By the 70th minute, the Crestford Colts had seen enough of Silvergate's unexpected resurgence.
Their stocky coach, now red-faced with a temper that flared like a furnace, barked commands with the impatience of someone who had anticipated a clean sheet. He stormed to the sidelines, his clipboard slamming against his thigh.
With a decisive gesture, he signaled for a triple substitution, his frustration palpable as he swapped out two weary midfielders and a faltering full-back.
In their place came sturdy, no-nonsense defenders, their broad shoulders and steely gazes a clear message: this was no tactical switch. It was a fortress being erected, a shield thrown up to protect their dwindling lead.
The Colts were locking it down, determined to weather the storm that Maddox's Sailors had begun to brew.
[> "Crestford making a move to protect the lead here, Paul," <] the first commentator, Dave, noted through the stadium speakers, his voice tinged with grudging respect.
[> "As they should," <] Paul replied, his tone laced with a hint of admiration. [> "Maddox's boys have suddenly remembered how to play football. That goal's woken them up." <]
[> "Bit late for a comeback, though?" <] Dave mused, a skeptical edge to his words.
[> "Maybe," <] Paul countered, his voice thoughtful. [> "But momentum's a funny thing in this game—it can turn the tide faster than you'd think." <]
Eric Maddox didn't hear the broadcast, or rather, he ignored it. His focus was locked on the pitch, where the subtle cracks in Crestford's armor were becoming impossible to ignore.
He could see the nerves creeping into their back line—defenders backpedaling too early, their passes drifting sideways rather than forward, a clear sign they were playing to protect rather than dominate.
The air seemed to thicken with tension, and Maddox could almost smell the fear wafting from the Colts' sideline, a scent as intoxicating as victory itself. His lips curled into a faint, predatory smile. This was their moment to strike.
At the 78th minute, Silvergate capitalized with ruthless precision. The play began from the back, a simple clearance from Lewis Chaney that ricocheted awkwardly off the turf at midfield.
Kai Moreno, calm under pressure, chased it down with the grace of a panther, his boots skimming the grass as he took a quick touch to steady the ball. With a deft flick, he laid it off to Noah Perring, who had drifted centrally into the space between the lines, his slight frame a ghost among the lumbering Crestford midfielders.
Noah turned in one fluid motion, his eyes scanning the field with the clarity of a seasoned playmaker. He spotted Eli Fortis making a diagonal run behind the left-back, the winger's pace a blur against the fading light.
Without hesitation, Noah unleashed an up-through pass, the ball curving almost perfectly over the top, a masterpiece of timing and weight, landing just inside the final third.
Eli didn't need to adjust his pace; the ball seemed to find his stride as if guided by an invisible hand. He touched it once past the closing defender, his body opening up like a flower blooming under the sun, and unleashed a shot—low and to the far post.
The Crestford keeper stretched, his fingertips brushing the air, but it was too well placed. The net rippled with a satisfying —thwack—, and the sparse Silvergate faithful in the stands leapt to their feet, their cheers cutting through the stunned silence of the home crowd.
[> "That's two!" <] Dave's voice exploded through the speakers, raw with excitement.
[> "Eli Fortis with a fantastic finish, and once again, the architect is Noah Perring!" <] Paul chimed in, his tone brimming with awe. [> "That's two assists for the young midfielder in just under twenty-five minutes on the pitch!" <]
[> "And the fans must be wondering why in the world this lad's been warming the bench all season," <] Dave added, a note of incredulity in his voice.
The Silvergate bench erupted, players leaping from their seats as Maddox allowed himself the smallest nod, a flicker of pride that warmed his chest despite the cold night air.
The system interface in his vision chimed with updates, a digital affirmation of the shift on the pitch.
[System Notification]
[Player Bond – Eli Fortis → "Warming Up".
Noah Perring: Impact Rating +8 | Match Influence Rising.
Team Morale: 45% → 52%]
***
The thunderous roar from the second goal had barely begun to fade when the Silvergate Youth Sailors surged forward once more.
Gone was the timidity, the cautious hesitation that had defined their season thus far. In its place burned a fierce conviction—a blazing determination that seemed to ignite the very grass beneath their boots.
Eric Maddox prowled the technical area like a man possessed, his weathered face a canvas of intensity, every muscle alert to the ebb and flow of the game.
The floodlights cast dramatic shadows across his frame, accentuating the fire in his eyes as he tracked his team's movements.
Across the field, the Crestford Colts were visibly unraveling, their once-impenetrable composure fracturing under the pressure.
Their players shouted at each other in a frantic cacophony, fingers pointing at empty spaces as Silvergate's young sailors darted between them with quick one-twos and sharp third-man runs that sliced through their defense like a hot knife through butter.
The Colts' back line, rattled by the rapid succession of goals, scrambled to reorganize, their movements jerky and uncoordinated, a stark contrast to the fluid aggression of their opponents.
The turning point came in the 82nd minute when Reece Holloway, the freshly substituted right-back, launched an aggressive press deep in Crestford's half. His tenacity forced a hurried turnover, the ball popping loose like a prize claimed in battle.
Kai Moreno swooped in, his calm demeanor in complete control amidst the chaos. The midfielder gathered the ball just inside the opponent's half, the space around him opening like a reluctant sea parting under an unseen tide.
With his body low and his movements clean and precise, he glided forward like he a maestro conducting an orchestra of opportunity.
Maddox's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as Kai approached the edge of the final third.
"Go on, kid… trust yourself…" and he murmured under his breath, his voice a silent prayer carried on the wind.