German engineering is built on efficiency. Zero waste. Maximum output.
**Michael Kaiser**. The Emperor of Germany.
He sat on a folding chair on the training pitch. He wasn't practicing. He was getting a pedicure.
"They run too much," Kaiser sighed, watching the footage of USA vs Argentina. "So much wasted caloric burn."
His assistant (a nervous boy named Ness) held the iPad.
"Soccer runs 13km per game, Kaiser. His endurance is limitless."
"Endurance is for horses," Kaiser examined his perfectly polished nail. "A King doesn't run. A King commands."
Kaiser stood up. He was tall. Slender. He had blue streaks in his blond hair and a rose tattoo on his neck.
"We play the Americans next," Kaiser smiled lazily. "The Savage and his broken toys."
"They beat Noa," Ness reminded him.
"Noa played with mercy," Kaiser sneered. "He wanted to 'sharpen' the boy. I don't sharpen weeds. I pull them out."
Kaiser picked up a ball.
"Execute Order 66," he joked (not really, wrong franchise). "Execute Total Annihilation."
***
**Quarterfinal. USA vs Germany.**
Mercedes-Benz Stadium. Atlanta.
The roof was closed. The acoustics were like a drum.
Team USA looked battered. Vincent had a black eye. Silas was limping (new brace malfunction). Soccer's titanium leg was squeaking loudly.
"We need oil," Soccer muttered, smacking his ankle.
"We need a miracle," Coach Steele said. "Germany hasn't conceded a goal in the tournament."
Germany walked out.
They didn't look like players. They looked like Terminators. Grey and White kits.
Kaiser led them.
He walked up to Soccer.
"So you are the glitch," Kaiser said. His English was impeccable.
"I'm Soccer."
"A redundant name," Kaiser yawned. "I am Kaiser. That means Emperor. You will kneel."
"My knee doesn't bend that way anymore," Soccer pointed to his brace. "Bad hinges."
Kaiser chuckled darkly. "Funny. I'll remember that when I dismantle you."
***
**Kickoff.**
Germany played **Gegenpressing**.
As soon as USA touched the ball, three Germans surrounded them. But not randomly. Mathematically. They cut passing lanes instantly.
Vincent got the ball. He was swarmed. He lost it.
Germany counter.
Kaiser didn't run. He walked.
He received the ball at the top of the box.
He looked at the goal.
He looked at Zero.
"Too easy."
Kaiser swung his leg.
**Kaiser Impact.**
His leg speed was the fastest in the world. It blurred.
The ball teleported into the net.
Zero didn't even move.
**GOAL.**
**Germany: 1 - USA: 0**
**Time: 3:00**
"He shoots faster than sound," Zero noted, blinking. "The visual processing lagged."
***
**Minute 25.**
2-0 Germany.
Kaiser scored again. A bicycle kick. From outside the box.
He laughed. "Is this the World Cup? I thought it was training."
Team USA was drowning.
"We can't get out!" Kai screamed. "Their press is perfect!"
Soccer stood at midfield.
*Efficiency. Speed. Precision.*
How do you beat a computer?
*Overload it.*
Soccer looked at Vincent. At Silas. At Zero.
"Cluster!" Soccer yelled.
"What?"
"Cluster Formation! Everyone together!"
Team USA abandoned positions. They clumped together in a tight ball around Soccer. Five players within 5 meters of each other.
The German press was confused. "They are... huddling?"
"Move the huddle!" Soccer ordered.
They moved like a rugby scrum. Short, rapid passes within the cluster.
*Pop-pop-pop.*
Germany couldn't press individually because the USA players were literally touching shoulders.
The cluster moved upfield.
"This is stupid!" Kaiser laughed from the other end.
But it worked. The German zonal marking failed because the "Zone" was now a moving blob of chaos.
They reached the box.
"Break!" Soccer screamed.
The cluster exploded outward.
Soccer ran left. Kai right. Vincent center.
Germany's defense shattered. Who do they mark?
Silas (holding the ball) passed to Vincent.
Vincent held off two defenders.
He laid it off to Soccer.
Soccer planted the Titanium foot.
**Kaiser Impact Copy.**
He swung fast.
Not as fast as Kaiser. But heavy.
*BOOM.*
Goal.
**USA: 1 - Germany: 2.**
Kaiser stopped laughing.
"They mimicked a single-cell organism dividing," Kaiser muttered. "Disgusting."
***
**Second Half.**
2-2.
Kai scored a finesse shot (assisted by Soccer's disruption run).
The game was tied.
Minute 85.
Germany was frustrated. The "Blob" tactic was annoying. It broke their geometric defense.
Kaiser decided to end it.
"Pass me the ball," Kaiser ordered his team. "All of it."
Kaiser dribbled.
He burned Silas. He stiff-armed Vincent.
He was in the box.
Soccer stood in his way.
The Duel.
Emperor vs Assassin.
"Kneel," Kaiser commanded. He prepared to shoot.
Soccer saw the leg swing.
*Too fast to block.*
Soccer realized he couldn't stop the shot.
So he attacked the **eyes**.
Soccer stomped the ground. He raised his arms. He screamed.
"BLAAAAHH!"
Kaiser flinched. Just for a microsecond. The shout was jarring. Unprofessional.
His foot angle shifted. 1 degree.
He struck the ball.
It flew.
It hit the post.
*CLANG.*
The rebound flew out.
Soccer grabbed it.
"Counter!"
90th minute.
Soccer ran.
He was exhausted. His leg was screaming. The spring was creaking.
But Kaiser was chasing him.
"You ruin everything!" Kaiser shouted.
They reached the USA attacking third.
Soccer cut inside.
Kaiser tackled him from behind.
It was a foul. But the ref let it go (Advantage).
Soccer stumbled. He fell forward.
He couldn't shoot.
But the ball was rolling toward the goal line.
The German keeper rushed out.
Soccer, falling face first, swung his **Titanium Leg** like a scythe.
He caught the ball with his studs.
He flicked it.
Over the keeper.
Over the defender.
Into the net.
**GOAL.**
**USA: 3 - Germany: 2.**
**Time: 90+4.**
The whistle blew.
The Emperor had fallen.
Soccer lay in the grass. He was laughing.
Kaiser stood over him. He looked ready to kill.
But then... Kaiser smiled. A twisted, respectful smile.
"You play like a rat," Kaiser said. "But rats survive."
He spat on the ground and walked away.
***
**The Final Boss.**
Semi-Finals? Passed.
USA beat the winner of Brazil/England (it was Brazil again, revenge match? No, let's say Italy). 1-0 boring game.
**THE WORLD CUP FINAL.**
USA vs...
**JAPAN.**
Wait. No. Japan was eliminated.
USA vs **FRANCE**.
Again.
Noel Noa.
The Rematch.
This time, for the biggest trophy on Earth.
Soccer watched the TV in the locker room.
Noa gave an interview.
"We played them to a draw in the Group Stage," Noa said calmly. "That was a courtesy. In the Final... I will show them why the World Cup is golden."
Soccer turned off the TV.
He looked at his battered team.
They were duct-taped together. Bruised. Broken.
"We climbed the mountain," Soccer said. "We beat the King, the Dragon, the Matador, the Emperor."
He bounced. *Boing.*
"Now we have to beat God."