[It's shaky with pent-up frustration and a lack of reference for most behavior, but it's there. The thrill of the game. The clash of wills. The undying fighting spirit carried by everyone who wears the lightning bolt mark.

The chill of mountain air.

He's there, running right beside Soul as they race to the other side of the court. Just waiting for his chance to steal. This is for real, now. This - this - is soccer.]