Leo pulls on his white jersey. He marches out the door and into the bright morning.
He marches down the sunny street. The fabric of his jersey is crisp against his arms. He cannot wait.
Leo squeezes through the turnstile and climbs the concrete steps. His white jersey stands out against the sea of colors.
A loud whistle blows. The crowd erupts into a roar. Leo grips the rail and leans forward. The match has begun.
The game is fierce. One goal, then another. The score stays tied as the final minutes tick down.
Right at the edge of stoppage time, the White Clouds score! The net ripples and the stadium explodes.
Leo hugs his jersey tight. The fabric is wrinkled and smells like grass and sweat and victory. He cannot stop smiling.
Around him, strangers high-five and shout. They are all white and loud and happy together. Leo grins so wide his cheeks ache.
Leo walks home with his jersey held up like a flag. The sun is warm on his shoulders.
He will wear it tomorrow. And the next day. And every matchday after that. The White Clouds are his.