Striker of The Gods

Saturday, 30th March 2034 : 18:40 CET

Estadio de Mendizorrotza, Vitoria-Gasteiz

Mendizorrotza was full long before the players entered the pitch.

Blue and red flags moved through the stands. Scarves hung from balconies. The supporters of Deportivo Alavés knew what was coming, and for weeks their coaching staff had prepared for it.

They had studied Caos.

They had studied Real Madrid.

They had studied every match they could find.

And they had built something specifically for him.

A 5–4–1.

Not a passive defensive block. Something far more aggressive.

Three players would collapse on Caos whenever he received the ball. The wing-backs would press high. Tactical fouls would be used before he could accelerate. The midfield would counter-press immediately after every lost possession.

And when the ball was recovered—

Long.

Fast.

Direct.

Alavés did not intend to give Caos time to breathe.

The crowd understood the plan.

They sang louder.

They wanted their team to make the impossible uncomfortable.

MEDIA

#AlavesVsCaos was trending #1 in Spain, with approximately 6.7 million posts in 36 hours.@Marca:

“Alavés has prepared a completely different tactical approach for Caos. The plan is aggressive, compact, and designed around constant pressure.”

@TheAthletic:

“Caos has scored 19, 18, and 17 goals in recent matches. Alavés believes its defensive structure can disrupt his rhythm.”

A training clip of Caos appeared across social media.

He accelerated through the forest at approximately 500 mph.

Then came the strike.

The ball left his foot at extraordinary speed.

Another clip showed him inside the Triassic training simulation, surrounded by enormous prehistoric creatures.

The caption spread everywhere:

“New tactics are useful. Caos trains against monsters.”

BEFORE THE KICKOFF

Inside the Alavés dressing room, Luis Rioja tightened his boots and looked around at his teammates.

Nobody was laughing.

Nobody was pretending this would be easy.

Luis Rioja:

“We know what he can do. We have all seen it. But this is Mendizorrotza.”

He stood and pulled his shirt straight.

“We make him uncomfortable. We stay together. If he breaks through one line, another one is already there. Nobody stops running.”

Across the room, Abde nodded.

Abde:

“He has destroyed everyone who tried to play normally against him.”

He glanced toward the tunnel.

“So we don’t play normally.”

The room went quiet.

“We make it chaotic.”

THE DRESSING ROOM

Caos sat quietly while the final preparations were made.

His boots were already tied.

His white shirt carried the Real Madrid crest across his chest.

There was no nervous movement.

No unnecessary speech.

Mbappé approached him and leaned against the locker beside him.

Mbappé:

“They’re going to suffocate you.”

Caos looked up.

Mbappé smiled slightly.

Mbappé:

“So don’t give them the same player they studied.”

Caos understood.

Caos:

“They prepared for what I was.”

Mbappé nodded.

“Exactly.”

THE TUNNEL.

Xabi Alonso found Caos before the teams walked out.

He placed one hand against Caos’s shoulder.

Xabi Alonso:

“They have changed their approach.”

Caos looked toward the pitch.

Caos:

“Then I’ll change mine.”

Xabi smiled.

Xabi Alonso:

“Good. Don’t force the match. Read it first.”

Caos nodded once.

Then the tunnel doors opened.

The sound from Mendizorrotza struck them immediately.

THE PRIVATE BOX

High above the pitch, Zeraphina, Keyla, and Michaela watched the players emerge.

Zeraphina’s hand rested over her growing belly.

She watched Alavés’s players spread across the field.

Zeraphina:

“They’ve spent weeks preparing for him.”

Keyla leaned forward against the glass.

Keyla:

“And they really believe they’ve found something.”

Michaela smiled faintly.

Michaela:

“They’ve found a strategy.”

She looked toward Caos.

“They haven’t found the answer.”

Zeraphina’s eyes remained on him.

Zeraphina:

“Let’s see what he does with it.”

THE MATCH

The whistle sounded.

Alavés attacked immediately.

No hesitation.

Their five defenders stayed narrow. The midfield four moved aggressively toward the ball. Whenever Caos drifted into their half, three players moved with him.

The first time he touched the ball, two defenders closed from either side.

The third arrived half a second later.

Caos released it.

The crowd roared.

The second time, they fouled him.

The third time, they forced him backward.

The fourth time, he tried to accelerate.

The wing-back stepped across his path.

Caos stopped.

For the first time in several matches, Real Madrid were being denied their preferred rhythm.

The La Liga commentator noticed immediately.

La Liga Commentator:

“Alavés have come with a very specific plan. They are not allowing Caos to receive the ball facing forward. Three players are moving toward him almost every time, and they are committing tactical fouls before he can reach full speed.”

Another Real Madrid attack broke down.

The supporters erupted.

Thirty minutes passed.

Then thirty-one.

Then thirty-two.

Alavés continued.

Their players ran themselves into the ground.

Caos had been forced into narrow spaces, surrounded, kicked, pushed, and denied the open field.

At the thirty-third minute, Caos stood near the halfway line.

He looked at the defensive shape.

Five at the back.

Four ahead of them.

Three players waiting for him.

He slowly breathed in.

Then he looked toward the sky.

His expression changed.

For a brief moment, he thought of his mother.

He said nothing.

He simply lowered his head.

And ran.

33RD MINUTE

500 mph.

The first defender never saw him leave.

The second tried to turn.

The third reached for him.

Too late.

Caos activated the Triassic Vortex.

His movement became a violent spiral through the defensive structure. Three defenders collided with each other as he changed direction twice in less than a second.

He crossed the halfway line.

Then the next.

Then he reached 77 meters from goal.

He planted his foot.

The strike came immediately.

350,000 Newtons.

The ball accelerated toward the goal at approximately 837 km/h.

The goalkeeper barely moved.

The net exploded backward.

1–0.

Mendizorrotza went silent for a heartbeat.

Then the Real Madrid supporters erupted.

The La Liga commentator shouted:

La Liga Commentator:

“GOAL!”

He paused, almost stunned by what he had just witnessed.

“Caos has finally broken the Alavés structure! Thirty-three minutes of pressure, triple marking, tactical fouls—and one opening was enough!”

Caos turned away from goal.

He did not celebrate wildly.

He looked toward the sky again.

Then touched his chest.

They did not retreat.

Their coach demanded more aggression.

The midfield pushed higher.

The wing-backs advanced.

The defensive line followed.

It created exactly what Caos wanted.

Space.

He began attacking the gaps between the three defenders.

The second goal came from a Plateo Crush.

Caos struck the ground.

A seismic shock traveled through the pitch.

The defensive line lost its balance for an instant.

That instant was enough.

Caos collected the ball and finished.

2–0.

Two minutes later—

3–0.

Then—

4–0.

Alavés tried to return to the triple-marking structure.

Caos moved wider.

They followed.

He moved inside.

They followed.

He suddenly accelerated through the center.

They could not.

18th Goal

The match had become completely different.

Alavés were still fighting.

Their players continued running.

They continued tackling.

They continued attempting long counterattacks.

But Caos had adapted to every adjustment.

His Herrera Snap produced another goal.

A 500-mph sprint produced another.

A shot from outside the penalty area produced another.

Then another.

And another.

By the end of the first half, Caos had scored 16 goals.

Real Madrid led:

The Alavés supporters were stunned.

Yet their players still walked toward the dressing room together.

Nobody had quit.

Real Madrid returned first.

Caos stood near the center circle.

Xabi Alonso approached him.

Xabi Alonso:

“They’ll change again.”

Caos nodded.

Caos:

“I know.”

Xabi looked toward the Alavés players.

Xabi Alonso:

“What did you learn?”

Caos watched the defenders.

Caos:

“They react to me.”

A pause.

“So I’ll make them react to something else.”

Xabi smiled.

Xabi Alonso:

“Then play.”

The second half became less predictable.

Caos stopped attacking only through speed.

He began manipulating the defensive structure.

A short pass here.

A sudden acceleration there.

A backheel.

A switch of direction.

A run that pulled three defenders away from Mbappé.

An assist.

Then another.

Then another.

The match had become a laboratory.

And Caos was changing the experiment every few minutes.

Late in the second half, the ball rose above the penalty area.

Caos turned his body.

He jumped.

For a fraction of a second, his body was almost horizontal.

Then—

63 feet above the ground.

He performed the chilena.

His foot struck the ball with perfect timing.

The shot screamed toward the upper corner.

GOAL.

The La Liga commentator raised his voice.

La Liga Commentator:

“What a finish! Sixty-three feet in the air! Caos has turned an impossible ball into another goal!”

Caos landed.

Instead of celebrating, he looked toward the private box.

Zeraphina stood with one hand over her belly.

Leonor’s child.

And the child growing inside Zeraphina.

Two futures.

Two lives.

Two children who would one day know the man standing beneath them.

Caos touched his chest.

Then pointed toward them.

The score was already enormous.

But Alavés continued attacking.

A late counterattack finally caught Real Madrid’s defense exposed.

The finish went into the corner.

25–1.

Mendizorrotza erupted.

Their supporters celebrated as though they had won the match.

Caos watched from the halfway line.

He smiled.

A few minutes later, Alavés scored again.

25–2.

The final whistle came shortly afterward.

Deportivo Alavés 2–25 Real Madrid

Caos:

19 goals6 assists39th consecutive Man of the Match award in all competitionsThe players slowly walked across the pitch.

Caos remained near the center circle.

He looked upward.

His right index finger rose toward the sky.

His left fist pressed against his chest.

For his mother.

For his father.

For everything that had happened before this night.

The stadium lights reflected across the wet grass.

Then Caos lowered his hand.

POST MATCH

At the private exit, Zeraphina, Keyla, and Michaela waited for him.

Zeraphina stepped forward first.

Caos looked at her belly before looking into her eyes.

She smiled.

Zeraphina:

“Nineteen goals.”

She shook her head slowly.

“I don’t even know what number you’re trying to reach anymore.”

Caos laughed quietly.

Caos:

“Neither do I.”

Zeraphina placed her hand against his chest.

Zeraphina:

“The entire football world is going to talk about this match.”

Caos looked down at her hand.

Caos:

“Let them.”

His expression softened.

Then he placed his hand over her belly.

Caos:

“This wasn’t for them.”

Zeraphina watched him carefully.

Caos:

“It was for you.”

His eyes moved toward the other two women.

“And for Keyla. For Michaela. For Leonor. For the children.”

He paused.

“I want them to inherit something better than a name.”

Zeraphina’s expression became gentler.

Zeraphina:

“And what do you want them to inherit?”

Caos looked toward the stadium behind them.

“The freedom to become whoever they choose.”

Keyla smiled.

Keyla:

“Even if they become terrible footballers?”

Caos laughed.

Caos:

“Especially then.”

Michaela laughed beside her.

The tension finally broke.

For the first time that evening, Caos looked completely relaxed.

The nineteenth La Liga match had ended.

Alavés had prepared for weeks.

They had triple-marked him.

Fouled him.

Pressed him.

Changed their shape.

Changed it again.

For thirty-three minutes, their plan worked.

Then Caos understood it.

And once he understood it, the match changed.

25–2.

Nineteen goals.

Six assists.

Another record.

Another night.

Another opponent forced to invent something new.

And Caos was already thinking about what came next.

To be continued…