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+--- Thread: #8 Nearing the Summit (/showthread.php?tid=1292)
RE: #8 Nearing the Summit - norththegreatestshowman - 2026-02-03
CT7
Music to listen while reading this
The final whistle blew three times at Nelson Mandela Stadium.
A section of the stadium, decked out in red and white, roared with joy. A commentator shouted, his voice trembling with excitement:
"And Pyrénées Union have reached the summit of the WSFC! They are victorious in the Final here. 5-4 is the final score. They have defeated Central Europe!"
Hohenhahn collapsed onto his back painfully, breathless. He fell short, again. He buried his first tears in his hands. He had come so close to victory. The pain burned within him. Everything had slipped again through his fingers in the final minutes: the World Cup title, which would have been the first team title of his career, his first time winning the Golden Boot, and his pride. Fate had been all the more cruel to Thomas because all of this had been taken from him by his greatest rival.
Central Europe had managed to overcome Shaheen's solo runs for Eurasia, Eastern Europe's cunning, Norden's collective strength, and Beneccio Aguilera's defensive solidity for Central America. Hohenhahn had helped build a young and cohesive team, even going so far as to act as an ambassador to encourage dual-nationality players to join his squad. Many had rejected him, arguing that he wouldn't betray their nation for what was, at best, a dark horse. They resented them, and perhaps it was this rage that had driven him to perform so well as an individual.
His legs ached, and he felt dizzy. In the distance, he saw the Pyrenees players celebrating with their coaching staff in front of their home crowd, Julian Rubio's smile sparkling in the flashes of the hundreds of cameras capturing the moment. He hated that smile. He reached out toward this happiness that seemed unattainable, before letting it fall back onto the stadium's turf. The tears began to flow again.
A pair of legs and an outstretched hand appeared. It was Gerd Klose, the eldest of the team, one of the stars of his childhood, and one of those for whom this was most certainly his last World Cup. His face was tired and covered in bits of grass stuck to his skin by the dampness. He was smiling.
"Get up, captain. The team needs you."
Thomas was groggy like a boxer on the verge of being knocked out and he struggled to grasp his attacking partner's hand. Breathing felt difficult, almost painful. Once on his feet, he followed the gaze of his elder and idol.He looked at the other players on the team, devastated by the defeat. Florian Gaisberg, Zoe Clarke, Day Walker, Samson Okoro...
Most of them seemed exhausted, lost, or crushed by grief. The one who seemed to be struggling the most was the goalkeeper, Askito Satoshi. It had been a good five minutes, but he was still on his knees, face down, his face in his hands. As he approached, he could hear him speaking Japanese through his gloves. Thomas didn't know the language, but it didn't matter. The poor fellow was inconsolable and cursed himself for not having been strong enough.
Hohenhahn placed his hand on the goalkeeper's shoulder. The latter looked up from the ground for the first time since the final whistle. His eyes, like his voice, betrayed immense distress. In sobbing English, he cried out:
"I'm sorry, boss, I'm sorry..."
He took a deep breath, which seemed to require a tremendous effort.
"It always ends with the goalie missing the ball, I'm the one blame..."
Thomas helped him to his feet with difficulty. Leading him along, he gestured frantically to the rest of the team, urging them to stand. Gradually, everyone joined them, and together they walked towards the supporters' section. They, too, were devastated. Almost everyone there was crying or had cried. Together, the players raised their hands and eyes to the stands to applaud everyone who had supported them on this incredible journey.
Thomas was nearing the peak of his career, but he had only managed to pick up two minor individual awards, and nothing for the team. Now, he was racing against time to make history for his team and himself, and enormous obstacles still lay ahead.