God Of football

Chapter 251: Five Finals. [Real Sociedad:5]

The tunnel at the Reale Arena was a pressure cooker. The air was thick with tension, the distant hum of the crowd vibrating through the concrete walls. The supposed third final moment had arrived.

Valencia players stood shoulder to shoulder, adjusting their socks, rolling their shoulders, trading last-minute words of encouragement.

José Gayà, the captain, ran a hand through his hair before turning to the team. ”This is ours. We fight for every ball, every inch. They won’t hand us anything.”

Beside him, Javi Guerra bounced on the balls of his feet, his fingers drumming against his thighs. Behind, Hugo Guillamón exhaled slowly, his mind already processing passing lanes and defensive cover.

Soda who had formed a midfield trio with Guerra and Guillamon stood behind the latter, his face showing some slight signs of nervousness

Wanting to get rid of that, Sosa nudged Fran Pérez causing the latter to turn towards him.”You ready?”

Fran cracked a small grin at Sosa before replying. ”Always.”

Across the tunnel, Real Sociedad’s players were just as intense. Mikel Merino cracked his neck, his gaze sharp.

Martín Zubimendi clapped his hands together. ”Let’s make them suffer for it. Just like they did us in their Copa del Rey title win” he said like a petty child.

From the touchline, Baraja watched his team emerge onto the field, his expression unreadable. Inside, his heart pounded. This was it.

The stadium erupted as the teams stepped onto the grass. Blue and white flags rippled through the stands as the Sociedad faithful belted out their club anthem.

In the away section, Valencia’s traveling fans made their voices heard, defiant against the sea of hostility.

Among them was a massive banner: ”VOLVEMOS A EUROPA” (We’re returning to Europe).

Izan sat on the bench, clad in his warm-up gear, his knee wrapped for extra protection. He felt the energy, the weight of the moment.

”Would be nice to play today” he muttered loudly causing Pietro to turn towards him. The latter stared at Izan before gesturing towards Luis Navarro who had traveled with the team for fear of Baraja playing Izan.

Izan shook his head in understanding before returning his gaze to the pitch.

” Good evening people, it’s a cold evening here in the Basque Country. And it’s Valencia going against Real Sociedad here at Anoeta Stadium.

A very exciting fixture especially when it entails the possibility of qualifying for European football.

Valencia have a whole lot to play for so let’s see if Real Sociedad will make them work for it. My name is Jose Alina and we are seconds from kickoff ”

From the onset, Real Sociedad pressed hard, pinning Valencia back. Their midfield moved like clockwork, cutting off passing lanes, suffocating every attempt from Valencia to build from the back.

Valencia, on the other hand, were not going to take it while lying down but it proved difficult to escape Sociedad’s aggressive press.

Once such situation occurred In the seventh minute when Mikel Oyarzabal found space down the left after forcing a mistake out of Valencia.

Reaching the byline, the Spanish forward glanced up and curled a dangerous cross into the box. The Valencia players rushed to clear it but Takefusa Kubo appeared suddenly and met it first time.

The ball shot towards goal, the gazes of the Valencia players all turning towards the direction of the ball.

Giorgi Mamardashvili, tensed a bit as the ball came towards him before he flew to his left, fingertips brushing the ball just enough to send it onto the post.

The rebound fell to Brais Méndez but his shot was blocked by Mark.

The Valencia fans sighed out in relief that the score was still goalless. They knew that if something didn’t change in their team, they would soon be on the back foot.

On the touchline, Baraja kept barking instructions but his voice was drowned in the noise of the stadium.”Settle! Keep the ball!”

Perhaps struck by the realization that they might lose even before the game ended, the Valencia players came back to their senses.

Guerra and Guillamón started winning the battles in midfield, feeding Diego Lopez and Fran Pérez out wide.

In pure attacking fashion, both teams went at it with an attack beginning as soon as it ended at the other end yet, no one could still break the deadlock.

That was until the 18th minute when Fran Pérez played a one-two with Diego López before whipping in a cross.

The Real Sociedad full-back tried to force Lopez outside the box but with some deft touches and a nice change of pace, Diego Lopez went around the latter and whipped in a cross into the box.

The ball curled toward the far post, with most of the Real Sociedad players breathing in relief but that was until Sosa appeared at the far end.

Seeing as the angle was bad for a shot, Sosa controlled the ball before faking the Sociedad left back.

”Sosa!!” Hugo Duro shouted as he gestured for the ball. Without much deliberation, Sosa sent the ball towards Duro who curled it past the outstretched palms of Alex Remiro.

GOOOOOOAAAAAAAAL!

Silence rang through the stadium, save for the shouts of Pure euphoria from the Valencia bench and fans.

” Nice pass from Sosa, Lovely finish from Hugo Duro. Even without their talisman, Valencia have proved relentless and it is showing by their goal right now.”

Hugo Duro sprinted toward the away section, kissing the badge, fists pumping. The traveling fans roared in approval as he pumped his fists in their direction.

After the restart, Valencia now led but Sociedad weren’t folding.

In the 27th minute, Garcia went in late on Guillamón, their legs meeting in a sharp impact causing the Valencia midfielder to fold on the ground, clutching his shin.

The referee blew his whistle and issued a Yellow card. Baraja stood on the touchline, tense after Guillamon didn’t stand up for a while.

But after a moment, Guillamón, grimacing, got up and shook his head, running off the fall he took.

Baraja paced near the sideline, shouting at the referee to be more vigilant and strict but all he got was a warning from the fourth official.

After the free kick, Real Sociedad kept turning up the heat. Oyarzabal and Kubo kept probing, their movements, relentless and Marmadashvilli faced the brunt of it with the duo combining for a total of 5 shots taken in a few minutes.

After this episode, Valencia tried to turn momentum and Zubimendi had been watching, waiting.

Valencia’s defensive line pushed a fraction too high, a crack in their armor causing Zubimendi to go on the offense.

Without hesitation, he lifted his head and sent a chipped pass so precise it felt like poetry in motion, sailing over Valencia’s scrambling defense.

Méndez, already sprinting between the center-backs, read it perfectly. With deft movements, he took it on his chest, absorbing the weight of the ball while the defenders lunged in desperation. But it was too late.

One bounce. A sharp pivot. Then a ferocious strike followed.

The ball rocketed past Mamardashvili, grazing the fingertips of his outstretched glove before slamming into the net.

BOOM.

The Reale Arena erupted into bedlam.

San Sebastián roared like a storm had been unleashed, the kind of noise that made the air tremble, that shook bones and rattled hearts.

Flares lit up the night. Scarves whirled in a frenzy. Fans leaped onto seats, arms raised to the heavens as the Real Sociedad fans celebrated their equalizer.

Méndez tore away in celebration, pounding his chest, and screaming at the sky before sliding near the corner where his teammates started piling onto him.

On the Valencia bench, Izan exhaled sharply, his heart pounding.

Beside him, Mouctar muttered a curse under his breath, rubbing his hands over his face. The entire Valencia dugout sat in stunned silence, their lead now taken away.

Baraja clenched his jaw, arms folded tightly across his chest. He knew it had been coming. Sociedad had been circling like sharks, and now they’d found their bite.

On the pitch, Gaya picked up the ball from the net and shouted at his teammates to reset. Mamardashvili, still on one knee, stared at the goal in frustration before slamming the turf with his glove.

....

Takefusa Kubo had been Valencia’s biggest headache all night, twisting and weaving through spaces that barely existed. But Gayà had had enough.

When Kubo danced toward the left flank for the umpteenth time that match, the Valencia captain timed his challenge to perfection.

He slid in, boots skimming the grass, slicing through the ball, and taking just enough of Kubo to send him tumbling.

The Reale Arena erupted in fury.

Sociedad players swarmed the referee. Zubimendi shouted, arms flailing while Mikel Merino pointed to the turf, demanding an explanation.

Kubo, still on the ground, smacked his palm against the grass in frustration and pain while Gayà stood calmly—he knew the tackle was clean. But he also knew what was coming.

The referee didn’t hesitate. Yellow card.

Gayà accepted it with a nod, barely reacting before he turned and jogged back into position, already resetting his mind.

Juno now standing, walked to the ball and took a quick free kick but his pass forward was smothered by Marmadashvilli who spotted Sosa.

Sosa had been waiting for his moment.