God Of football

Chapter 248: Five Finals [Vallecas:4]

The night air in Madrid was thick with tension as the Estadio de Vallecas roared in anticipation.

Under the floodlights, Rayo Vallecano and Valencia CF lined up on opposite sides of the pitch, both knowing what was at stake.

For Valencia, this was another crucial step toward securing a Champions League spot.

Athletic Bilbao, their direct rivals for the top four, were also in action tonight. Every goal, every mistake, every moment would count.

In his living room, Izan sat forward on the couch, his heart already racing. His injured ankle rested on a cushion, but his mind was far from recovery—he was living every moment as if he were on the pitch himself.

After they got they got the prematch antics, the referee’s whistle pierced through the stadium, and the match was underway.

Right from the start, Rayo pressed high, suffocating Valencia’s defenders as they tried to build from the back.

Hugo Guillamón, now playing as the deep-lying playmaker in place of Pietro barely had a second on the ball before a Rayo midfielder was breathing down his neck.

The first ten minutes were brutal—shoulder-to-shoulder battles, aggressive tackles, and constant midfield skirmishes.

In the 12th minute, Valencia had their first real scare after Rayo’s winger, Álvaro García, broke down the left, dancing past Thierry Correia before whipping in a low cross.

The expectant Vallecano fans went silent for a moment looking on as Raúl de Tomás met it first-time, sending a shot screaming toward the bottom corner.

The ball was destined for the net but the away side were saved by the Heroics of Giorgi Mamardashvili ; Valencia’s ever-reliable goalkeeper who reacted in a flash, diving low, and getting his fingertips on the ball to push it away from danger.

The home crowd groaned in frustration.

Commentator 1: ”What a save from Mamardashvili! That could have easily been 1-0!”

Commentator 2: ”And this is what Valencia needs to be careful about. Rayo will punish them if they lose focus.”

At home, Izan let out a breath. His teammates needed to settle down before the unimaginable happened.

After Vallecano’s threatening plays, Valencia responded in kind. In the 19th minute, Sosa, operating as the central midfielder, received the ball on the edge of the box from Gaya who had overlapped to the left wing.

With a clever turn, he skipped past his marker and let fly with his right foot. The shot was fierce, heading straight for the top corner—

But Rayo’s goalkeeper, Dimitrievski, was just as sharp, tipping the ball towards the corner flag.

Valencia’s fans in the away section erupted, sensing their team was growing into the game but the chance still wasn’t over.

Gaya, who had been lurking around that area, picked up the ball before whipping a cross into the box. Valencia’s players, however, were not able to make much of that chance.

---

The next twenty minutes were a warzone. Rayo refused to give Valencia an inch of space, and every duel in midfield felt like a fight to the death.

Javi Guerra and Guillamón were constantly harassed and forced into rushed passes.

In the 34th minute, tempers flared. Sosa chased a loose ball near the touchline, only for Rayo’s fullback to crash into him, sending him tumbling. The Valencia bench exploded in protest.

Valencia coach Rubén Baraja stormed out of his technical area, shouting.

”That’s a foul! Are you blind?!”

The referee, however, ignored him and waved play on.

After a while, the cameras cut to the other side of things, where Athletic Bilbao’s game was still 0-0. Good news for Valencia.

Back in Madrid, the first half crawled toward its conclusion but just before the whistle, Rayo nearly struck.

A defensive lapse allowed Isi Palazón a free shot from 20 yards, but once again, Mamardashvili was there, blocking the effort with his legs.

With that, the referee’s whistle sounded, sending the match into halftime with the two sides level.

---

Inside the Valencia dressing room, the air was thick with tension. Players slumped onto benches, breathing heavily after a grueling first half.

Sweat dripped down their faces, and their jerseys clung to their skin.

Despite the 0-0 scoreline, they all knew—they were in a battle.

Rubén Baraja paced in front of them, hands on his hips, his face tense but composed. He wasn’t shouting, but his voice carried an unmistakable intensity.

”Listen up,” he started, his eyes scanning the room. ”This is exactly the kind of game we expected—tough, physical, hostile.

They’re pressing us like animals, and we haven’t found our rhythm yet. But you know what?”

He paused, letting the silence stretch.

”They’re starting to tire.”

A few heads lifted.

”They threw everything at us in the first half, but we held firm. Now, we turn the screw. Now, we impose our game.”

He turned to Hugo Guillamón and Javi Guerra. ”I need you two to move the ball faster.

One-touch, two-touch—don’t let them press you into mistakes. Keep it simple. Once we get them chasing, spaces will open up.”

Then, he pointed at Fran Pérez and Diego López. ”You have to be braver. Take them on.

Drive at their fullbacks. They’re aggressive, but that means they’re vulnerable behind. Exploit that.”

Finally, his gaze landed on Sosa, who was still catching his breath. ”You’re doing well holding the ball, but I need more movement.

Keep dragging their center-backs out of position so Hugo Duro can go in behind. Make their lives hell.”

He stepped back, letting the words sink in. Then his tone softened slightly.

”Boys, we’ve fought all season to be in this position. Four games left. Every point counts.

If we win tonight, we edge closer to Champions League football. But we won’t win by playing scared. We win by playing our football.”

Baraja looked around, making eye contact with each player. ”No regrets. No excuses. Second half—we take this game.”

A beat of silence. Then—

”VAMOS!”

The players clapped, fists clenched, their energy renewed. They rose to their feet, ready for war.

As they stepped back onto the pitch, the message was clear.

...

As the players emerged from the tunnel, Izan heard the familiar sound of footsteps behind him.

Komi and Hori entered the living room, carrying snacks.

”You look stressed,” Komi said, sitting beside him.

Hori grinned. ”Are they losing?”

”No. But it’s tense.”

Komi patted his knee. ”They’ll win.”

Back in Vallecas, the second half began—and Valencia started brighter.

Their passes were more directed and threatening, causing the Vallecano players to retreat into their box, but that was what Valencia wanted.

In the 50th minute, Valencia finally broke through.

Sosa, receiving a long ball from Gayà turned sharply. Spotting an opening, he slipped a through ball to Fran Pérez, who had darted behind Rayo’s defense.

With one touch, Pérez brought it under control—then slotted it past Dimitrievski under the gazes of the Valencia crowd in the away section.

GOAL!

Commentator 1: ”VALENCIA LEAD! Fran Pérez with an ice-cold finish!”

Commentator 2: ”And what a pass from Sosa! Absolutely brilliant!”

Izan pumped his fist. ”Vamos!”

Hori was already checking social media. ”People are saying Sosa is cooking.”

Izan nodding at Hori’s words turned to face the game because he knew that with this goal, the match would be much more livelier.

And true to his word, Vallecano’s response came ten minutes later.

A corner kick was swung into Valencia’s box, and chaos ensued. The ball pinballed between defenders before dropping at the feet of De Tomás, who smashed it into the roof of the net to put Vallecano on level terms.

1-1.

The stadium exploded as the home crowd rioted.

”Vallecano have roared back to life. The match isn’t over yet and Valencia should be wary of crumbling because the momentum is definitely with Rayo Vallecano now”

The home fans also took to social media to express their joy while the away fans encouraged each other.

@RayoFan95: ”LET’S GO! We’re not done yet!”

@ValenciaCore: ”We can’t drop points here. Come on!”

After the goal, the game became pure chaos.

In the 75th minute, Rayo nearly stole the lead.

A blistering counterattack saw Palazón one-on-one with Mamardashvili, but the Georgian keeper pulled off yet another heroic save.

Commentator 1: ”Mamardashvili is keeping Valencia alive!”

Izan, by now, was practically sweating. ”We need a goal. Fast.”

Then, in the 83rd minute, it happened.

Valencia won a free kick just outside the box. Guillamón stood over it, eyes locked on the goal.

”It might have been more dangerous had Izan been the one behind this setpiece but let’s not right Guillamón off”

With a deep breath, Guillamon ran towards the ball and curled it around the wall—

And into the top corner.

GOAL!

”Hugo Guillamon has just made me swallow my words. What a beauty. Something the setpiece greats would admire” the commentator went on about.

Valencia’s bench erupted. Baraja sprinted down the touchline, fists pumping. The away fans drowned out the stadium.

Commentator 1: ”WHAT A GOAL FROM GUILLAMÓN! VALENCIA BACK IN FRONT!”

Commentator 2: ”That is world-class!”

In Izan’s living room, Hori jumped up. ”That was sick!”

Komi laughed. ”One more goal, and we can relax.”

The final minutes were pure tension. Rayo threw everything forward, launching desperate attacks, but Valencia’s defense held firm.

Mamardashvili made one last incredible stop in the 90th minute, palming away a powerful header.

Then, at last—

The final whistle blew.

Valencia had survived.

Full-time: Rayo Vallecano 1-2 Valencia.

Izan exhaled in relief. His phone exploded with messages.

Sosa (10:30 PM): ”We did it. Four more finals left.”

Izan (10:31 PM): ”Huge win. Proud of you guys.”

Then came another update—

Athletic Bilbao had drawn their game.

Valencia had gained crucial ground in the top-four race.

Komi hugged Izan’s shoulder. ”That was intense. Your team plays with my heart.”

Hori grinned. ”Next game, you’re making popcorn.”

Izan just smiled. This was football. The highs, the lows—the never-ending battle.

And Valencia were one step closer to their dream.