God Of football

Chapter 176: What Do We Have Here

The two coaches stood in silence for a moment, their thoughts heavy with the looming changes. Then Baraja straightened, his voice firm.

”Let’s focus on what we can control. If Marmadashvili goes, we’ll make sure the transition is seamless. Lukas will be ready—we’ll make sure of it.”

Moreno nodded the fire of determination in his eyes matching Baraja’s. Together, they turned toward the tactical room, their plans already forming.

.....

”Good evening, football fans! Welcome to a thrilling night of action in the Copa del Rey, as two Spanish giants, Valencia and Real Sociedad, collide here at the iconic Mestalla.

It’s a match steeped in tradition, with both teams eager to leave their mark on this prestigious tournament.

Valencia, the eight-time winners, are looking to rekindle their glory days under the lights of their fortress, while Real Sociedad, with their dynamic style of play, aim to continue their impressive run this season.

The stage is set, the fans are roaring, and the players are ready to make history. Sit tight, as we’re moments away from kickoff in what promises to be a pulsating encounter!

*As we gear up for kickoff, let’s take a look at the starting lineups for tonight’s clash. First, the home side, Valencia: in goal is the ever-reliable Giorgi Mamardashvili.

Commanding his backline of Thierry Correia, the Turkish mountain Cenk Ozkacar, Mouctar Diakhaby, has replaced homegrown talent Mark who is out with a knock, and the ever-present, captain reliable José Gayà.

In midfield, the experienced Pepelu partners with Javi Guerra with André Almeida providing the creative spark.

Yes, folks Valencia’s manager Ruben Baraja has decided to keep Izan on the bench for this match.

Up front, Diego Lopez and Fran Pérez operate on the wings, while Hugo Duro leads the attack.

Now to the visitors, Real Sociedad: Alex Remiro starts between the sticks, shielded by a backline of Odriozola, Robin Le Normand, Igor Zubeldia, and Aihen Muñoz.

In midfield, Mikel Merino and Martín Zubimendi are pulling the strings just behind Brais Méndez in the attacking midfield role.

The attacking trio features Takefusa Kubo and Mikel Oryazabal on the flanks, with Umar Sadiq spearheading the attack.

Two strong lineups brimming with talent—this one is shaping up to be a classic!”*

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The Estadio Mestalla was alive with anticipation as Valencia hosted Real Sociedad in a high-stakes Copa del Rey quarterfinal.

The orange sea of Valencia supporters roared with pride, their flags waving under the floodlights, while a small but determined section of travelling Sociedad fans tried to make their voices heard.

The energy was electric; every cheer, chant, and whistle echoed through the hallowed stands.

The match kicked off with intensity. Valencia, playing at home, took control early.

Valencia’s, Fran Perez was a livewire down the right flank, teasing Sociedad’s defence with his blistering pace and intricate dribbling.

In the 7th minute, he combined beautifully with captain Jose Gaya, slipping a pass through to the latter whose curling shot from 20 yards forced a fingertip save from Sociedad’s goalkeeper, Alejandro Remiro.

”An electric start from Valencia!” came the commentator’s excited voice over the stadium speakers. ”But Sociedad are holding firm. They’ll need to weather this storm!”

On the Valencia bench, Izan leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of his seat.

Next to him, Pietro crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently against his sleeve.

”They’re playing well, but we need more spark,” Pietro muttered. Izan nodded but kept his gaze fixed on the pitch, silently analyzing the game.

Sociedad, however, were no pushovers. Anchored by their midfield maestro Martín Zubimendi, they slowly grew into the game, stringing together slick passes that frustrated Valencia.

The pendulum swung in the 23rd minute when Takefusa Kubo latched onto a lofted pass, his first touch immaculate as he drove into the box.

The Mestalla held its breath as Kubo feigned right, cutting left past his marker before he unleashed a venomous strike towards the goal.

Valencia urgently threw bodies in the way but they could only watch as the ball zoomed past Marmadashvili.

Goal! The ball rippled the net, and Sociedad’s travelling fans erupted. The scoreboard read 0-1.

The away fans were ecstatic, hugging and kissing each other while some waved their team’s flag.

The Rela Sociedad players that had already mobbed Kubo started waking back to their half.

After the restart, Valencia pushed back, desperate to equalize before halftime.

Fran Pérez continued tormenting the left flank, linking up with attacking -midfielder Andre Almeida for a series of dangerous crosses.

The closest came in the 37th minute when Perez’s delivery found striker Hugo Duro unmarked in the six-yard box.

His header looked destined for the net, but Remiro’s reflex save left Mestalla groaning in frustration.

On the bench, Pietro threw up his hands in frustration. ”How did he miss that?!” he exclaimed, earning a smirk from Izan.

”Relax,” Izan replied softly. ”There’s still time,” his face immediately frowning after he spoke.

Hugo should have put the ball into the net and Izan also thought the same.

The halftime whistle blew, with Sociedad heading into the dressing room with their noses in front. Valencia’s bench stirred with urgency.

Among the substitutes, Izan stood looking slightly unbothered by his team’s position in the match.

After taking his rehydration kit, Izan walked to the locker room.

---

Ruben Baraja stood in the middle of the Valencia dressing room at halftime, his expression a mixture of frustration and determination.

The echoes of the Mestalla crowd still hummed faintly in the background, but inside the room, there was only silence—a heavy, uncomfortable silence that made every player avert their eyes as Baraja scanned the room.

He took a deep breath, but when he spoke, his voice was sharp, each word striking like a whip.

”That,” he began, pointing toward the door leading to the pitch, ”was not Valencia football. Where is the passion? The intensity? The pride? We’re playing as if this match doesn’t matter!”

His gaze locked on Hugo Duro, who sat slouched on the bench, his head bowed, his fingers anxiously fidgeting with his shin pads. Baraja walked toward him, his boots echoing on the tiled floor.

”Hugo,” he said, his voice lower but cutting. ”That chance… That golden chance. What were you thinking?”

Duro looked up, guilt written all over his face. ”I... I thought I had it. I just—”

”You thought?” Baraja cut him off, leaning closer. ”You don’t think in moments like that.

You finish. You bury that ball in the net like your life depends on it. You’re a striker for Valencia, not some amateur trying to impress scouts.”

The room was dead silent now, the other players sitting up straighter, afraid Baraja’s wrath might turn on them.

Baraja straightened, his voice rising again as he addressed the whole team. ”Fran Pérez is out there fighting for every ball, running his legs off, creating chances.

And where’s the support? Where’s the belief? This is the Copa del Rey, not some preseason friendly!”

He turned to Diego López, the winger slouched in his seat. ”Diego, you’re one of the leaders.

Where’s the fire? Where’s the organization? You need to pull the attack together. I can’t do it for you from the sideline.”

Diego López nodded solemnly, murmuring, ”Understood, coach.”

Baraja’s tone softened slightly, but his intensity didn’t waver. ”Look, we’re only down by one. Sociedad is good, but they’re not unbeatable.

We’ve seen their weaknesses—they can’t handle pressure in the midfield. Zubeldia’s already panicked once.

We push harder, and we’ll break through. But you have to believe it. Fight for every ball.

Fight for each other. And when the next chance comes…” He turned back to Duro, ”You take it.”

Baraja paced back toward the tactics board, gesturing toward the players set to come on.

”And Izan, Pietro—you’re coming in soon. Be ready. I don’t need fireworks; I need solutions. Understand?”

”Yes, coach,” they replied in unison, their voices steady despite the tension in the room.

Baraja clapped his hands once, the sharp sound reverberating off the walls.

”Now, go out there and show them what Valencia football is about. Play like you want to go to the next round, or don’t bother coming back in here.”

The players stood, heads high, their resolve rekindled. Baraja’s words had cut deep, but they had also ignited a fire.

As they marched out of the dressing room, the roar of the Mestalla grew louder, ready to witness a team reborn.

----

As the second half kicked off, Valencia upped the tempo. Their high press forced Sociedad into mistakes, with Gaya and Lopez combining to drive the attack.

In the 50th minute, a mistimed clearance by Sociedad’s Igor Zubeldia gifted Valencia a golden chance.

Javi Guerra latched onto the loose ball, turned sharply, and fired low toward the bottom corner but his shot was smothered.

”Guerra shoots! Saved by Remiro again! What a performance from the Sociedad keeper!” the commentator exclaimed.

Valencia’s frustration mounted. The fans chanted louder, urging their team forward, but Sociedad remained resolute, their defensive wall led by Robin Le Normand.

Meanwhile, Kubo continued to be a thorn in Valencia’s side, nearly doubling the lead in the 63rd minute with a curling effort that once again, grazed the crossbar.

Back on the bench, Pietro slapped his thigh. ”Coach needs to make changes. We’re running out of time!” he growled.

Izan remained composed but shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his knee. ”Settle down. We play when he wants us to play”

Finally, with 20 minutes remaining, Valencia’s coach, Ruben Baraja, made his move. The fourth official raised the substitution board.

The Mestalla faithful erupted as Izan’s name appeared, alongside Pietro’s. The young duo was about to enter the fray.

The commentator’s voice boomed: ”And here we go! Izan and Pietro are coming on. These two could change the game for Valencia. Can the youngster deliver under this pressure?”

On the bench, teammates clapped and shouted encouragement. ”Let’s go, Izan! Show them what you’ve got!” one called out, while another ruffled Pietro’s hair as he jogged toward the touchline.

As Izan jogged onto the field, the weight of the occasion pressed heavily on his shoulders, yet he didn’t feel it.

”Oh, what do we have here,” the commentator said as Izan trapped the ball.

A/n: An extra chapter for my lovely readers. Take it as a new year’s gift. Love ya’ll and thanks for reading and the support.