Chapter 27 : Captain
HAYDEN’S POV:
The next morning felt like the calm before a storm.
It was the day for the captain tryouts.
Coach had been building this up for weeks like it was some kind of gladiator arena. It was two teams, one pitch and one decision.
And of course, Stephen and I were on opposite sides.
I laced up my boots slower than usual, sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room while the guys buzzed around me. The air smelled like sweat, grass, and adrenaline. Marcus was across the room joking with Tyler, but even he kept glancing my way.
Everyone knew.
Coach didn’t say it outright, but this wasn’t just about leadership drills or strategy. It was about which brother the team trusted more.
Stephen walked in five minutes later and the room shifted.
He didn’t look at me at first. Just dropped his bag, pulled his jersey over his head, and tied his boots with precise movements.
Like yesterday hadn’t happened.
But I saw the tightness in his shoulders. The slight flare in his nostrils when he finally looked up and our eyes met.
No words but there was understanding.
This was war.
Coach gathered us on the field, whistle dangling from his neck. The stands were empty except for a few early students who wanted drama before the first period.
“Today decides your captain,” Coach said. “Leadership, skill and composure. You represent this team on and off the field. I don’t want talent without discipline.”
His gaze flicked between Stephen and me.
The message received.
He divided us up exactly how I expected. Half the starters on my side and the other half on his side. It was balanced and fair.
Stephen was the striker on his team. I was center mid on mine. Which meant we were facing each other constantly.
It was perfect.
The whistle blew and just like that, everything else disappeared. No locker room fights, no Lilian and Ella. It was just the ball.
Stephen struck first.
Ten minutes in, he slipped past Tyler like he wasn’t even there. Quick feint left, cut right, explosive acceleration. I tracked back, but he was already in the box.
He shot low. It was a Goal.
His teammates erupted.
He didn’t celebrate wildly. Just turned and jogged back, expression sharp, eyes finding mine for half a second.
One–zero.
That was fine. It was time to adjust.
Stephen plays emotionally when he’s angry and he overcommits. Pushes too high, then leaves gaps.
I started controlling the pace and slowed the game down. There were forced passes wide and made his midfield chase.
Leadership isn’t always about scoring. It’s about control.
Twenty minutes in, Gereld made a run. I saw it before anyone else did. Threaded the ball through two defenders perfectly weighted and he finished.
One–one.
I didn’t look at Stephen. I didn’t need to.
The second half got rough.
Stephen tackled harder as shoulders slammed. The ref let most of it go since it was “competitive evaluation.”
At one point he clipped my ankle but not enough to injure me but enough to send a message. I got up without reacting.
Coach was watching.
That’s what Stephen doesn’t get. Captain isn’t just about being the best scorer. It’s about being unshakeable.
Midway through the half, I intercepted a sloppy pass from his defender, pushed forward. Stephen sprinted back to cover.
It was just us now. One-on-one.
He tried to read my body like he’s done since we were kids playing in the backyard but I didn’t go left like I used to.
I cut right.
He stumbled for half a second, I slipped the ball wide to Ethan, who crossed it back into the box.
It was a Goal and my team roared.
Two–one
I felt the shift. Stephen’s jaw tightened. He barked at his defense and started pushing them harder, louder. Pressure makes him sharp but it also makes him reckless.
Five minutes before the final whistle, he got his chance.
It was a breakaway with no defenders. Just him and the keeper and the whole field held its breath. He struck it beautifully at the top corner.
It was a tie…..Two–two.
Even I couldn’t deny it. He was the best striker in the league and everyone knew it. He didn’t celebrate that one either. Just stared at me like, I’m still better.
The final minutes ticked down.
Coach shouted for intensity and leadership.
So I called plays and directed the team
I pulled Gerald back when he drifted too far up and encouraged Tyler after he lost possession.
Reset the formation when we almost got countered.
I could feel the team responding. Then it happened at the last minute. It was a corner kick — it was ours.
I jogged into the box but stayed just outside it instead of pushing for the header. Stephen stayed near the post, watching me instead of the ball.
Wrong move.
The cross came in high. It was chaos as bodies jumped. The ball deflected off someone’s shoulder and bounced out toward the edge of the box, right to me and time slowed. I didn’t hesitate.
One touch to settle and the second touch —it was a strike. It flew low and hard through pitch and the net snapped.
Three–two.
Then the Whistle. It was Game over.
For a second, there was silence. Then my team tackled me to the ground, shouting and laughing.
Someone yelled, “Captain!”
I lay there on the grass staring up at the sky, chest heaving.
I didn’t look for Stephen immediately but I felt him.
When I finally stood up, he was across the field, hands on his hips, breathing hard.
Coach blew his whistle again to gather us.
We lined up with mud on our legs. Sweat dripping down our temples. Coach didn’t drag it out.
“Stephen,” he said first, “you’re our top striker this season. No question. You’ll lead the offensive line.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the team.
Stephen nodded once. Then Coach turned to me. “Hayden. You kept your head. You directed your team. You adapted.That’s leadership.”
My pulse hammered in my ears. “You’re captain.”
It hit differently than scoring and winning.
The guys clapped me on the back. Gerald grinned like he’d already known. I glanced at Stephen. He was already walking off. I jogged after him.
“Stephen.”
He didn’t stop.
“Stephen.”
He finally turned, expression blank. “You played well,” I said.
It wasn’t an insult nor was he being sarcastic. It was true.
“You too,” he replied flatly.
For a second, it almost felt normal, like we were just teammates and brothers.
Then his eyes sharpened. “Don’t think this changes anything,” he said quietly.
I held his gaze. “It already did.”
His jaw flexed. “This isn’t over.”
I didn’t know if he meant soccer, Lilian or us. But as he walked away, I realized something uncomfortable. Winning on the field felt good. But beating Stephen? It was better.