It was around 9pm, but even before nightfall, the sky had been dark all day. Threatening charcoal clouds had been rolling past, roiling and writhing across the sky. Once the sun had set, the floodgates opened and the rain poured down.
Les Licornes had been practicing for their upcoming game against Cassadaigua late into the afternoon, but now they had packed up and everyone had gone home. Everyone, that is, except Laurent Lapix, the young starting midfielder, who remained on the pitch, juggling a soccer ball back and forth on his knees.
The rain ran down Laurent's face in rapid rivulets, cascading off his nose and dripping from his chin. It collected in his brows and pooled in his eyes. Laurent swiped some of it away with the back of his hand. He was operating from muscle memory anyway and hardly needed to see, which was fortunate, since the lights at the edge of the field were weak and far and did little more than make him glisten in the rain. A highlight shone across his cheekbones and glinted as he moved.
The only sound was the rain beating on the grass and on his head--it drowned out any other noise. But Laurent could feel, if not hear, his heart pounding in his chest. Each time he opened his mouth to breathe more heavily, more rain ran in and he pressed his lips shut in frustration and determination.
There was a flash of light and thing the sharp crack of thunder immediately overhead. In the instant of brightness, Laurent had seen the silhouette of an approaching man. Another couple instants later, he was close enough that Laurent could make him out even through the rain and gloom. It was Ägidius Heissler, the team assistant manager.
He yelled through the storm. "Laurent, I gotta lock up! Aren't you going to catch a cold out here in this downpour?" Unlike Laurent, who was dressed in only his uniform of shorts and a jersey, Ägidius wore a heavy raincoat. He had the hood pulled down over his face, but had folded it back out of his eyes. Laurent thought it made him look comically similar to North Sea fisherman caught in a storm.
Laurent stopped juggling the ball and catching it, stowed it under his elbow so he could throw his other arm around Ägidius' shoulders as they walked off the field together.
"I'll be fine!" he yelled back. "Sorry, I hope I didn't make you stay late!" Practice had ended over three hours ago.
Ägidius shook his head. "I was busy with some paperwork. But then when I was about to head home I saw you were still here." He shot Laurent a glance. "I'm sure Coach Bonheur appreciates your dedication, but it seems... a bit extreme."
"We need some extreme measures if we're going to turn this campaign around," said Laurent. "Tied for last place? Four points in Five games? It's abysmal!"
"It's not that bad," protested Ägidius. "It's a tight qualification group. We're tied with Mytanija, for Pete's sake. We can turn it around."
"I know it's your job to keep up morale," said Laurent, "But I'm not stupid. Our next game is against Cassadaigua. Does anyone think we can win that one? And then we do it all again, and I saw how it went the first time. Nothing has changed since then. We'll finish out with another underwhelming string of draws, and head to the Cup of Harmony... unless we start putting in some extra effort. Which is why I'm out here."
Ägidius raised a skeptical eyebrow. "It won't be worth it if you ruin your health. We're relying on you, Laurent. I know your tactics are a bit different than what everyone else is used to, since you're the only one who doesn't play in Reçueçn right now. But the vision you have in the midfield is sublime. We'd be lost without your leadership. Emanuele is great at what he does but he can't marshal a defense the way Gerauld can, and with him still gone for another couple months at least, it falls to you to be that person people look to."
"I understand that," said Laurent. "But if I want to be that person, then like I said, I need to put in the extra effort."
"I'm not going to tell you not to put in more effort," said Ägidius. "But as your coach, I will tell you: no more practicing in the rain. It's November. I'm serious when I say we can't afford for you to get sick. Stay dry. That's an order. Do you understand?"
"Yes coach."
"Good boy. Now go grab a towel, dry off, and get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow if we're going to be ready to face Cassadaigua on Saturday."
67’) - Statton (Martin 85’); Milligan (Korner 74’) - Gallagher - Woodfull - Onus; Smythe (White 74’); Strathfield (Beauchamp 74’)
Strathfield 21’
90+6’); Ryland (
Kárpáty 2' FT 
