9 June
“To good health!”
“Hear!”
Glasses clinked as the team celebrated a harrowing escape from oblivion. The path to the knockout stage wasn’t pretty, but the road ahead would be brutal. At least the Drawkian FA were kind enough to provide free flights for the Stallions.
“You know,” Clement queried as he observed his dish, “I didn’t think you could put crab on pasta. You don’t see a lot of them in St Christopher.”
“It’s kind of hard when your city is inland,” the Port Michael native Emmet proclaimed. “I would presume that most crabs in the capital are already dead.”
“You should see Cherrygrove,” Bryan replied. “But I must warn you, they come from the sea there instead of a bowl of noodles.”
A small rumble of laughter emanated from the group. The thirty-odd Soltsteeders continued to munch away at their meals with smiles and other miscellaneous approving looks until James rose to speak.
“If you’re nervous about tomorrow, don’t be.”
Surprised faces quickly emerged from the happy ones, wondering what the hell the assistant manager was on about.
James continued: “Chailanka didn’t perform that much better than us. A difference of one point and one goal conceded is all that separated the two of us. We are the furthest from underdogs we can get outside of the game against Heif.”
Some vaguely motivational speeches followed. Some praised the resilience of the Soltsteedish team, especially after being pelted with pastry-wrapped sausages. Others emphasised Soltsteed’s good chance against Chailanka. Still others commended the effectiveness of the Soltsteedish defence.
Finally, Jan-Peter rose to speak. “Let’s forget the rocky road here. We have a new start and the same chance at the trophy as everyone else. So a toast.” Jan-Peter waited for everyone to lift their glasses before proclaiming “Wie sent en skal senten.”
“We are and shall be,” was the unanimous reply.
Soltsteed were here today and they’d be here tomorrow.
Hopefully.
9 June
The castle felt suspiciously like a tourist trap. The pink colour couldn’t have been a real thing: it had to be made up to attract gullible foreigners.
Emma had rued her missed penalty in the dying minutes of the first half, but it ultimately didn’t matter: Soltsteed were still in the lead thanks to her earlier 21st minute goal and she had secured their win in the 62nd. A two goal win and Loynn picking up points were more than enough to see Soltsteed through.
It wasn’t enough, though. Marvin bagging Soltsteed’s first goal of the tournament still rankled her. It was all for the same cause, but wasn’t that her job? And what about the quarterfinal, if the Stallions even got there at all? Maybe there was a reason she was hardly mentioned in the restaurant.
“You nervous?” yelled a man in suspiciously Soltsteedish-accented English.
Emma looked up to find Clement heading from the other direction. “How did you know?”
“Wasn’t it obvious? Listen, we’re in this together. You’ve got all of us behind you.”
“Yeah, but it’s a still a lot of pressure.”
“Not as much as losing our first game and having to win the next two to stay in it. We only have to win one game to advance now.”
“True.”
“Listen, we’ve got some other players coming here for a tour. You can come with if you’d like.”
“I’ve got some cash to spare, so sure.”
Five other players showed up to the castle from the animation studio. After the obligatory hugs and whatnot, Clement laid down several lolads and proclaimed “Seven tickets, please,” in English.
Clement turned around and gave a simple nod. Emma slowly returned the cash she had pulled out to her wallet and her wallet to her purse. It’s not often you see someone from the capital pay for someone else.
A seemingly uncountable amount of time later, seven obnoxiously smiling Soltsteeders would return. Upon seeing the dusk settling upon Drawkland, it was now back to the hotel for some sleep and some last-minute practice in the morning.