My system allows me to copy talents

The ball rolled again, cutting across the pristine turf as the referee’s whistle signaled the restart.

From the moment play resumed, PSG surged forward with the ferocity of a nest of hornets, their press relentless and suffocating. They moved like a machine—precise passes slicing through narrow lanes, thundering shots testing the limits of Madrid’s defense.

Yet, despite their brilliance, the goal they so desperately sought remained out of reach.

Madrid stood firm, unyielding, immovable like a mountain against a storm. Their backline bent but never broke, their midfield tirelessly swept up loose balls, and their keeper parried every attempt with grim resolve.

Each minute that slipped away without a breakthrough only tightened the noose around PSG’s chances; the weight of missed opportunities clung to them like a shadow.

The electric buzz that once filled the air also thinned into a brittle silence.

The supporters, once a roaring wave of blue, now watched with clenched jaws and wide eyes. The chants faded. The drums slowed. Nervous glances flicked toward the scoreboard as the seconds ticked away with cruel indifference.

Even Madrid’s fans held their breath.

They had cheered too soon once before—and now, they watched in reverent silence, unwilling to tempt fate again. Their cheers would come only when it was over.

Even so, the allure of the victory remained too tempting to resist.

Suddenly, PSG earned a throw-in deep in Madrid’s half. Racing against the time, they didn’t dare to waste a single second. Hence, Lucien immediately sprinted to take the throw-in.

He had already noted the positioning of his teammates.

Knowing that a moment’s hesitation could cost them their dreams, the players of Madrid didn’t dare drop their guard.

Casting a vigilant glance over the field, Hiro dropped as well.

Lucien hurled the throw-in like a dagger.

“Throw-in taken quickly!”

The ball flew far into the box. The Madrid players rushed to clear the ball. Oblak, despite being the closest, didn’t dare leave the post vacant.

He knew a moment of carelessness could end this fairytale of a campaign. Hence, he chose the safest option and remained seated instead of taking a risk.

“PSG pushing for a late miracle! This could be it!”

Desire sprinted to collect the ball, leaving behind a trail of bodies who competed for the ball. Blades of grass flew as he rushed to the ball.

The outside world struggled to keep track of him. Like a flash of lightning, he moved with the speed that made it hard for the naked eye to keep up.

Enrique’s heart thumped with excitement upon witnessing the sight of Desire. Part of the reason for benching him was to unleash him in a desperate moment. He wanted to utilize his speed after the opposition had worn themselves out.

Hence, despite being one of their core players, he benched him for such an important match.

‘That’s right, Desire, wreak havoc with your speed,’ Enrique cheered inwardly, beaming a bright smile on his face.

Though the match didn’t go as he wished, he was still confident of turning things around if it stretched to extra time.

Being the fastest on the field, Desire reached the ball before anyone else. In a blur of motion, he extended his leg and brought it under control with practiced ease. But gaining possession was merely the beginning.

He still had to adjust his angle before shooting.

Without wasting momentum, he flicked the trapped ball to the side. Then he began to cut inside the box. While searching for the shooting angle, he encountered a problem: opposing defenders.

Drenched in sweat, one of the Madrid defenders stood before Desire, gasping.

Having endured an intense session of defending, the Madrid defenders were exhausted. This sprint of retreat made it even more difficult for them to operate.

“I stop him here… or we fall,” he told himself through gritted teeth.

Outpaced, outmatched, but not outwilled—he had scrambled back with sheer determination, arriving just in time to block the lane. He wouldn’t win a footrace, but positioning was his weapon.

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Desire slowed for the briefest heartbeat, sizing up the barrier before him. He shifted his weight, feinting left, then right, but Robin—Robin-the defender-kept—kept low, kept calm, reading each twitch in Desire’s body like lines on a page.

He knew Desire’s reputation: lightning-quick bursts, surgical dribbles, unpredictability. One wrong move, and he’d be left in the dust.

However, having faced someone even more unpredictable than the beast before him, he wasn’t scared. He had trained alongside Hiro, who was much more unpredictable than the players he had faced.

Desire exploded to the right, attempting a sharp cut to slip past. Robin reacted instantly, lunging in—but not recklessly. He angled his body, narrowing the lane, not for a tackle but to force Desire wider, away from the goal.

One tap, two tap…

Desire’s foot tapped the ball in rapid succession upon attempting to get past Robin.

Robin, however, remained put as he stuck with him like a shadow. While keeping up with him, he also tried to push him wide.

With his effort, he slowed down Desire enough for his teammate to regain their position.

Even so, keeping him occupied was the best he could do.

For some moment, Desire failed to make progress. But just then, after being held for a while, he got past Robin. With an ever-so-slow nudge, he clipped the ball beneath the outstretched legs of Robin.

Then he placed his other foot past desire and spun before transitioning himself behind Robin without losing the momentum. The moment he defeated Robin, another defender lunged at him.

Without panicking, he executed a flawless Maradona turn to get past the approaching defender.

Being unable to stop Desire, the defender’s complexion paled, and his heart skipped a beat. With horror-stricken eyes, he turned to find Desire.

But just as he turned around, his eyes widened in shock.

Desire fired the ball before he could even react.

“He’s pulled the trigger—!”

The ball rocketed toward the goal, but it swerved just off-axis, grazing the side netting.