On the day of the send-off ceremony, everyone in the plaza except me believed our team would win.

The square was packed with fans waving flags, and the giant screen kept playing a promotional video for Team Libertas created by TactiGenie.

The video was filled with flashy effects and stirring music.

At the end, a line of AI-generated words appeared on the screen. "We will win this World Cup."

Mauricio, dressed in a suit, stood on the stage with his arms spread wide, soaking in the cheers from the fans.

At the press conference that followed, a reporter asked, "Coach Hudson, we've heard that one of your key players is injured. Will that affect the strength of your starting lineup?"

Mauricio picked up the microphone and sneered.

"Are you talking about Christian Reyna?"

He paused on purpose so the cameras could focus on him.

"He has an old Achilles injury, but it's nothing serious."

He leaned back in his chair and continued arrogantly, "Our new tactical system is perfect. It doesn't rely on any single player.

"To be honest, if we have one less negative person who refuses to cooperate, the atmosphere in the team might actually improve."

The room instantly burst into laughter.

That night, sports forums were filled with criticism aimed at me.

People called me a coward.

They accused me of faking my injury to avoid the World Cup.

Some even suggested the national team should kick me out.

The trending topics were almost all about me.

Tim also posted on social media.

The photo showed a close-up of the team's cleats on the training field. Their soles were coated with petroleum jelly, glistening under the sunlight.

The caption read. "Hard work pays off. Team Libertas will win for sure. Some people choose to run away, while others choose to move forward. See you in June."

Before our flight took off, I spotted Miguel sitting alone in a corner of the departure lounge.

The coaching staff had already pushed him aside.

Now he was nothing more than an observer traveling with the team.

He sat quietly in a row of chairs with a canvas bag beside him.

I walked over and sat across from him.

Miguel looked like he wanted to say something.

But in the end, he stayed silent.

I knew what he wanted to ask.

I simply turned my head and looked out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the airplanes parked on the runway.

In my previous life, the people who tried to warn others out of kindness had only ended up hurting themselves.

That same afternoon after we landed, Mauricio submitted the final 23-man roster to the tournament committee.

My name was on the list.

My position was listed as midfielder.

After dinner, team doctor Theodore pulled me into a corner of the hallway.

"I haven't submitted your Achilles evaluation report yet."

He glanced around before continuing, "But I showed your MRI scans to the other two doctors on the medical staff. The three of us reached the same conclusion. If you continue playing in high-intensity matches, the risk of tearing your Achilles tendon is extremely high."

He patted me on the shoulder.

"If your condition gets worse before the first match, the three of us will jointly recommend that the coaching staff replace you. That's purely a medical opinion. But I won't be able to help you during the second or third match. The people above are watching very closely."

I nodded. "Thank you, Theodore. Helping me with the first match is enough."

That night, the entire team gathered in the hotel restaurant for dinner.

The other 22 players sat around the long table, laughing and chatting.

Only I was assigned an extra seat in the corner.

Tim stood up and raised his glass of red wine.

"To our Invincible Spiral!"

"To Coach Hudson!"

"TactiGenie is amazing!"

Everyone stood up and clinked their glasses.

Red wine spilled onto the white tablecloth, staining it crimson.

I sat quietly in the corner, holding a glass of plain water.

Not a single person came over to toast with me.

And tomorrow, they would walk onto the World Cup stage carrying that ridiculous formation with them.

At six o'clock on the morning of match day, I was woken by the constant buzzing of my phone.

When I picked it up, the screen was filled with more than a dozen unread text messages.

All of them came from unknown numbers.

"If we lose today, it'll all be your fault, you jinx!"

"You coward! I hope you really do get seriously injured!"

I had no idea who leaked my phone number.

But I wasn't surprised at all.

The atmosphere in the locker room before the match was heavy.

Mauricio stood in front of the tactics board, giving his final instructions.

He walked over and slapped my shoulder hard enough to make my collarbone ache.

Then he turned to the whole team and announced loudly, "Christian will be on the bench today because he has a problem with his attitude!

"The Invincible Spiral requires every player on the field to believe in the system 100 percent.

"Anyone who doubts it must never be allowed on the field to sabotage it!"

The locker room immediately erupted into applause.

Tim clapped harder than anyone else.

During warm-ups, fans in the southwest corner of the stadium had already raised banners.

One read. "Christian, Get Out of the National Team!"

Another said. "No cowards in Team Libertas!"

Soon, people started chanting insults at me through megaphones.

The whole stadium echoed with their voices.

At eight that evening, the match officially began.

In the second minute, center forward Ricardo Cameron received a long pass near midfield.

He remembered the tactical instructions perfectly.

So, he immediately started spinning in place.

The ridiculous training of coating his cleats with petroleum jelly had left him with terrible habits.

His feet slipped.

Before he could finish the turn, he crashed awkwardly onto the grass.

The opposing defensive midfielder easily stole the ball and launched a counterattack.

In the fourth minute, their striker scored on a breakaway.

We were down 0-1.

Mauricio jumped out of the coaching area and screamed from the sidelines.

"Spin faster!

"There's too much friction slowing you down!"

In the eighth minute, our defenders scattered according to the formation's positioning rules.

The middle of the field opened up completely.

The opposing midfielder didn't even look up before threading a pass straight through.

0-2.

By the time the whistle blew for halftime, we were losing 0-5.

Every goal came from blindly spinning and losing possession.

Our defensive line was an absolute mess.

Even our goalkeeper didn't dare to stretch out his hands early to predict the direction of the shots.

The ball kept bouncing off his chest, letting the other team score easy rebounds.

Sitting on the bench and watching this disaster unfold, I found it absurd beyond words.

The opinions on social media split into two camps.

One side viciously attacked the formation.

The other side viciously attacked Mauricio for his failed tactics.

Mauricio stormed into the locker room during halftime.

His face was twisted with rage.

He rushed straight at me and pointed at my nose.

"This is all your fault!"

His eyes were bloodshot.

"You spread negativity before the match and poisoned the whole team!

"Because you don't believe in AI, they couldn't execute the tactics properly!"

Tim strode over, grabbed my collar, and slammed me against the metal lockers behind me.

The handle of the locker door dug hard into my back.

Pain shot through my body.

"Did you do this on purpose?"

Tim's face was inches from mine.

"Isn't this exactly what you wanted to see?"

Mauricio's phone kept vibrating.

Calls from officials at the National Soccer Federation came one after another, demanding answers.

Unable to vent his anger anywhere else, he dumped it all on me.

"You must play in the second half!

"If we can't make a comeback, then you're finished!"

Tim tightened his grip on my collar.

"Did you hear that?

"You have to get on the field and take responsibility!"