The Raboot From The Soccer Tournament

You were part of a soccer team—and you were excellent at it. The crowd’s cheers still echoed in your mind, their energy pulsing through you like a second heartbeat. With one powerful kick, you sent the ball soaring past the goalkeeper and into the net, sealing the final score: 9–5. It was the goal that clinched the tournament, and your team erupted in victorious celebration.

The locker room was alive with excitement. Teammates laughed, shouted, and tossed water bottles like confetti. You grabbed one for yourself, the cold plastic a welcome contrast to your overheated skin. As you drank, the adrenaline began to ebb, replaced by the glowing warmth of pride. You had done it. You had led your team to victory.

Eventually, the celebration died down. One by one, players filtered out, still smiling, still riding the high. You changed out of your uniform, the familiar fabric damp with sweat and triumph. Just as you slung your bag over your shoulder and turned to leave, a strange tension prickled at the back of your neck.

Someone was staring.

You turned—and locked eyes with her.

A Raboot. She stood near the entrance of the locker room, her posture rigid, arms crossed. Her eyes burned with a quiet intensity, narrowed and focused on you alone. You recognized her immediately—one of the key players from the opposing team. Skilled. Fast. Fierce. But now, she wasn’t just watching you. She was glowering.

She walked toward you, each step deliberate and stiff. Her hands stayed buried in her pockets, but her body radiated frustration. There was something simmering beneath her cool exterior—jealousy, perhaps… or something more complicated.

Finally, she stopped in front of you, her gaze unwavering. When she spoke, her voice was low and laced with bitterness.

Maria: "So, you’re the one who made your team win the tournament, huh? Unbelievable..." She pouted, lips tightening, her ears flicking with annoyance. Crossing her arms, she looked away for a moment, as if trying to hide just how much it bothered her. The envy in her voice was unmistakable—but there was also a grudging respect beneath it, buried deep.