Under Pressure

Rita walked with Marcel to the spot near the food court where he was meant to meet Karen. The breeze was strong, but it was beginning to soften.

Since Karen hadn’t arrived yet, Rita continued on her way back to the library, while Marcel sat down on a bench, letting the sun and wind settle over him as he waited. He closed his eyes and meditated, just like he used to before big matches. This time, he probably needed it more than ever.

After a few minutes, he heard slow, nonchalant footsteps approaching. Sneakers on concrete. They stopped behind him.

“You seem comfortable.”

“Hey, Karen,” Marcel replied, eyes still closed.

“Huh. Nice. I was expecting a jump scare,” Karen said, impressed. “But that was way cooler.”

“Thanks, I guess,” said Marcel, opening his eyes as Karen stepped around the bench to face him.

“We’re meeting Marta next. She and Vick are the last two players signed for this season so far,” said Karen.

Marcel took a moment to count the players. Dani, Mari, Karen, Lisa, Sara, Marta, and Vick. He hadn’t done the math earlier, but seven was… not much. Four more players sounded like a full new team.

“Should we get moving?” Karen asked, her posture shifting as if ready to start walking.

Marcel stood and followed her lead.

“Mind if I ask you a few things?” he began as they walked.

Karen glanced at him, curious. “Sure. As long as it’s nothing too personal.”

“No, I mean… Yesterday night I started studying football, and I wondered about Team Phoenix.”

“Ohh, now you’re sounding like a coach!” Karen lit up, getting ahead of Marcel, facing him and walking backward with a grin. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Well, first of all, I know Sara is the goalkeeper, but that’s about it. I think I should get to know the pieces on the board better… what defines each player. Their strengths.”

“Okay, hold it for a second. I get where you’re coming from, really. But please don’t call us ‘pieces on the board.’ That sounds terrible,” Karen said, calm but firm, stopping in her tracks.

Marcel blinked, caught off guard. He looked away. “Sorry.”

“We’re all people. Don’t forget that, not even for a second.”

“You’re right. I’m just trying to organize things in my head,” he said. “I’ll be more careful.”

Karen softened. “You’re kind of clumsy at this stuff, aren’t you?”

“I thought I made that clear from the start.”

“Fair enough. I’ll let it pass for now. But watch how you talk. Some players might not take it well.”

Marcel tensed. He probably would need to study how to communicate with the team. Maybe build a persona. How did other coaches do it? What made a coach good with people? He hadn’t really thought about that. But this job was clearly going to be more than just technical.

“So. You asked what defines our team members, right? Where should I begin?” Karen said, picking up the pace again.

“How about yourself?” Marcel asked, following her lead.

“Oh?” Karen smirked. “You want to know about me?”

“Well… yes. To start.”

“Alright. I’m not that skilled, so don’t get your hopes up,” she said, her tone slightly teasing. “But people say I’m a good defender.”

“And why do they say that? You don’t agree?”

“I’ve got stamina. I can mark the tough players and make their lives miserable the whole game. You know what I mean?”

“Actually, yeah. When people lose patience, they start making mistakes. That’s a real asset,” Marcel said, touching his chin.

Karen smiled with her usual charm, which to Marcel’s eyes, now just seemed like her default expression.

“I guess I am useful. Not flashy, but I’ve figured out how to make myself count on the field.”

“That’s good to know.” Marcel tilted his head slightly. “I was also wondering, is Sara the best player on the team?”

“She’s great. But no. That’d be Mari. And it’s not even close.”

Marcel blinked. That was unexpected. Mari didn’t seem especially athletic, not when compared to someone like Dani. And if Sara had played on a professional team, that meant Mari was on a whole different level.

“Back in high school, she was a real star,” Karen said. “Anyone even slightly into school football knew who she was. She even had a nickname.”

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Marcel said. “What makes her so good?”

Karen paused to think.

“It’s hard to explain exactly, but she has… intuition?” she said, uncertain. “It’s like she understands everything that’s happening. All the time. And she knows how to use it.”

“That’s fascinating.”

“Yeah. It looks like magic to us mortals,” she said with a grin. “She’s famous for making passes without even touching the ball. And it’s like her presence alone is a feint. You’ll see.”

Marcel didn’t reply, but his brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to imagine what that even meant.

Next to them, a long building full of windows reflected their walk. Karen took a moment to glance at their reflection.

“Well. My turn,” she said playfully.

Marcel looked at her, slightly confused.

“You’re an esports hotshot, right?” she began casually, before pivoting. “Did you ever have any big loss?”

Marcel understood now. They were trading questions.

“Well, I did lose some sets,” he said with little emotion. “I think my worst was an upset factor of eight.”

Karen held her usual smile just long enough for Marcel to picture how her brain was processing that.

“What does that even mean?”

“Right—sorry. I lost to a much lower-seeded player. Eight steps below.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, reset,” he said. “Predictions said I was going to win the tournament. The guy who beat me was supposed to finish seventeenth.”

“Thanks for speaking human,” Karen replied with subtle relief. “But you don’t seem to care much.”

“Nah. He was good. And I hadn’t slept well.”

“So, what, you just went home early?”

“No, I won the tournament in the end. Had to climb through losers bracket—” Marcel paused, realizing he was veering into jargon. “I mean, we usually run double elimination brackets in fighting games. Not sure how to—”

“I’m familiar,” Karen cut in before he could finish. Marcel raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised.

“The University Women’s Football League uses double elimination for nationals,” she explained.

“Oh. I thought that was more of an esports thing.”

“It’s rare in professional football, but amateur leagues sometimes use it to give qualifying teams more playtime and stretch the season.”

“Good to know,” Marcel said.

“Getting to nationals, though, is a whole different story. We finished last in our qualifiers.”

“Noted.”

Karen narrowed her eyes slightly. “But wait, back to the important stuff. Did you ever lose a match that, you know… hurt?”

Marcel thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I mean, it’s just a game.”

“Huh.”

“Most players took it seriously. Too seriously, honestly. For me, it was more like solving a puzzle. Getting too emotional just leads to mistakes.”

Karen tilted her head, studying him with curious eyes.

“Did you ever celebrate a victory?”

“Of course. My first national title, two years ago.” He noticed her thoughtful expression. “I wouldn’t have kept playing if I didn’t care at all. It was more like… learning which emotions help you win. And deleting the rest.”

Karen stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she said between laughs, lowering her head. “But it's probably what made you great.”

“It probably did. I won my hardest games by holding my ground while my opponents either got tired, lost their patience or got overwhelmed by the pressure,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s when games are at their final defining moments that you can truly force mistakes on your opponents. Their minds give out, and their habits take over. That’s when you can break them.”

Karen’s eyes widened. She caught her own expression in the mirrored glass just before the building ended. She gave her head a little shake and smiled.

“Okay, note to self: don’t get on coach’s bad side.”

"Sorry, did I say something weird?"

"Not weird. Scary," Karen said, now playful. "Glad you’re on our side."

They were almost at the side of the central hall, near the spot where Karen had agreed to meet Marta.

“We’re close,” Karen said.

“So. Marta, right?” asked Marcel. “Anything I should know about her?”

Karen paused. “She’s very reliable. Sometimes I think she’s more suited to be vice captain than me,” she added with a soft, self-aware smile. “She’ll probably give more instructions on the field than you. Just saying.”

“That might be handy.”

As they approached, clusters of students were scattered around the open space, hanging out during gap hours. It was a lively outdoor area of Solaris, full of movement and relaxed energy.

Marta sat on a bench surrounded by her friends, chatting and laughing, her fiery orange hair catching the afternoon light in the courtyard. The second she noticed Karen and Marcel approaching, her eyes lit up with mischief.

“HEY KAREN!! IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND OF THE WEEK??” she called out, her voice loud enough to turn heads.

Karen’s face turned bright red, caught somewhere between embarrassment, frustration, and sheer disbelief as nearby students paused to watch.

“Of the week?…” Marcel mumbled, confused.

“Please... just... don’t say anything,” Karen whispered, covering her face with both hands.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Marta told her friends, already on her feet and confidently strolling over.

Her high-heeled sandals clicked with each step, her long, fire-colored hair softly waving with the wind as she walked, carrying herself like she belonged on a magazine cover. Everything about her, from her carefully chosen outfit to the grace in her movements, made it clear: Marta knew exactly what she was doing.

“You’re ridiculous! Can’t you go one day without embarrassing me in front of everyone?!” Karen snapped as Marta reached them.

“It’s funny because you care way too much,” Marta shot back, smirking.

“And here I was, trying to speak well of you to the new coach.”

“So you’re Marcel?” Marta asked, already sizing him up.

“Yeah.”

She shook his hand firmly, like she was closing a business deal. Marcel felt the sharp contrast immediately. Her grip was strong. Her large pink irises locked onto him with unshakable confidence, and her round, almost doll-like face wore a teasing smile that didn’t soften her sharp, distant aura. Something about her presence put him on edge.

“Let me introduce you,” Karen continued. “This clown here is Marta. She’s a year below us and plays as a left midfielder. She’s really fast! You’ve probably seen her before—”

“No,” Marcel muttered quietly.

“—since she models sportswear for Dav Kite.”

“It’s not like I’m a huge fan of sportswear,” Marta said with a casual shrug, “but once the agency found out I played football, they were really pushy about assigning me to that brand.”

“Does that bother you?” Marcel asked.

“Of course not. But the longer I stay in this role, the harder it’s going to be to break out of this niche. Still, I can’t complain. They’ve treated me well so far.” She paused, eyes narrowing as she focused on him. “And what about you?”

Marcel hesitated, suddenly feeling small under her direct gaze.

“Well, Marcel—” Karen began.

“Let him speak for himself,” Marta cut her off without looking away from Marcel.

“R-Right. I’m Marcel, and I’ll be coaching the team for a while.”

“Yeah, I know that. Tell me something I don’t.” Her irritation was sharp, almost playful, but Marcel faltered under the pressure.

“Eh?…”

“Chill, Marta,” Karen pleaded.

“Well, Daniela invited me to the team since they were having trouble finding a coach. I don’t know much about football, but I do have some experience with strategy games.”

Marta stared at him, waiting for more, but Marcel quickly looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, glancing at Karen.

“Please, calm down,” she replied.

“So our coach is a gamer. It’s not that I have a problem with that, but what really bothers me is having to follow instructions from someone who can’t even look me in the eye while we talk. And what do you mean you don’t know much about football? Are you gonna ask us to practice with a console or something? What the hell are Dani and Mari thinking… I can’t believe we’ve sunk this low.”

“Hey, he’s here partly because I asked him to help us. That’s on me. At least give him a fair chance.”

Marta sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t have much choice. It’s not like I’m going to leave the team over this, but I’m not sure I can handle any more humiliation.”

She looked back at Marcel, expecting him to remain docile, but this time, he was staring right back at her, sharp and steady, clearly irritated by her words.

Karen’s voice buzzed in the background, still trying to defend him, but neither Marta nor Marcel were listening anymore.

“Hey, believe it or not, he’s pretty famous,” Karen said. “He’s been on the news and has won multiple national tournaments... Are you even listening?”

Marta’s confidence cracked just a little under Marcel’s unwavering gaze. She didn’t break eye contact, but her fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve, as if unsure where to place her hands for just a second. “What?…”

“You know what? I actually agree,” Marcel said.

“Eh?!” Karen gasped.

Marta faced Marcel firmly, serious now.

“The team must be really desperate to ask me for help,” Marcel said. “In fact, I asked them why they didn’t try to find an experienced coach, and the answer was that no one wanted to train a broken team. A team that made a scene on the field after being completely crushed.”

“What did you just say?…” Marta’s voice was tight, defensive.

“But even so, I accepted this role. And while I’m the coach, I’ll work to do this job right. I expect the team, including you, to give it their best too.”

Marta crossed her arms, her usual teasing edge gone. “Fine. In that case, prove it to me on the field. For now, I’m keeping my expectations low.”