The locker room door slammed shut, cutting off the noise from the stadium outside.

Michael looked around the room. His players were slumped on the benches, chests heaving.

The Championship was faster than anything they had faced in League One. It was brutal.

Mateo, their young Colombian left back, was sitting with his head in his hands. He looked small. He looked defeated.

Arthur Milton stood by the tactical board, his face unreadable. He looked at Michael and gave a tiny nod.

Michael walked to the center of the room. He did not shout. He did not throw a water bottle. He just waited until every pair of eyes was on him.

"Leeds are laughing at us," Michael said softly.

He saw Jamie Weston look up, a flicker of anger in his eyes.

"They think the first half was a fluke," Michael continued, walking over to stand in front of Mateo.

"They think our left side is weak. They think they can just run past us and score whenever they want."

Mateo flinched. He did not look up.

Michael crouched down so he was eye level with the young defender.

"Mateo."

The boy looked up. His eyes were wide and red rimmed.

"Johnson is fast," Michael said, his voice calm. "But he is stupid. He only has one trick. He pushes the ball and he runs. You are smarter than him. Stop watching the ball. Watch his hips. When he turns, you turn. Do not dive in. Just stand there."

Mateo swallowed hard and nodded slowly.

"And if he gets past you," a deep voice growled from the corner.

Everyone turned. Shaun Higgins, The Butcher, was standing up. He looked terrifying. A bandage was wrapped around his head from a clash in the first half, making him look like a war hero.

"If he gets past you," Higgins said, cracking his knuckles, "I will introduce him to the advertising boards. Do not worry."

A ripple of laughter went through the room. It broke the tension.

"Right!" Michael stood up and clapped his hands. "We are not here to survive. We are here to win. Forty-five minutes. Go out there and take what is yours."

The roar from the players was deafening.

The second half began with a hurricane.

Leeds United did not want a draw. They wanted to crush the upstarts. They poured forward straight from the kickoff, launching the ball high and long toward Johnson on the wing.

Here it comes, Michael thought, gripping the edge of the dugout.

Johnson caught the ball on his chest. He smirked when he saw Mateo. He dipped his shoulder, ready to do the exact same trick that had worked in the first half. He knocked the ball forward and engaged his turbo boosters.

But Mateo did not lunge.

He remembered Michael's words. Watch the hips.

Mateo took a step back.

He waited. When Johnson tried to sprint past, Mateo simply stepped across him. He used his body like a shield.

Johnson slammed into Mateo and bounced off.

Mateo came away with the ball. He didn't panic.

He looked up and passed it calmly to Danny Fletcher.

The crowd at Oakwell erupted. It was a cheer as loud as a goal.

"YES MATEO!" Michael screamed, pumping his fist.

Arthur sat next to him, chewing his gum aggressively. "He is learning," the old scout grunted. "Good."

The momentum shifted.

Barnsley started to play.

Minute 60. The game turned into a basketball match. End to end. Attack vs Defense.

Kai Sora, the Bouncer, had decided that running was actually somewhat necessary.

He was moving through the midfield with that lazy elegance that drove opponents crazy.

A Leeds midfielder tried to tackle him. Kai did a little pirouette, spinning away from the pressure, and flicked a pass to Raph.

Raph, the Magician, caught the ball on his instep. He was thirty yards out.

"Shoot!" the crowd urged.

Raph wound up his leg. The Leeds defenders flinched.

But Raph didn't shoot. He scooped the ball.

A delicate, beautiful chip over the defensive line.

It dropped perfectly into the path of Jamie Weston.

Jamie was in.

"HIT IT!" Michael yelled.

Jamie let the ball bounce once. He smashed it on the volley.

BOOM!

The sound of boot hitting leather echoed around the stadium.

The ball flew toward the top corner. The Leeds goalkeeper was beaten.

CLANG.

The post again.

The ball smashed against the metal and flew out of play.

Jamie fell to his knees, screaming at the sky. The crowd let out a collective groan of agony.

"We are getting closer," Michael said, pacing the technical area. "We can beat them."

Minute 75.

The legs were getting heavy. The intensity of the Championship was taking its toll.

Finn Riley, the Wild Fox, was sprinting up and down the right wing, but his face was bright red. Even Danny Fletcher looked tired.

Leeds sensed the fatigue. They made a substitution. On came a fresh striker, a fast Jamaican international.

Arthur tapped his cane on the ground. "We need to change something, Boss. The midfield is getting overrun."

Michael looked at his bench. He didn't have many options. His squad was still thin.

"No," Michael said. "We stick with them. They have the heart."

Minute 82... Higgins went up for a header and missed. The fresh Leeds striker was through. He raced toward the goal.

It was just him and Sam Jones.

The striker shot low and hard.

Sam Jones didn't dive. He did the splits. He stuck out his right foot like a hockey goalkeeper.

The ball hit the tip of his boot and deflected just wide of the post.

"SAM JONES!" the crowd roared.

Sam jumped up and punched his chest, screaming at his defenders to wake up.

"That is why we kept him," Michael whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs. "That is my giant."

Minute 88.

The fourth official held up the board. 4 minutes of added time. The score was still 1-1.

Most teams would settle for a draw against Leeds United in their first game. A point was a good result.

But Michael looked at his Dad's empty seat in the Director's Box. Steve Sterling didn't like draws. Steve Sterling liked winning.

"PUSH UP!" Michael screamed, waving his arms.

"GO FORWARD!"

Kai Sora looked over at the bench. He saw Michael waving. Kai raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

Okay then.

Minute 90+2. Leeds had a corner. They sent everyone forward. They wanted the win too.

The ball floated into the box.

Higgins rose. He was a monster. He headed the ball clear, powering it forty yards out of the danger zone.

It landed at the feet of Raph.

Raph turned. He saw it.

Three Barnsley players were sprinting. Jamie Weston. Finn Riley. And Danny Fletcher.

It was a 3 on 2 counter attack.

"GO!" the entire stadium screamed.

Raph played the pass. It was perfect. It split the Leeds defense wide open.

Danny Fletcher collected the ball on the halfway line. He drove forward.

The Leeds defender was backing off, terrified. He knew who Danny was. He knew about the Prince.

Danny didn't pass. He kept running. He reached the edge of the box.

He faked a shot. The defender slid in to block it.

Danny dragged the ball to his left. He was free.

"SHOOT!"

But Danny didn't shoot.

He saw something nobody else saw.

To his right, Kai Sora had arrived. The lazy midfielder had sprinted seventy yards. He was completely unmarked at the back post.

Danny squared the ball.

It rolled across the six yard box. The goalkeeper scrambled across, desperate to intercept.

He was too late.

Kai was there. He didn't smash it. He didn't blast it.

He just opened his foot and passed it into the empty net.

GOAL.

The net rippled.

For a split second, time stopped.

25,000 people lost their minds at the exact same moment.

Kai didn't run. He didn't jump.

He just stood there, hands on his hips, looking at the chaotic, screaming crowd with a look of mild amusement.

Then he was tackled.

Jamie Weston hit him like a truck. Danny jumped on top. Raph joined the pile. Even Sam Jones ran the full length of the pitch to dive onto the celebration.

Michael was grabbed by Arthur. The old man was laughing, a rasping, joyous sound.

"THEY DID IT!" Arthur yelled. "THE CRAZY KIDS DID IT!"

Michael looked at the scoreboard.

BARNSLEY 2 - 1 LEEDS UTD

The referee blew the whistle.

FULL TIME.

Michael walked onto the pitch. The noise was deafening. "Glory, Glory Barnsley" was blasting over the speakers.

He saw Kai Sora extricate himself from the bottom of the pile. Kai walked over to Michael, his shirt covered in grass stains.

"You ran," Michael grinned.

Kai shrugged, wiping sweat from his forehead. "It was a long way. I am going to need a nap."

"Take the day off tomorrow," Michael laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

He looked around.

Mateo was crying happy tears, being hugged by Higgins.

Danny Fletcher was applauding the fans, looking every inch the King of the Fortress. Michael looked up at the Director's Box one last time.

He could almost see him. A big man in a sharp suit, booming with laughter, holding a glass of champagne.

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