God Of football

Chapter 1028: Bad Guy!

The official got the game back underway, but the only highlight that followed was a mistake by Spain that didn’t even look dangerous at first.

Spain had possession near the halfway line, moving the ball around with the kind of comfort that comes from believing the hardest part of the night is already over.

Pedri dropped deep to receive, opened his body to switch play and then hesitated for just a second too long, something very uncharacteristic of him, but that was all Saudi Arabia needed.

Al-Dawsari flew into the challenge, nicked the ball cleanly and suddenly the entire shape of the match tilted forward before Spain could reset themselves.

The Saudi bench exploded upright, and so did the crowd behind the goal.

One pass went wide, and just a second later, another came straight back inside.

Spain were scrambling now, red shirts retreating instead of stepping forward, and when the cross finally came in from the right, it arrived viciously, whipped in with pace and power.

Al-Faraj attacked it first, and Le Normand reacted late as the ball zoomed past his shoulder towards goal.

Settled in the goal, tensed before lunging and getting a hand to the header, but it was only enough to push it against the underside of the bar, and the rebound bounced down over the line before Cubarsí could hook it away.

For a split second, the Saudi players just stared, wondering if they had really scored after being on the back foot for so long.

But before they could recover, the stadium, or a section of it, mainly the Saudi fans, jumped to their feet.

Then the stadium erupted.

Al-Faraj roared toward the corner flag with both fists clenched while the Saudi supporters lost themselves completely behind the goal, bodies crashing into each other, flags whipping through the air.

And suddenly Atlanta sounded very, very different.

”Saudi Arabia are back in this game!” the commentator shouted above the noise.

”And Spain have gifted them the opening. A loose touch, hesitation in midfield, and now we have a real ending on our hands!”

That was the uncomfortable thing.

Spain had been in control, but suddenly, it was beginning to feel like they were the ones rattled.

The Saudi players sensed it instantly, too, and so after the game began, they tried to play on that.

Every challenge started arriving harder.

Every recovery run carried more belief behind it.

Renard paced the touchline like a man dragging his players higher with every wave of his arm.

Even the Spanish supporters had gone a bit quiet now.

The earlier confidence was thinning into anxious whistles and sharp applause whenever their side kept the ball longer than ten seconds.

And they had every right to be because the World Cup had a history of toppling over football giants.

But if one man had a say in what was happening, it was going to be Izan who became more of a passenger in the game after his goal.

He stood near the halfway line watching Saudi Arabia press upward again, watching Spain rush passes they hadn’t rushed earlier, and somewhere in his expression, something seemed to settle into place.

It was a feeling he was starting to lose grasp of after all his advents.

Excitement!

The feeling of turning hope into despair.

A feeling that he wasn’t the hero of the story, but the person they call to play the bad guy, and at the moment, he could be the bad guy for the Saudi players and their fans.

And as he walked around in thought, Olmo won the ball.

Not elegantly, either, but with pure hunger.

A toe poked in midfield, bodies colliding, the ball bouncing loose and rolling into open grass before Olmo reacted first and lifted his head immediately.

And the second he looked up, he saw Izan already moving.

Not running yet, but he was moving.

Moving.

Like a sprinter leaning into the blocks before the gun.

The Saudi line was high because confidence had pushed them there, but when Olmo threaded the pass, that same confidence became the bane of their existence.

And the stadium rose with it.

”Izan Hernandez Miura is away now....”

The first defender turned to chase and immediately realised the mistake.

Izan’s stride ate the distance too quickly, long and frighteningly smooth, and by the third touch, he was clear through the middle with the voice of tens of thousands in the stadium and possibly billions at home getting louder at once.

The goalkeeper came flying out.

He had to.

But Izan barely seemed interested in him.

Right at the edge of the box, with the keeper charging and the angle collapsing, Izan slowed instead of accelerating.

He did so just slightly, but it was enough.

The hesitation froze the goalkeeper in the middle of his movement for a fraction too long, and that was when Izan touched the ball upward with the outside of his boot.

The ball lifted over the diving keeper’s shoulder while still carrying forward spin, and for one impossible second, everyone inside the stadium watched it hanging there in the air together.

The defender sprinting back threw himself desperately toward the line, but it was too late.

The ball dropped, kissed the underside of the bar and bounced into the net, and the sound that followed felt violent.

Spain erupted to the point that the bench didn’t even know when they got on the pitch.

Red shirts sprinted toward the corner while Saudi players slowed to a stop one by one, hands on hips, staring back toward their own goal with the hollow look of men who had worked themselves back into hope only to have genius rip it away from them again.

”Ohhhh, that is outrageous...” Drury said, almost laughing in disbelief now.

”That is a finish born from the pure arrogance of Izan Hernandez. He is the embodiment of undying.”

Izan didn’t celebrate immediately.

That was the cold part.

He just turned slowly, expression calm, while the noise crashed around him from every side of the stadium, and only when Lamine launched himself onto his back did the smallest grin finally appear.

Saudi Arabia still fought after that because Renard wouldn’t allow anything else.

But the match had changed permanently now.

Their belief had been real before, but now it was wounded.