The corridor felt far too narrow for the sudden rush of energy that followed the match. Draconia walked beside Greta, her lungs still burning from the exertion of the game, though the physical ache was being swallowed by a strange, heady euphoria. Victory had a specific scent, one of crushed grass and damp earth, and she inhaled it deeply. She felt the adrenaline beginning to taper off, leaving a hollow, heavy sensation in her limbs that made her footsteps feel clumsy. Greta walked with a rigid precision, her chin tilted upward as if she were leading a procession rather than simply walking to the next room.
"You need to breathe before you pass out," Greta said, her voice cutting through the chatter of passing students.
"I am fine," Draconia replied, though she felt the sweat cooling on her skin.
"You are not fine, you are manic," Greta corrected, her eyes fixed on the doorway ahead.
"It is a win, Greta. It is allowed to be a big deal."
"It is a win, but you are acting as if you won the war."
Draconia laughed at the comparison, the sound bright and sharp against the stone walls. She wanted to stand in the middle of the hallway and shout the score again, to make sure everyone understood the exact margin of their triumph. Six to two was a definitive statement of superiority, a margin that felt permanent and unassailable. Every time she thought of the final goal, a surge of warmth traveled from her stomach to her chest. She was not used to this level of unadulterated joy, a lightness that felt almost dangerous in its intensity.
A boy with a notebook and a frantic expression blocked their path near the entrance to the common room. He looked far too small for the heavy camera hanging around his neck, and his robes were slightly disheled from the rush of the crowd.
"Draconia! Just a moment, please!" the boy shouted, waving a hand to get their attention.
"Do you know who she is, Leo?" Greta asked, stepping slightly in front of Draconia.
"The reporter needs a quote, Greta. Move aside," Leo said, his eyes darting between them.
Draconia stepped forward, ignoring the subtle warning in Greta’s posture. She felt the eyes of the passing students on her, and she leaned into the attention. It was a sensation she had learned to crave, a way to ground herself in the reality of her own success. She stood tall, her shoulders back, and watched as Leo fumbled with the lens of his camera.
"The match was exceptional," Leo said, his voice cracking slightly as he looked up at her. "The way you handled the second half was... it was something else. The crowd is still talking about it."
"The crowd is talking because we gave them something to talk about," Draconia said.
"I want to capture the moment. The triumph. Can you stand by the trophy display?"
"I suppose so," Draconia replied, moving toward the velvet-lined cabinet.
She felt a strange reluctance to move, a desire to stay in the heat of the moment for just a few seconds longer. The victory felt like a shield, a barrier between her and the complexities of the world outside the pitch. In the heat of the game, everything was simple: the ball, the wind, the goal. Now, standing in the cool corridor, the simplicity was beginning to fray at the edges.
"Stay right there. Don't move. The lighting is perfect," Leo commanded, his eyes narrowing as he looked through the viewfinder.
"Are you actually going to take the photo now, or are we going to stand here all evening?" Draconia asked, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Patience is a virtue of the press," Leo muttered, adjusting the settings on his device.
Greta stood to the side, her arms folded across her chest. She was watching the scene with a skeptical expression, her gaze flickering toward the corner of the corridor where a group of older students had gathered. Draconia felt the weight of their stares, a heavy pressure that made her want to straighten her spine even further. She wanted to be seen, to be documented, to prove that she was exactly who she claimed to be.
"Ready? One, two... hold it!" Leo cried.
Draconia held her pose, her expression neutral and practiced. She felt the click of the shutter, a sharp, mechanical sound that seemed to puncture the quiet of the hallway. For a second, she felt the urge to laugh, to break the tension of the formal pose with something irreverent. The light from the high windows caught the edges of her hair, and she felt the stillness of the moment settle over her.
"That was it? Just one?" Draconia asked, her muscles relaxing as the tension broke.
"It was the one," Leo said, looking down at the small screen on his camera with a look of intense concentration. "That was the shot. The winning moment."
"You look quite fierce in that one," Greta observed, her voice softer now, less sharp than before.
"She looks like she owns the place," Leo said, tapping the screen with a finger.
Draconia walked toward them, her curiosity piqu been piqued by the boy's sudden change in demeanor. She leaned over his shoulder, looking at the tiny, illuminated image. It was a moment of stillness in the middle of the chaos, a captured fragment of her triumph. She looked at her own face, the sharp lines of her jaw and the glint of victory in her eyes, and felt a strange sense of detachment. It was a version of herself, a version that was perfectly composed and utterly victorious.
"It is a good frame," Draconia said, her voice low.
"It is more than good," Leo replied, his eyes not leaving the screen. "It is the definitive shot of the season."
"The problem is that people will look at it and see only the score," Greta said, her voice carrying a hint of something unreadable.
"They will see the win," Draconia said, though she felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of unease.
They walked away a few minutes later, leaving Leo to pack up his equipment. The corridor was still crowded, the energy of the match still vibrating through the stone walls. Draconia felt the exhaustion returning, the physical reality of the win settling into her bones. She thought of the changing room, the heat, and the way the air felt when she was finally alone with him. The triumph was still there, but it felt more distant now, a bright thing being eclipsed by the shadows of the corridor.
The photo was the one that ends up in the corridor cabinet and nobody explains why.