Seventy-five minutes of deadlock. Seventy-five minutes of Girona trying to break down the Red and White Wall of Atlético Madrid, and seventy-five minutes of failing.
Rio Lance stood on the touchline, his heart doing jumping jacks in his chest.
The grass looked greener than usual. The lights looked brighter. Or maybe that was just the adrenaline flooding his system, sharpening every sense until the world looked like a 4K video game.
"Go," Michel whispered, pushing him gently onto the field.
Rio sprinted onto the pitch. But as Rio looked at the defenders standing in front of him, the miracle seemed very far away.
Axel Witsel stood there. The Belgian veteran was thirty-five years old. He had grey in his beard. He moved with the slow, deliberate pace of a man walking to the grocery store. Next to him was Mario Hermoso.
They look slow, Rio thought, licking his lips. I have 92 Speed. Witsel has maybe... 60? I can burn him.
Total_Football_14: Do not be deceived by his legs, Rio. His legs are old, but his brain is a supercomputer. He knows where you are running before you even decide to run.
The_Phenomenon_9: Cruyff is right. If you try to dribble him, he will just stand there and take the ball. He won't even tackle. He will just be in the way. It is very annoying.
The game restarted. Girona had possession. Aleix Garcia, the midfield metronome, looked up and saw Rio hugging the touchline.
"Rio!" Aleix pinged a ball out wide.
Rio trapped it with his chest. It was a decent touch. Witsel was ten meters away, backing off slightly.
Here we go, Rio thought. Gas pedal.
He dipped his shoulder and pushed the ball forward, accelerating down the flank. As expected, Witsel couldn't keep up with the burst. Rio flew past him like a jet ski passing a cargo ship.
"I beat him!" Rio gasped, feeling the thrill.
He was in the clear, sprinting toward the corner flag. He cut inside, looking toward the goal.
There was Jan Oblak. The giant Slovenian goalkeeper. He stood on his line, massive and imposing, wearing all yellow.
I can shoot, Rio thought wildly. Or I can dribble Hermoso.
Hand_Of_King: NO! Do not dribble! Look at the box! It is crowded! If you lose the ball, they kill us on the counter! CROSS IT!
Zizou_5: Use your speed to create the angle, then deliver. Be a teammate.
Rio listened. He resisted the urge to try a step-over. He looked up, saw Dovbyk making a run, and whipped the ball into the box.
It was a good cross. Fast. Curving.
But Jan Oblak didn't even jump. He took one step forward, raised his hands, and plucked the ball out of the air.
It looked so easy. Oblak caught the powerful cross like he was catching a set of keys thrown by a friend. He didn't spill it. He didn't wobble. He just hugged the ball to his chest and stared at Rio with bored, icy eyes.
"Unbelievable," Rio muttered, turning around to run back. "He makes the goal look tiny."
Total_Football_14: That is a world-class keeper, Rio. You cannot beat him with simple crosses unless they are perfect. You have to make him move.
Oblak didn't wait. He rolled the ball out to his right-back, Molina.
"Transition!" Diego Simeone screamed from the Atlético bench, waving his arm.
Suddenly, the "slow" Atlético team transformed. They weren't slow anymore. They were a pack of wolves.
Molina passed to Koke. Koke passed to De Paul. De Paul played a first-time ball over the top of the Girona defense.
"Get back! Get back!" Mateo screamed from center-back, sprinting toward his own goal.
Rio turned and ran. He was a winger, but in modern football, everyone defends.
He chased Molina, who was overlapping like a maniac.
I have to stop him, Rio thought. If I don't defend, Michel will bench me forever.
Rio got close to the ball carrier, but he was too eager. He lunged in, trying to poke the ball away.
Molina simply shielded the ball, let Rio run past him, and then passed it inside.
The ball landed at the feet of Julián Alvarez. The Spider. The World Cup winner.
Alvarez was dangerous. He was small, low to the ground, and slippery. He received the ball twenty-five yards from goal, right in the center.
Mateo stepped up to close him down. "Don't shoot!"
Alvarez faked a shot. Mateo flinched.
Rio, desperate to help his friend, abandoned the wing and sprinted inward.
"I got him!"
Hand_Of_King: Don't dive in, Rio! Stay on your feet! He is waiting for contact!
Rio didn't hear the warning in time. He was moving too fast. He tried to shoulder-barge Alvarez off the ball.
But Alvarez was clever. He felt Rio coming. He slowed down just a fraction, put his body across Rio's path, and waited.
Rio slammed into Alvarez's back. It wasn't malicious, but it was clumsy. Alvarez went down like he'd been shot by a sniper, rolling three times on the grass.
PHEEEEEET!
The referee blew the whistle instantly. He ran over, hand in his pocket.
Yellow card for Rio Lance. And a free kick for Atlético Madrid. Twenty-three yards out. Central position. The perfect kill zone.
"No," Rio whispered, hands on his head. "I didn't mean to..."
"Focus!" Gazzaniga shouted, clapping his gloves together to wake up his defense. "Wall! Four men! Now!"
Rio stood near the wall, feeling sick. He had been on the pitch for six minutes. He had delivered one weak cross and conceded a dangerous free kick.
Michel, on the sideline, wasn't moving. He stood with his arms crossed, staring at the ground. He didn't look angry. He looked... disappointed. Which was worse.
Alvarez stood over the ball. He placed it carefully, rotating it until the valve was facing the way he liked. He took three steps back. He took a deep breath.
The stadium went silent. Sixty thousand people holding their breath at once creates a vacuum of sound that is terrifying.
Please miss, Rio prayed. Please hit the wall. Please slip.
Alvarez ran up.
The sound of the boot hitting the ball was crisp. The ball flew over the wall. It didn't spin much. It just dipped.
Gazzaniga flew across the goal, his arm outstretched.
But the placement was surgical. The ball kissed the underside of the crossbar and nestled into the top corner.
Atlético Madrid 1 - 0 Girona FC.
The small section of away fans erupted. Alvarez ran to the corner flag, doing his Spiderman celebration.
Rio stood frozen in the penalty box. He felt like he had swallowed a stone.
He looked at the scoreboard. 82:00.
He looked at the sideline.
The camera zoomed in on Michel. The Girona coach looked up at the sky, rubbing his face with both hands. The commentators on TV were undoubtedly saying it right now.
"A substitution that backfired. Michel brings on the rookie for pace, and the rookie gives away the foul that leads to the goal. A nightmare for the manager."
Total_Football_14: You were too aggressive in defense. A winger should funnel the player wide, not tackle him in the center.
Zizou_5: You have eight minutes plus stoppage time. Do not let guilt paralyze you.
Rio_Lance: I ruined it. I ruined everything. Michel is going to send me back to the U18s.
He could hear the grumbles from the stands.
"Why sub him on?"
"Bring Portu back!"
Rio felt tears pricking his eyes. The high of the Betis goal felt like a lifetime ago. This was the other side of the coin. The dark side.
Mateo walked over. He didn't look at Rio with pity. He grabbed Rio's jersey and yanked him close.
"Hey!" Mateo shouted, his face inches from Rio's. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! We are losing! Wake up!"
"I caused the free kick," Rio mumbled.
"So what?" Mateo snapped. "I missed a header in the first half. Gazzaniga missed the save. We lose together. But if you stand there crying, we definitely lose. Get the ball!"
Rio blinked. He looked at his friend. Mateo, the guy who wore a suit to sign his contract because his mom told him to, was acting like a captain.
"Okay," Rio nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Okay."
Gazzaniga fished the ball out of the net and booted it to the center circle.
Hand_Of_King: Listen to the defender! He has the heart of a lion! Rio, you are fast. You are angry. Use it! Atlético will sit back now. They will protect the 1-0. They will build the wall even higher.
The game restarted.
Atlético did exactly what everyone expected. They retreated. Simeone waved his arms, signaling a 5-5-0 formation. Every player behind the ball. They were going to suffocate the game.
Possession: Girona 70% - Atlético 30%.
But it was sterile possession. Girona passed it sideways. Back and forth. Every time they looked forward, there was a red and white shirt in the way.
Rio stayed wide on the left. Witsel was watching him closely now, standing a few meters off, giving him no space to run behind.
"Time wasting!" the crowd screamed as Oblak took thirty seconds to take a goal kick.
The clock ticked. 88:00.
Rio received the ball from Aleix. The crowd groaned. They expected him to lose it again.
I can't end like this, Rio thought. I can't let Michel look like a fool.
He looked at Witsel. The old defender was grinning slightly, confident in his positioning.
Phantom_X: Hey, Speedster. You gonna cry or you gonna play?
The text popped up in the corner of his vision.
Rio gritted his teeth. Shut up.
He didn't pass back. He trapped the ball dead. He looked at Witsel.
Rio_Lance: System. How much stamina does Witsel have left?
[Scanning Target...]
[Target: Axel Witsel]
[Stamina: 15% (Fatigued)]
He was tired. He was old. And Rio had the Stamina Potion from the roulette still in his inventory.
Drink Potion, Rio commanded mentally.
A phantom taste of lemon filled his mouth. A cool rush of energy flooded his legs. His fatigue bar vanished.
He signaled to Aleix Garcia. Give it to me again.
Aleix hesitated, then passed.
Rio stopped the ball. He stood still. Witsel waited.
Then, Rio kicked the ball. Not around Witsel. Not past him.
He kicked it hard toward the corner flag, almost too far. A heavy touch. A rookie mistake? No. A dare.
Rio sprinted.
Witsel turned to chase. For five meters, his experience held him level. But then, the fatigue hit. His legs felt heavy. Rio, fueled by the potion and desperation, found another gear.
He roared past the Belgian. He reached the ball right on the byline.
Hermoso came sliding in to block the cross.
Rio didn't cross. He faked the cross, chopping the ball back with his heel. Hermoso slid past him, off the pitch.
Rio was inside the box. The angle was tight. Oblak was there, massive and scary.
Zizou_5: Do not shoot. Oblak covers the near post. Look across.
Rio looked.
Dovbyk was marked by Gimenez.
But at the edge of the box... arriving late... was a midfielder. Yangel Herrera.
Rio didn't chip it. He didn't blast it. He played a firm, low pass backward.
It rolled past Gimenez. It rolled past Koke. It found Yangel.
Yangel didn't think. He swung his boot.
BOOM!
The shot flew through a forest of legs. Oblak saw it late. He dove, but he was screened by his own defender.
The net bulged.
GOAL.
1-1.
The stadium exploded.
Rio fell to his knees.
Michel, on the sideline, pumped both fists into the air, screaming something unintelligible. He looked at Rio, and for a second, the disappointment was gone, replaced by a fierce, wild pride.
Rio stood up, gasping for air.