“Best out of five?” I suggest. I’m scalded by blue fire as Beck turns the full heat of his searing gaze on me. Evidently the last glare was just a warm-up.

Unfortunately for him, I’m flame retardant.

He takes a step back from the ball Otto has already returned to him, a silent acquiescence with an edge of challenge that’s evident in his slight smirk. I take more time setting up, focusing on ensuring each part of my posture is perfect before I send the ball into the goal. The back of the net bulges against the velocity of the ball’s momentum.

I allow myself a small grin as I flex the muscles in my calf. Otto looks both surprised and annoyed as he rolls the ball back to me. Penalty kicks are a challenge for any goalie, more of a test of the player’s skill than their own, but if he was considered good enough for Germany’s most elite club, then this is undoubtedly a blow to his ego.

FC Kluvberg only takes the best of the best, as evidenced by the athlete to my left.

“Your turn, twenty-three,” I say as I pass the ball. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d pretend I have no idea who Beck is. Unfortunately, he’s famous enough that I’d end up looking like the fool in that scenario, not him. Still, I refuse to feed his ego by using one of his worshipful nicknames, and since his number is prominently displayed on his practice jersey, I don’t have to admit I know exactly who he is outright.

Beck stops the ball without comment and executes another perfect kick that finds the back of the net. When Otto returns it, he sends it in my direction with a quick flick of his ankle.

I score another goal.

Beck remains expressionless, but Otto’s expression shifts slightly away from annoyance to reveal glimmers of awe.

I allow the tiny piece of myself, that has spent the last two months terrified my soccer career could be over, a brief moment to absorb the bizarre notion that I’m currently tied in a shootout with the youngest player to be voted “Most Valuable” on a national team as Beck finds the back of the net again.

Forcing myself to focus, I trap the ball he sends my way and send my own kick back to Otto. His fingers come within millimeters of the spinning ball, but it still lands safely behind the goal line.