My system allows me to copy talents

Beep!

The Madrid bench exhaled a sigh of relief, their expression relieved. Somehow, they’ve managed to escape another dangerous predicament.

The opposition had made countless relentless efforts to crush their dreams, but it seemed fate had something else planned for them.

Even so, the game hadn’t ended.

The clock still ticked, and the match had to resume. However, with this wasted effort, they’ve earned themselves another lifeline.

Upon collecting the ball, Oblak placed it before him for a goal kick. But just as he was about to kick the ball, he paused, bent, and shifted its position. He repeated this action a few times before the referee caught the wind of his intention.

The referee, ever so harsh, booked him for time-wasting.

The opposition, on the other hand, didn’t look even a bit relieved about the booking. Instead, their frowns deepened as the clock ticked.

With less than a minute left, every second was precious.

Their entire line had moved up the field, except Vittorio, who remained at the backline for defensive duties.

Though Oblak wanted to capitalize on this moment, he didn’t want to take the risk. Hence, he didn’t send the ball flying. Even by himself, the giant guarding the backline couldn’t be underestimated.

‘We have to stall for time. We can’t risk it.’ Oblak thought as he weighed his options.

He wanted to play a short pass. However, the opposition lurked all around the field, making it difficult to execute short passes.

He feared the ball would get snatched.

The opponents stood in wait like starving beasts waiting for the food. Their eyes gleamed with desperation.

‘Where to?’ Oblak still couldn’t decide. He felt a foreboding feeling dawning on him. He had already been booked for his earlier actions. Now, he wouldn’t be spared if he stalled for more time.

Just then, he noticed a shadow of a figure emerging at the periphery of his vision. The sight of the figure relieved him. Then he immediately played the ball.

The moment he tossed the ball, the opposition reacted.

They immediately set out to snatch the ball.

It was Hiro who collected the ball. But before he could even turn around, he found himself before Desire.

Hiro, however, didn’t flinch even when encountering the opponent’s piercing glare.

He could feel the thirst for the ball. He could sense the desire to change the game. The opponent before him exuded an aura of horror.

He stared at him like a beast, attempting to intimidate him with his presence.

Hiro had only met his gaze for a moment, but he could vividly feel the desire of the opponent who lunged at him from behind.

A sharp glint flashed in the opponent’s eye as he lunged at Hiro.

With a swift flick of his foot, he handled the incoming attack without breaking a sweat. But before he could rejoice, another person swept their legs at him.

Hiro didn’t have much time to relax.

He had just dealt with one, but another was already on him. Seeing this sight made the fans anxious. Their brows creased as their eyes became frantic.

It seemed like Hiro would lose the ball.

But to their surprise, Hiro dealt with the second one, too.

He moved like a snake, meandering in the small gaps. Even the ball seemed like an extension of him. Be it the touches or the skillset he executed to make this moment happen, everything was flawless.

Upon dribbling past both opponents, he passed the ball to his teammate.

Right after passing the ball, he rushed to the sideline. His teammate returned the ball, and he charged from the flanks.

Soon Hiro found himself before the presence of the opposing fullback.

Hiro had other options available. He had his teammates to support him. However, instead of passing the ball, he advanced on his own.

He ran straight toward the opposing fullback without any hesitation.

It became clear to the opposition that he wanted to attempt another goal. Unlike others, he seemed like the type who didn’t like time-wasting.

To take such a risk at such a crucial moment, the Madrid supporters couldn’t help but feel worried. Some even wanted to shout, but held their urge.

Hiro, however, couldn’t care less about the opinions of others. He had seen a chance, and he would take it.

Offense is the best defense.

Hiro lived up to the name he was given as he once again dribbled past the opponent before him. He made it seem so easy that even the anxious supporters of Madrid couldn’t help but look at him with awe.

“They should be holding the line right now, slowing the pace… but the star of the night seems to have something else in mind.”

Inside the locker room, Diego sat frozen before the screen, unable to look away. His brows were drawn into a deep frown, and his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His fingers dug deep into his palms, and the veins along his forearms throbbed with a mix of anxiety and disbelief.

‘What the hell are you doing out there, Hiro…?’ he thought, gritting his teeth.

Back on the pitch, with the clock ticking into the final moments, Hiro surged forward once more. He’d already slipped past the exhausted fullback with deceptive ease, the ball glued to his foot. But waiting ahead of him like a final boss was Vittorio Moretti—bruised, battered, but still unrelenting.

The crowd held its breath. Why wasn’t Hiro stalling? Why wasn’t he heading for the corner flag?

But Hiro had a plan.

He slowed his pace slightly, baiting Vittorio in with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. His breathing was ragged, but his mind remained razor sharp. He knew Vittorio’s pride—his unrelenting competitiveness wouldn’t allow him to be beaten again, not after what happened earlier.

As expected, Vittorio lunged in to block the lane to the goal. This$ c*on-tent* was f-irs#t rele^as!e&d- on M&V-_&L@EMPY&R!.%

Hiro feinted a dribble inward, then faked a cut as if preparing to unleash a final shot. Vittorio bought it, throwing himself into the challenge with all that he had left.

But Hiro wasn’t aiming to score.

He nudged the ball ever so slightly forward, then turned his body and shielded it, forcing Vittorio to chase him toward the sideline in vain. Time bled away with every heartbeat, every stride. Hiro danced on the edge of the pitch, keeping the ball just in play, dragging the proud Italian with him like a matador teasing a bull.

The referee glanced at his watch.

Three seconds…

Two…

One—

Beeeeeeeeep!!!

The final whistle echoed across Wembley like a gunshot.

“And it’s over! Atletico Madrid are Champions League winners!”

The red and white halves of the stadium erupted in a frenzy, an explosion of relief and joy. Players collapsed to the ground, weeping, roaring, laughing.

Hiro stood still for a moment, catching his breath. Then, as the gravity of the moment sank in, he slowly looked toward the sky, his chest rising and falling like the rhythm of a battle drum finally silenced.

The others around him were already rushing toward him. Even the bustling stadium felt silent for some reason.

Behind him, Vittorio had dropped to his knees, his face a blend of exhaustion and anger.