After One Week Since the Beginning of the War…
In a dark room, a man sits alone on a worn-out couch, his eyes fixed on the television screen.
The news broadcast fills the silence.
News Anchor:
After only one week since the outbreak of the war, our state has begun to lose its resources at an alarming rate.
Despite our military superiority, what happened was completely unexpected.
While our army was defending the northern borders against State B, we were suddenly attacked by State C on the southern front. Shortly after, State E launched an assault on our western borders.
We are now surrounded.
Our forces are still fighting on the battlefields, but the government urges all civilians to evacuate the northern, southern, and western cities immediately and head toward the capital, which is currently considered the safest area.
The sound of the television slowly fades.
The Capital – Presidential Palace
A suffocating meeting room.
Anxiety is visible on every face.
President:
Who could have expected States B, C, and E to form an alliance against us?
If this continues… we will fall. We will be destroyed.
Minister of Defense:
Sir, we requested support from all neighboring states…
Not a single one agreed to form an alliance with us.
The president remains silent for a few seconds, then lifts his head.
President:
We are alone now.
And we have no choice but to defend this country with everything we have.
Minister of Defense (hesitantly):
But sir… our army will not be enough to face the forces of three full states.
The president looks directly at him.
President:
Then issue an official announcement for mandatory conscription.
Every male capable of carrying a weapon will be called to fight.
This is our only option.
After Two Weeks Since the Beginning of the War…
A heavy night blankets the neighborhood.
A small apartment, a single lamp exposing the cracked walls.
Mark sits on the floor, his back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
After what happened, my house which I had bought was attacked by an angry mob, and here I am, returning once again to this cramped home where I used to live before I became a football player.
After being just steps away from making history… from joining one of State 1's teams.
I was about to become a rich millionaire.
And now… now I've returned to the life I always hated and despised.
A knock.
He ignores it.
The knocking grows louder.
He stands slowly, his steps hesitant, as if his body knows what awaits him before his mind does.
He opens the door.
Two soldiers stand in the hallway.
Blank faces. Eyes without sympathy.
Soldier: Mark?
Mark nods.
The soldier hands him a paper stamped with the official seal.
Soldier:
You have been summoned for mandatory conscription.
You have thirty minutes to prepare.
You will be transported to the nearest assembly point.
Mark looks at the paper.
Few words… yet too heavy to read.
He hesitates, then looks up.
Mark:
I… I'm a football player.
I played for the national team.
Everyone knows me.
A brief silence.
The two soldiers exchange a quick glance.
Second Soldier (coldly):
We know.
Mark freezes.
First Soldier:
That doesn't change anything.
Mark:
But—
Second Soldier (interrupting):
In the end, you're the reason this war started.
You must take responsibility for what you did
at least fight like a man on the battlefield, you coward.
The words hit like a bullet.
The second soldier points at the paper.
Soldier:
Thirty minutes.
They turn and leave.
Their footsteps fade down the stairwell.
Mark remains standing at the door, the paper trembling in his hand.
He slowly closes the door.
He rests his forehead against it.
A long breath escapes his chest… followed by a short, hollow laugh.
Mark (whispering):
Damn it… he's right.
I deserve death.
I'm a useless person.
He looks around.
The same apartment.
The same silence.
Yet everything feels foreign.
He grabs his coat from the chair, pauses for a moment, then sets it aside.
He sits on the couch, staring at his hands.
No clear fear.
No anger.
Only emptiness.
After a moment, he stands.
He opens the door again.
This time…
not as a football player,
but as a soldier no one wants.
Military Camp – Dawn of the First Day
A long line of recruits stands under a light rain.
Exhausted bodies, pale faces, eyes still trying to comprehend what is happening.
Mark stands in the middle.
No one is looking at him… or so he thinks.
A high-ranking officer approaches, files in hand, his voice sharp.
Officer: Name.
Mark: Mark.
The officer scans the file and slightly raises an eyebrow.
Officer: Mark… the football player?
The line shifts.
Quiet whispers.
Some heads turn.
Mark hesitates, then speaks in a low voice.
Mark:Yes… I played for the national team.
A short laugh bursts from one of the recruits.
Then another.
Then heavy silence.
The officer steps closer.
Officer: The national team?
Mark doesn't answer.
Officer (coldly):
Do you think that gives you any privileges?
Mark:
No… I just wanted—
Officer (interrupting):
There is no audience here.
No applause.
And no perfect angles.
He looks at the entire line.
Officer:
Here, mistakes are punished.
He turns back to Mark.
Officer:
You are no longer a football player.
From this moment on, you are a soldier defending his country on the battlefield.
He tears a small card from the file and hands it to him.
Officer:
Number 5050.
You will be assigned to the third platoon.
Mark grips the card.
A number only.
No name.
A recruit whispers from behind:
"This is the one who missed it…"
Mark's grip tightens.
Officer:
Move.
Mark walks out of the line.
Each step heavier than the last.
No balls.
No stadiums.
Only mud, rifles, and hateful stares.
For the first time, he fully understands the truth:
The penalty he missed…
didn't end at the goalpost.
It followed him…
all the way to the battlefield.