Okay, I know that '#winning' is kind of an old joke now, but at the time when I planned the story, it was a lot funnier, so I made the title of this chapter in reference to it. And now I couldn't get rid of it, just for sentimentality's sake. xD

Whenever I say 'football' in this chapter, I'm using it in the sense of 'soccer'. Assume this is always true unless otherwise stated from now on!

Chapter Pairings: None

11. Winning! (Netherlands)

Netherlands had left his last class a few minutes early in order to get ready for this afternoon. He didn't cut class often, but today was a special occasion. It hadn't been difficult; he'd just ducked out of the room when the teacher was occupied. It wasn't exactly a tragedy anyways, considering it was just Calculus and he hated math. There were usually a lot better things to be doing.

But today was different because he'd been planning and practicing for this day for months, since back home during the summer holiday. Today was the day he was going to challenge Spain to a one-on-one football match.

He and Spain had never exactly seen eye to eye, going all the way back to freshman year. Netherlands just openly disliked him from the start, and even the usually easy-going Spaniard made an exception when it came to his Dutch classmate. There hadn't really been one specific incident that had caused the mutual hatred, but it had built gradually as the two continually butted heads. Mainly on the football team. They were constantly getting into heated arguments on the field, especially since they'd been made co-captains by their coach last year, a much too soft-hearted man, in Netherlands' opinion. The problem was that Spain had always just been slightly better than him, and knowing that fact frustrated him to no end. But not today. No, he was ready today. He was going to win.

He was waiting on the expanse of grass in front of the school with a ball as the bell that signaled the day's end rang. Boys began walking out of the building in small groups, talking and laughing excitedly. It was a Friday afternoon and the upcoming Saturday was Halloween; everyone was a little more energetic than usual, especially the freshmen, many of whom would be experiencing their first Halloween in America. But Netherlands hardly spared a thought for the holiday as he spotted a familiar head of brown hair. Spain was walking with his best friend, Romano, and laughing hysterically while the Italian scowled.

"Hey! Spain!" Netherlands shouted. He watched as Spain slowed and turned to find who had called out to him. When he recognized Netherlands, his grin faded somewhat.

"Yeah?" he answered.

Netherlands jerked his head back and Spain obeyed, crossing the greens. Romano trailed behind him, looking slightly bored.

"What?" Spain asked, crossing his arms as he stopped a few feet from Netherlands.

"How about it?" Netherlands shifted his foot, drawing attention to the ground. Resting on the grass was Netherlands' own football. He picked it up and faced Spain slowly, bouncing it back and forth between his hands. "I was thinking one-on-one, right here, right now. What do you think?"

"What are the stakes?" Spain asked, slightly suspiciously.

"Nothing. Just some good, clean fun." Netherlands grinned, but he knew his eyes remained icy and cold. Just the way he liked it.

Spain stared him straight in the eye for a minute, and Netherlands looked back, completely unfazed. Eventually Spain nodded. "Sounds good to me," he said, though his voice didn't contain even a hint of its usual light-heartedness.

Spain dropped his bag onto the grass and shared a few words with Romano, who was looking at them with a touch of curiosity despite himself. Then he took off his blazer and tie, giving them to his Italian friend, and rolled up his sleeves. Netherlands did much the same thing, feeling excitement and tension build in his chest as he did so. He'd been waiting for this moment for quite some time, and it was finally here.

Even though they both had agreed that there were no stakes on this seemingly innocent game, they knew what this was about. It didn't have to be said aloud. Netherlands was ready to prove that he was better than Spain, and Spain was going to fight tooth and nail to defend that title. It was only a pride thing; but for these two boys, it was everything.

"So what are the rules?" Spain asked, cracking his knuckles and stretching his legs casually as he waited.

Netherlands looked at him distastefully as popping sounds continued coming from his joints, but he shook his head and said, "Simple. The goal is between those trees." He pointed to two small, decorative trees placed only a few feet apart. "We'll each get five opportunities on offense, and the one with the most points at the end wins."

"Seems fair."

Netherlands held out his hand and Spain shook it after a moment, a smile of grim determination on his face.

"Let's do it."

…

Netherlands was bent almost double, his hands on his knees and his breath coming in gasps. This little game had ended up being even fiercer than he'd anticipated. They'd both scored on four of their first five attempts, and had decided that it would be best to keep playing until one of them was able to break the tie. But they'd been matching each other round for round since then.

They'd been playing for almost an hour now, and the battle had gotten so heated that some of their classmates had taken notice and formed a small crowd, watching them. Netherlands had been really excited when he'd first seen a few of his friends there, cheering him on. It had fired him up. But now this group was beginning to get restless. Netherlands couldn't exactly blame them, since the length of this match had hardly been expected, and because of the fact that it was getting colder as it got later. He welcomed the cool breeze on his sweaty forehead, but he knew that the spectators would not be feeling the same way about it.

But he was hoping that he could end it here, once and for all. Spain had missed his last goal, meaning that if Netherlands could score now he'd be the winner.

They'd had to add some more rules as the game dragged on, trying to make it easier for someone to lose. They'd created boundaries to the sides, with the agreement that if the offensive player was forced out of bounds, it counted as a missed goal. They'd also drawn another imaginary line, and decided it was illegal to shoot a goal before one had crossed it. Obviously, these additions hadn't yet achieved the desired effect, but Netherlands was sure that it was time to prove what he himself already knew.

He straightened and walked up to the ball, sitting a couple feet in front of Spain, who was also breathing hard. Neither of them was playing as sharply as they had at the beginning, so Netherlands wasn't going to try any fancy tricks. This was a battle of basic skills now.

The outside of his right foot touched the football, pushing it towards his right. Spain immediately moved with him, putting his body in between the ball and goal and trying to force him to the outside. If the ball went out of bounds by any means, even if Spain kicked it out, it would count as a miss and they'd have to go another round. There was no way Netherlands was going to do that.

He let Spain lead him in that direction for a few steps before cutting sharply inside, turning up field. Spain, his reaction time slightly slower than it usually was, moved a second after he did. If Netherlands had tried something so simple early on in the game, Spain would easily have been able to cut him off and take the ball from him. But this time it was working, and he'd get his chance. Spain was falling behind him as they ran, due to his slightly later start. Netherlands would get a clean shot without interference from the Spaniard.

Looking to his left, he watched as he passed the line into the scoring zone, marked on both ends by a pile of discarded books, ties, hats, anything the spectators had been willing to part with for an hour or so. He passed between them; these monuments to the everyday life of the teenage boy; and he was in the clear.

He kicked the ball out a few feet in front of him and put on a burst of speed, leaving Spain even further behind. He planted his left foot firmly on the ground beside the ball and swung his right, trying to get as much contact between his right foot and the ball as possible. He was trying to regulate as best he could the direction and speed of the kick, but he was wearing his school shoes instead of his cleats, and he didn't have quite the control he was used to.

The ball didn't have far to travel, only ten feet or so, but as it veered slightly to the left of where he'd aimed, he felt his gut clench. Shit, it's gonna miss, he thought, disappointment flooding his stomach. To be honest, he just wanted this match to be over with. He'd been practicing during the summer, keeping in shape in anticipation for this game, but he'd never expected that it would go on for this long. He closed his eyes and began preparing himself for even more running and kicking and…

Then there was an audible intake of breath from the boys watching and Netherlands eyes flew open. He was just in time to see the ball hitting and bouncing off the leftmost 'goalpost', the young tree whose trunk was only a few inches around. But it was enough for the ball to hit and rebound off of, staying between the two trees before it finally hit the ground a few feet past them, rolling towards the school for a couple more seconds before finally coming to a rest.

There was a stunned sort of silence for a brief moment from everyone watching, including Netherlands and Spain. They were all staring at the two trees, which waved in the chilly October wind, and the ball a little beyond them. Then Netherlands turned and faced Spain, whose face was frozen in a look of mild shock. It took a moment for it to sink in, but when it did, Netherlands' face split into a huge grin. He punched the air with his fist. "Yes! Yes, I did it!" He laughed and whooped and celebrated for a minute, making quite a fool of himself and not caring a bit. Eventually he came back to himself, out of breath, but still excited, a lightness filling his chest. "Finally!" he whispered to himself.

Finally he'd beaten Spain at his own game.

Spain smiled and took it well, shaking his hand and congratulating him, just as Netherlands knew he would. But inside, Netherlands knew that he was disappointed with himself, and that he was aware that this was a loss at something a lot more important than just a silly, afterschool game. This year, Netherlands was starting off as the best in the school, and everyone knew it, too.

The small crowd began to disperse now that the game was over, some heading straight back to the dorms to warm up, but a few hanging around a little longer. One of these was Netherlands' friend, Japan, who was approaching him now, a small smile on his calm face.

"That was a really good game, Netherlands. Congratulations on winning," he said, polite as always.

"Thanks," Netherlands said, still grinning idiotically and unable to stop. A few other kids who were friendly with either Netherlands or Spain walked over, congratulating Netherlands in most cases, and telling them both that it had been a great game. Netherlands loved the praise; it was the first time in four years that he hadn't just been 'second best' at football, and he was relishing the feeling. And he would never have said it aloud, but that disappointed, hurt look in Spain's eyes was…

Wait…what?

He'd glanced over at Spain once again as the thought had crossed his mind, and had not been expecting what he saw. Instead of the gloomy, fake smile he'd anticipated (maybe even hoped for), Spain was talking excitedly with another student, England. The two of them, plus Romano and Canada, a strange group if there ever was one, were all discussing something that was apparently quite amusing. As he watched, Spain's eyes drifted in what looked like Netherlands' direction, before he turned back and whispered something to England with a huge grin on his face. The Brit nodded and Spain laughed.

Netherlands was confused. None of those three, England, Canada, or Romano, had said anything to him after the match. Which was fine, of course, he could hardly expect everyone to fall at his feet because of one little game, even if he and Canada were pretty good friends. But still…what were they doing talking to Spain like that? And why were they laughing so much? Were they laughing at him!?

For a moment he was mad. He was thoroughly convinced that they were talking about him, and that whatever they were saying wasn't good. It infuriated him to think about. But as Japan spoke up again, breaking his concentration on the small group, his spirits lifted somewhat. It didn't matter what they were talking about. Today he was victorious, and he was going to enjoy it. Spain would never ruin that for him.

I haven't played soccer in a long time, haha. Sorry! Anyways, my sister asked me to have Netherlands win in this matchup…as revenge for Spain's winning the World Cup in 2010. Any problems, take it up with her. XD

I'd never even considered how to write Netherlands before starting this… o.O I really don't know a lot about his character, so I hope I did okay! (And I'm a quarter Dutch, lol) And I apologize now… there will be another chapter from Neth's POV, and it only gets worse for him. Poor guy! I gave him one of the most depressing chapters in the whole story! I'm so mean! D :

…Oh well. XD