Despite winning the match, the locker room was strangely quiet.
Usually, such a victory would have transformed the room into a madhouse. The victorious screams of the players would echo off the walls, music would blare from portable speakers, water bottles would fly through the air. Some would be celebrating with their phones, capturing the moment for social media.
But none of that happened tonight.
Julian—despite being named the man of the match—sat there without uttering a word. His pupils appeared listless, his head lowered as he stared at the floor. He hadn't even removed his boots, still clad in the dirt-stained gear of battle.
Just across from him sat Guiliano, the man who had had the most impact since his substitution. His expression was equally somber.
"Do you think he'll be fine?" Guiliano asked timidly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know," Julian answered, his tone flat and lifeless.
It was the answer neither of them wanted to hear.
