Football singularity

Chapter 785 Tears

If you’re enjoying the story, consider voting to show your support. Feel free to join me on Discord to chat and share your thoughts: https://discord.gg/hTQJtj2K9U.

#More than 10 Chapters ahead on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/TrikoRex. If you have a moment, leaving a review would mean a lot to me and help me see who’s interested in the story’s future.

~~~

[2021-05-29 | Estádio do Dragão, Porto | 23:15 WEST]

[Manchester City 1-1 Bayer 04 Leverkusen - Extra Time]

"Agüero!" Drury’s voice climbed.

The striker unleashed a curling effort toward the far top corner, his technique curving the ball around Tah’s attempt at a block. The ball bent viciously through the Porto night sky, and for a moment, one terrible, beautiful moment, depending on the person, it looked destined for the net.

Hradecky flew through the night air, body fully outstretched to the limit, fingertips barely skimming the ball. It did the trick, deflecting it onto the crossbar with a sickening CLANG before spinning away to safety. Tapsoba hacked it clear desperately, his boot sending it sailing toward the halfway line.

"HOW?!" Tyldesley roared. "How is this still 1-1?!"

Agüero collapsed to his knees, hands on his head, with similar disbelief at once again being denied. Guardiola stood frozen in his technical area, mouth slightly open in disbelief. Fourteen thousand people in the stadium and 120 million watching worldwide shared the same thought: When will this match refuse to end?

[120+2’]

"Looks like this one will have to be settled in penalties," Drury noted that the referee could be seen checking his watch, ready to call it any moment. "Both sides fought valiantly with very little separating them."

"True, both sides had ample chance, but luck seemed to fail them in the final stages," Tydsley noted. "That’s not to take away from the stellar performance of both keepers who have been phenomenal all night."

Just as they spoke, Baumgartlinger stole the ball from Torres outside the box. Looking up, he spotted Rakim raising his hand on the left flank and immediately pinged the ball his way. Rakim, who had looked exhausted moments ago, straightened up, ignoring his body’s urge to rest as instinct overruled.

His legs started moving before his brain completely emptied, and a golden path appeared in his eyes. All his instincts screamed at him that following it would bring glory, and he didn’t hesitate. Electricity seemed to flow from every fibre of his being as he moved into action, all other thoughts fading with only the ball and the field remaining in his perception. Even the players and fans vanished, appearing only as illusory beings with multiple golden shadows showing paths to get around them.

Walker, his personal bodyguard, was just as tired but still forced himself to follow after him. He’d been defending all night, and one more challenge—what was one more challenge? He moved, aiming to tackle the moment Rakim took down the ball. He learned that the best time to stop his opponent was on the second touch or entangle him in physical confrontation from the start, as he was far too wary.

The ball descended just as Rakim reached the ball’s landing spot, but instead of touching down like he usually did, his eyes seemed to widen for a moment. With Fernandinho in front of him and Walker behind, his wide vision snapped into focus as he let the ball drop next to his right boot. Half turning his right foot snapped upward, flicking the ball back as he turned.

Walker, who had been about to brace his hand on his back, tried to react to the ball flying past his right shin as Rakim sped past his left. His legs stretched out, tearing up the turf, racing toward the ball that had all its momentum redirected. Hooking his left boot around before it could go out, he broke into the city half.

"Rex is away!" Drury’s voice rose, the exhaustion in his own throat from two hours of commentary forgotten. "Can he conjure one final piece of brilliance?"

Fernandinho, who had followed him, lunged in from the right, sliding across the turf, ready to put it all on the line. Reacting on instinct, Rakim snapped into action, showcasing remarkable fast-twitch muscles as his right foot flicked the ball to his left. His left foot flicked the ball behind his right in one smooth motion that looked elegant as he changed direction inwards, gliding past the Midfielder.

Walker came spinning back from the side, trying to grab his arm before lunging in. But Rakim was quick to shove him off his bicep muscles, straining to shove the heavier defender off. Exploding past the challenge, he heard Lucas call for the ball, making a run forward and glanced over.

However, the golden road abruptly came to an end, shrinking into a single point at the edge of his vision, and in that instant, the world clicked into place. He nudged the ball ahead, his left foot planted hard a second later, as his body coiled taut like a drawn bowstring. His arms flared outward for balance, fingertips grazing the rushing air as his right foot swung back.

"REX FROM DISTANCE!" Drury’s voice cracked with the effort in that microsecond before his foot made contact.

"BOOM!" His foot violently made contact with the ball as he swung through as if trying to punch through it. It blasted off like a heat-seeking missile, taking flight, the sound of impact echoing across the stadium.

The ball screamed through the night air, from thirty yards out, rising in a large, rainbow-like arc. Gravity seemed to remember its purpose as it smited it down, taking a wicked dip looking onto the far right corner of the goal. Ederson, who had been positioned high near the penalty spot, ready to charge out and make a libero clearance, suddenly realised the danger.

His eyes widened in that split second of panic creeping up as he realised the ball was coming at him. The Brazilian scrambled backwards desperately, before quickly deciding to turn, taking three long steps before leaping towards his own goal. He leapt through the air, his left hand fully outstretched, straining every muscle fibre as he looked over his shoulder at the ball that was now above his head.

In what appeared to be slow motion in his eyes, he watched the ball speed violently past his hand. It dropped under the crossbar, smashing into the top bns, sending the netting rattling. For one heartbeat under the Porto night sky, the stadium was silent, and then it erupted like a violent volcano.

"GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAL!" Drury’s voice shattered into pure, unfiltered elation. "RAKIM REX! THE DREAM! THE SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD PHENOM HAS DONE IT! THIRTY YARDS! WITH A LONG-RANGE ARTILLERY STRIKE!"

Rakim stood frozen for a microsecond where he’d struck it, his right leg still extended, watching the ball nestle into the net. Then reality crashed into him like a tidal wave, and suddenly he had all the energy in the world as he took off toward the corner flag.

The sound of the seven thousand or so Leverkusen supporters droned in his ears, fuelling his elation as he took his shirt off mid-sprint. The fitness tracker vest strapped around his chest was drenched in sweat as he sprinted forward, his ripped six-pack glistening with the floodlight. Waving his kit in his hand, he dropped into a long-knee slide, easily covering eight meters as he leaned back, arms spread as if to embrace the sky.

"WHAT A HAIL MARRY STRIKE!" Tyldesley screamed. "WHAT. A. STRIKE! From absolutely nowhere! Ederson, caught in no man’s land, had no chance! Thirty yards out, and he’s just won the Champions League for Bayer Leverkusen!"

Bailey reached him first, sliding into his body, enveloping him in a jubilant hug, screaming something incoherent in his ears. Then came Schick, Alario, Demirbay, and Aránguiz, all piled on, a mass of bodies and noise and pure unbridled joy. Hradecky sprinted the entire length of the pitch, joining the celebration, roaring into the night sky as even the subs had joined in.

[Manchester City 1-2 Bayer 04 Leverkusen - Rakim Rex 120+3’]

In the VIP box, May had leapt from her seat, embracing Emma in a tight hug without even thinking. Their drinks, popcorn, and snacks flew into the air, resembling the scene of a Vikings victory banquet. Neither of the girls cared in the slightest as even Lisa had jumped up, joining their jubilation, draping an arm over them as they bounced in excitement.

None of their excitement beat that of Ben Rex, though, his towering, muscular physique easily towered over anyone in their section as he roared in joy. Gone was the serious demeanour his employees were used to as he stood wildly roaring, waving the Lverkusen scarf in the wind. Fleeting tears could be seen at the edge of his eyes as he watched his son wildly celebrate below.

"THAT’S MY BOY! THAT’S MY SON!" Ben’s voice boomed across the VIP section, startling several nearby guests who’d been quietly nursing their own emotions. He didn’t care in the slightest, though, as he wasn’t here to make connections and simply wanted to be a part of a major moment in his son’s life. And he might have just scored what might be the greatest goal in Champions League final history.

.

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...