had just happened inside the area had sent his emotions through the roof.
“That late run from Evan Mercer caused real confusion in Dragonflare’s defense. Zonal marking demands excellent awareness when players make Off-the-Ball Movement like that. The moment Evan received the ball, two Dragonflare defenders stepped in to cover, and both were sold by his second shooting feint. The replay confirms it—this is absolutely a penalty. One of the defenders caught Evan hard on the ankle. There is no point in Dragonflare arguing. And yes, their captain has now been booked as well.”
Two minutes remained in normal time.
Kingsport FC had a penalty kick.
Evan cradled the soccer ball in both hands and walked to the spot.
As the match crept toward its end, everything on the field changed too fast to follow.
Just a few minutes ago, the Kingsport FC players had looked beaten—heads down, legs heavy, no fight left in them. But after winning that penalty kick, hope had come blazing back into their eyes.
The Kingsport supporters had been cursing their own team in unison a moment earlier. Now they were roaring the club chant at full volume, trying to drag them over the line.
“Stop arguing with the referee! Get set defensively! Stay focused!” Victor Shaw shouted from the touchline.
He checked his watch. Normal time was almost up. Even if Kingsport scored the penalty and restarted immediately, the match would be in stoppage time.
Under normal circumstances, there wouldn’t be more than seven minutes added on. If Dragonflare FC defended properly, they would still win this match.
“Keep your heads! We’re still in front!” Victor kept yelling at his players.
“Evan Mercer is standing over the penalty,” the commentator said, voice tightening with anticipation. “A massive moment for the youngster. Can he handle the pressure? And it’s interesting—none of the Kingsport players seem to have any objection to him taking it.”
Normally, the penalty taker would be the best striker of the ball on the team, and usually that meant a forward.
But as the commentator had said, in a moment like this, the player stepping up had to shoulder terrifying pressure.
The instant Marcus Cole saw Evan walking toward the spot, he handed him the ball.