Chapter 81 – Cameras and Angry Eyes
The door to the away locker room groaned shut behind them.
Click.
Silence.
Not the kind that felt peaceful or healing—but heavy, thick.
Boots scuffed against tile. Someone dropped their shin guards.
Nathan sat in the far corner, drenched in sweat, his jersey crumpled in his hands. His head bowed low, dark curls matted to his forehead. Not crying.
His pulse was still hammering in his ears, louder than the final whistle had been.
We were so close.
Amorim stood in the middle of the room, arms behind his back. The Portuguese manager didn't shout, didn't pace, didn't throw a water bottle. He simply looked around—at the team he'd rebuilt, reshaped.
Then he spoke.
"We didn't just lose tonight… we lost an opportunity. But we haven't lost our path."
