It wasn't just about what I did on the field. Sure, they started it, but looking back, maybe I took it too far. I didn't want to admit it, but I knew I'd crossed a line. When I heard they were looking for me, I knew I had to face them. Not because they called me out, but because deep down, I knew I had it coming.
Or maybe it was that message they sent me on Instagram: "See you at the warehouse. Time to pay up." I knew what it meant, but instead of ignoring it, I showed up. Not because I'm a glutton for punishment, but because I needed to see this through.
It's funny how life has a way of bringing things back around. One day, you're riding high, and the next, you're walking into an abandoned warehouse, knowing you're about to get the beating of your life. But after what I did, maybe it's exactly what I deserve. There's no running from this.
As I rounded the corner, I spotted them—some of the guys from the finals, waiting outside an old, rundown warehouse. Their faces, twisted with anger and a need for revenge, were burned into my memory. I could've turned back, but I didn't. This was inevitable.
I walked up to them, my footsteps echoing in the stillness. They saw me coming and fell silent, their eyes narrowing as I approached.
One of them stepped forward, his voice dripping with contempt. "So, you finally decided to show up. Thought you'd run off after what you pulled?"
I met his gaze, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my gut. "I'm here, aren't I? Do what you need to do. I'm not going to fight back."
They exchanged glances, clearly surprised by my calmness. But it didn't stop the first punch. It came fast, slamming into my gut and knocking the wind out of me. I doubled over, gasping for air, but before I could recover, two more guys grabbed my arms, holding me in place as the hits kept coming.
Every punch, every blow—it was like they were trying to carve their pain into me, to make me feel every ounce of what they'd felt when I humiliated them on the field. And I didn't resist. This was my penance, the price for the damage I'd done.
They kept me standing, each hit driving me closer to my limit, but I stayed upright, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. Eventually, they forced me down to my knees. The guy whose face I'd messed up in the fight stepped forward, a soccer ball in his hands. I knew what was coming, but I didn't flinch.
The first shot hit me square in the face, the ball striking my nose with a crack that sent tears filling in the eye—not from emotion, but from the sharp, stinging pain. Two more shots followed, each one a reminder of the damage I'd caused. I was bruised, bleeding, but somehow, I felt a strange sense of acceptance. This was what I deserved.
Finally, they stepped back, breathing heavily. The leader of the group looked down at me, his face a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion.
"You got what you deserved. You can leave now."
I wiped the blood from my nose and slowly got to my feet. My body screamed at me to just walk away, but something inside wouldn't let me. I looked at them, my voice calm but firm.
"This doesn't end here. If I walk away now, it'll just keep going. We'll never settle this."
They frowned, not expecting me to say anything, let alone challenge them. I continued, my words carrying a weight I hadn't felt before.
"How about we settle this for real? A soccer match. You bring your team, I'll bring mine. If you win, I'll transfer and leave this school for good. But if we win, you do what I say."
They looked at each other, surprised by the offer. The guy who started it all stepped forward, eyeing me warily.
"You're serious?"
I nodded, the adrenaline pushing me forward. "Dead serious. Bring whoever you want. We'll see who really deserves to stay."
They hesitated, but the challenge was too tempting to pass up. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright, you've got yourself a deal. But don't think we'll go easy on you."
This is it. One last shot to make things right—or at least to prove something to myself.
They turned and left, leaving me standing there in the shadowy warehouse. I watched them go. This wasn't just about a game anymore; it was about settling the score, once and for all.
After the confrontation at the warehouse, I went straight home, barely feeling the cold water as I washed away the blood and grime. My mind was racing, replaying the events over and over, but I couldn't dwell on it. Tonight was supposed to be a break from all of that, a chance to relax with friends at the mall.
As I got dressed, I thought back to earlier that day. Skipping club period wasn't something I did often, but today, I had to. Confronting them was something I couldn't put off any longer. I knew my friends would wonder where I'd been, but I wasn't ready to tell them the whole story—not yet.
I quickly changed into fresh clothes, covering the band-aid on my nose with a cap pulled low. By the time I got to the mall, it was already buzzing with life, the neon lights reflecting off the polished floors as people moved in and out of shops.
When I spotted my friends near the food court, I took a deep breath and walked over, trying to look casual. They were still in their uniforms, having come straight from school. Even as I walked through the mall, my ribs ached with every step. But I couldn't let them see that.
"Daniel!" Ryan called out, noticing me first. He was leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed, but his easygoing demeanor shifted when he saw the band-aid on my nose. "Dude, what happened to your face?"
I shrugged, trying to laugh it off. "Oh, nothing major. I just tripped on a step outside a shop earlier. Lost my balance, hit my face. You know me—always finding new ways to injure myself."
Sarah, who was sitting beside Ryan with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "Really? You've got to be more careful, Daniel." She sounded more concerned than she let on.
"Yeah, it's no big deal," I reassured her, quickly changing the subject. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you guys something. You know the team we played against in the finals? They reached out to me."
Lena, who was scrolling through her phone next to Sarah, looked up, curiosity piqued. "Reached out? Why? Do they want another beating?" she asked with a smirk.
I shook my head, my tone more serious. "Not exactly. They want a rematch this weekend. They messaged me on Instagram."
Nina, sitting across from us and sipping her smoothie, looked surprised. "A rematch? After what happened? That's bold."
"Yeah, it is," I said, nodding. "But this time, it's serious. They want this game to decide everything—my future at school, our reputation, everything. And I told them they could bring other players our age since some of their guys are still injured."
Ethan, who had been quietly listening from the side, finally spoke up, his voice steady. "They're looking to settle the score. But Daniel, you don't have to face this alone. We've got your back, no matter what."
"Exactly," Julian added. "We'll have to settle this once and for all."
Ethan leaned forward, his face serious. "You sure about this, Daniel? It sounds like they're looking for payback."
"I know," I admitted, glancing around at my friends, who were all watching me closely. "But we can't just back down. We have to show them that we're not afraid to face them again. This time, we'll be ready."
Sarah, ever the practical one, sighed. "If we're doing this, we need to start preparing now. We can't let them catch us off guard."
"Exactly," Lena agreed, her competitive spirit flaring up. "We're in this together."
Nina nodded as well, her voice calm but firm. "Whatever happens, we've got each other's backs."
Ryan grinned, his usual humor kicking in. "Well, it looks like we're in for another crazy weekend. Count me in."
With everyone on board, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Sure, I was nervous about what was to come, but with my friends by my side, I knew we could handle whatever they threw at us.