Bayran stepped onto the fog-covered pitch under a glowing full moon, his gaze fixed on the odd pumpkin ball lying on the damp grass. Drawing a sharp breath to steady himself, he launched a powerful strike, sending the heavy gourd soaring through the mist toward the opposing goal. Arbito stood firm in front of the net, locked in absolute focus as the orange projectile sped across the field. In a split second, it slammed into his chest, bursting into sticky pulp and bright juice that splattered through the air, leaving only the hollow, splintered shell of the pumpkin ball to clatter into the back of the net.