Volume One: Our Own League Chapter 82: Distrust and Unexpected Joy

2-3!

Class Ten’s soccer team scored once more, narrowing the gap. The players of Class Six were growing anxious; they could feel the match slipping from their grasp, victory edging further away with every minute.

Yang Hao’s brow was tightly furrowed; he too sensed something was amiss. The rhythm of the game was off. It was slipping out of their control, and he was struggling to keep things together.

He quickly turned to rally his teammates. “Stay calm! Don’t panic, don’t lose your heads! We’re still ahead, still in control. As long as we hold our defense, the victory is ours. Don’t let their momentum shake you—just focus on the match, alright?”

Yang Hao himself was unshaken, but he could only command his own composure. The rising panic among his teammates was beyond his control. All he could do was offer them words, hoping to steady their nerves.

But it was no easy task. Class Ten’s team was ferocious at this moment, their momentum intimidating. Having scored twice in quick succession, they now seemed unstoppable.

Yet Yang Hao was determined to stand in their way. He signaled for his teammates to tighten their defense, to hold the line—victory would be theirs if they could withstand this final onslaught.

The players of Class Six responded, focusing their efforts on defense. They trusted Yang Hao, but the fear was hard to quell; their anxiety was almost beyond their control.

The match had become a true ordeal for Class Six.

Still, there was good news for them: only a few minutes remained. If they could weather these last moments, victory and a place in the finals would be theirs.

Yang Hao urged his teammates to defend with their lives. All they needed was to hold on for a few more minutes.

Class Ten’s players knew time was slipping away. Desperate not to lose and forfeit their chance at the finals, they surged forward in waves, attacking with all their might.

With a resounding thud, Mu Yang sent the ball upfield. At the front, Yang Xin leaped high, flicking the ball on with a header. Zhang Zhen, arriving in support, tried a volley, but Class Six’s defenders managed to poke the ball away. It landed at Yang Hao’s feet as he retreated. He spun and charged into Class Ten’s half.

He wasn’t sure if he could break through and threaten their goal, but he knew that keeping the ball far from their own penalty area meant safety.

So, he pressed forward. Xu He shouted, “Defend! Don’t let him get through!”

With a swift move, Zhong Haokun lunged in and knocked the ball out for a throw-in, frustrating Class Six’s counterattack. His teammates applauded him as he maintained a cold, steely focus.

Class Six dawdled with the throw-in, infuriating Class Ten. Clearly, they were trying to waste time. The referee hurried over to urge them on; tensions were high, and the atmosphere charged—one wrong move, and tempers might boil over.

The referee tightened his control over the match, determined to prevent any incident at this critical juncture.

Class Six finally got the ball back in play, but soon lost possession.

“Here! Here!” Xu He called for the ball, and two defenders from Class Six converged on him.

But Mu Yang chose not to pass to Xu He. Instead, the ball went to Zhu Ge.

Zhu Ge drove forward, breaking into Class Six’s box and unleashed a powerful shot. It struck a defender and went out for a corner.

Class Ten had earned a corner kick.

The tension was palpable; the spectators fell into reverent silence, afraid even the slightest sound might affect the players.

Time was running out, and this corner kick was crucial—a golden opportunity.

Yang Xin stood in the penalty area, making Class Six’s defenders nervous.

Yang Hao shouted, “Defend! Watch the tall one! Don’t lose him!”

Yang Xin’s presence was a real threat; no one dared to ignore him. Three defenders were assigned to mark him, which left Xu He unguarded. Xu He felt a surge of confidence as he signaled to Zhu Ge at the corner flag—he was open.

Both sides’ supporters watched in anxious silence, eyes fixed, prayers whispered.

Zhuo Jun murmured, “This is truly Class Ten’s chance.”

His eyes, too, were on Yang Xin; this was the moment to break the deadlock. The tall forward was a natural weapon, inspiring awe.

With a thump, Zhu Ge sent in a curling ball. It flew straight toward Yang Xin at the center. He and his three markers leapt together. Yang Xin was clearly taller—none of the defenders could reach the ball.

Class Six’s supporters shut their eyes in dread—this must be the end.

Yang Hao stared wide-eyed, barely able to believe what he saw. Were they really about to repeat the debacle of the warm-up match?

The ball whipped toward Yang Xin, who nodded it toward the goal. But it grazed past him—he didn’t make contact. Another defender managed to deflect it out for another corner.

Still a corner—time was running out. Class Ten was on the edge of the abyss.

The tension was suffocating. Xu He’s palms were slick with sweat, his heart pounding. Yang Xin protested, complaining that the defenders had fouled him—an elbow, even, worthy of a penalty and a red card. But the referee hadn’t seen and waved play on.

Yang Xin was furious, but Zhu Ge pulled him back. Otherwise, a second yellow card would send him off.

Class Ten was running out of time. Every second mattered now.

Yang Xin threw himself back into the attack. Both teams crowded into Class Six’s box—it was packed, nerves raw, everyone fighting desperately.

Zhu Ge took the corner again, sending the ball sharply to the near post.

Yang Xin surged forward, shaking off two defenders to meet the ball, but a defender from Class Six beat him to it, heading it out for yet another corner.

Another missed chance for Class Ten.

Yang Xin clutched his head in frustration; if only he had been a fraction faster, the goal would have been his.

Xu He shook his head, gesturing that he’d been completely unmarked—if the ball had come his way, the goal would have been certain, and the score level.

Time was almost gone for Class Ten.

On the sidelines, their classmates watched with heavy hearts, still cheering, hoping for a miracle.

Class Ten’s players knew the clock was against them, but they refused to give up, attacking with all they had, hunting for a decisive chance.

Class Six’s players clung tightly to their marks, terrified of conceding a last-second goal.

Yang Hao shouted, “We’re so close! Hold on, just a little more!”

Indeed, victory was just ahead.

Class Ten’s players felt their hearts sink, anxiety mounting.

Then, with a thud, Zhu Ge launched another corner, this time toward the far post. Xu He had moved to the near post, leaving it empty, but the ball arced toward the far side, toward Yang Xin.

In this crucial moment, everyone’s faith rested on Yang Xin’s height.

He leaped high at the far post, outmuscling three defenders, and smashed a header toward the goal. The ball rocketed toward Class Six’s net.

Class Ten’s supporters erupted—finally, a threatening shot on goal! Surely, this would go in.

Class Six’s faces turned ashen, terror gripping their hearts—this was it.

But with a loud slap, Wang Yi instinctively raised his hands and tipped the speeding ball over the line for another corner. Yang Xin, fists raised in anticipation, stared in disbelief.

Class Ten’s players were stunned.

Class Six’s players turned to the referee, pleading that time was up, the match should be over, and victory theirs.

At that moment, every heart in Class Ten skipped a beat.

Xu He found it hard to breathe. Were they truly defeated?

The referee pointed to the corner flag, granting Class Ten one final attack. A sigh of relief passed through their team, while Class Six’s players protested angrily. The referee showed Yang Hao his watch—there were still about thirty seconds left.

Yang Hao had no choice but to rally his teammates for one last defense. If they held this time, the victory was theirs.

Class Ten’s players watched Zhu Ge nervously.

Xu He waved frantically, signaling for the ball to be sent to the far post—he was sure it would go in.

“Pass it to me!” he thought desperately.

But Zhu Ge curled the ball toward the center, choosing once again to trust Yang Xin.

Yang Xin judged the flight, leaped high, outjumping three defenders, and powered a header at goal. A flicker of hope—then disappointment, as he failed to connect, his effort disrupted.

Despair settled over Class Ten’s players.

They had squandered their last chance. Defeat was upon them; the final was lost.

The taste was bitter.

Many wept.

But one refused to give up—Xu He.

His eyes remained fixed on the center. Seeing Yang Xin miss the ball, a stab of pain and despair pierced his heart.

But then—astonishingly—the untouched ball flew straight toward him.

Unmarked, Xu He met it and calmly slotted it into the empty net.

3-3!

In the dying seconds, Xu He performed a miracle, scoring the equalizer and dragging Class Ten back from the brink of hell.