Stars in Sight
The stars were visible. It was only the fourth minute of the first half, and the pitch temperature had yet to rise. Grayson, who had collected the ball near the halfway line, sent a casual glance. Tete exploded into a full sprint, attempting an overlap. Le Havre’s right defensive line instantly lost shape and was forced to retreat. Rather than forcing a pass, Grayson drew the opposing fullback’s foot and won a corner.
“Nice, Grayson!”
Bouard, who had claimed the kick, flashed Grayson a thumbs-up and jogged toward the corner flag. Inside the box, Le Havre’s tall defenders tangled with Toulouse’s attackers in a physical battle. While the big men drew eyes in front of goal, Grayson drifted backward, reading the flight. Bouard’s right foot sent the ball curling on a sharp trajectory. It cleared the tall center-back charging the near post and dropped perfectly onto Grayson’s forehead, alone beside the far post.
Thud!
Grayson rose lightly and powered the header down. The ball rippled into the bottom right corner.
[TFC 1 : 0 HAC]
Manager Merah, standing in the technical area, clenched his fist and exhaled a quiet exclamation.
‘One worry lifted, at least.’
The heavy pressure that had weighed on him since kickoff melted away with the early goal. He had been confident, yet secretly anxious about starting Grayson after months on the sidelines.
[Goal!!! Grayson Lee! Toulouse take the lead in the fourth minute!]
[Grayson Lee makes an immediate impact on his return to the starting lineup! While Le Havre’s defense watched the screen, Grayson stole a perfect free header!]
Before the opening goal’s glow had faded, in the thirteenth minute, Toulouse’s left side tore open Le Havre’s right flank once more. Grayson received the ball on the left at the halfway line and began advancing. Le Havre’s midfielder and fullback closed in, double-teaming him. In that split second, a purple shirt flashed past behind him with heavy footsteps.
Tock.
A simple release. The ball rolled into Tete’s path. No Le Havre player could catch Tete sprinting at 38 km/h. He drove to the edge of the box and whipped in a sharp early cross with his left foot. The delivery was perfect—cleared the defender and found the striker’s head. It grazed the onrushing forward and rolled harmlessly to the opposite touchline. A disappointing finish, yet threatening enough that Le Havre’s manager turned ashen and screamed.
“Mark him! Don’t leave the flank open!”
Once Le Havre grew wary of Tete’s overlaps, space opened for Grayson. In the eighteenth minute, he received Bouard’s pass and drifted inside. As Le Havre’s fullback and center-back moved to close him down, Tete burst forward again from the flank. The defenders’ attention split. One was dragged wide, leaving a gaping hole in front of Grayson. He had no intention of passing. From distance, his right foot curled the ball. Bang! It flew in a banana arc. The goalkeeper stretched desperately, but the ball nestled into the top right corner. The second goal.
‘With Tete pulling the attention, the shooting angle opens up nicely.’
The match was already unfolding on Toulouse’s terms. Then, in the thirty-eighth minute, Grayson’s solo dribbling run lifted the atmosphere to its peak. Bouard won the ball in midfield and immediately fed it to Grayson on the left. Grayson drove straight into the box. The first defender lunged with a heavy tackle; Grayson turned once and slipped past. The second defender closed in. Grayson feinted with his left foot, then folded the ball sharply to the right with a phantom dribble that broke the defender’s balance completely. Even when the goalkeeper rushed out to narrow the angle, Grayson stayed calm. He stole a half-beat with a quick left-footed chip. The ball sailed over the keeper and rippled the net.
[Hat-trick!!! Grayson Lee scores three in the first half alone!]
[He dismantled the defense inside the box! Le Havre’s back line is powerless against Grayson!]
At halftime, Grayson sank onto the bench in the locker room, breathing hard. The sprints and pressing had taken a toll. Compared to his wrecked body half a year ago, this was miraculous, yet he was still gasping for air after forty-five minutes.
Manager Merah approached with his notebook. “Grayson, how are you feeling? No need to push yourself.”
Grayson wiped sweat with his jersey. “I’m a bit tired, but I can still play the second half, boss.”
Seeing the certainty in Grayson’s eyes, Merah simply nodded.
Toulouse’s pressure continued after the restart. Le Havre pushed higher looking for a goal, but they couldn’t break through Tete’s physical dominance on the left. Tete erased his opposing winger completely and still showed dangerous pace on the counter. Then, in the sixty-fourth minute, another chance arrived. Grayson collected Tete’s long pass inside the box. A defender stuck tight, but Grayson spun sharply to create space and unleashed a powerful right-footed shot. Crack! The ball struck the right post and bounced out. The crowd gasped, but the play lived on. Bouard, charging for the second ball, calmly side-footed it into the net for Toulouse’s fourth.
[Goal!!! Bouard! He keeps his composure and finishes after Grayson’s shot hits the post!]
As soon as the goal went in, Manager Merah prepared a substitution. He wanted to manage Grayson’s minutes and close out a game already won. Mathis was ready to come on. When Grayson walked off, the entire Stadium de Toulouse rose in applause. He lightly high-fived the incoming Mathis and headed to the bench.
With Grayson off, Merah shifted the team into a defensive setup. He had learned the hard way in training that Mathis and Tete’s attacking combination was not yet synchronized, so he refused to risk unnecessary attacks. Toulouse dropped deep, comfortably soaking up Le Havre’s pressure. When the final whistle blew, the score was 4-0. A perfect victory.
Toulouse now sat level on points with LOSC Lille, who had drawn, but their superior goal difference lifted them into fourth place—the final Champions League spot.
While fans argued online about Champions League chances, one man on the pitch stared at the same thing. Amid the players’ cheers and the crowd’s roar, Manager Merah gazed at the league table on the scoreboard for a long time. His fingers, tucked in his pockets, trembled slightly with deep emotion.
‘When I took over as firefighter last season, this was unimaginable…’
A team whose only goal had been survival was now eyeing the stage of the stars. Merah turned his gaze to Grayson Lee on the bench, wiping sweat and catching his breath.
‘Before I knew it, the stars are within reach.’