God Of football

Chapter 1060: Fleeting!

......

Time was fleeting.

Ball after ball and shot after shot, the two sides contested it, playing almost equally despite one side having something almost supernatural playing for them.

But maybe it wasn't just one side.

By the time the clock crept toward the eighty-fifth minute, every second seemed to grow heavier, as though the match itself were reluctant to let another one pass.

Around AT&T Stadium, Tens of thousands of Spanish supporters stood rather than sat, as though remaining on their feet might somehow help their team find the goal they needed.

But it wasn't just in the stadium.

The same tension had spread beyond Dallas.

In Madrid, bars that had been loud earlier in the evening had fallen strangely quiet.

Families crowded around televisions in living rooms, refusing to look away.

In Barcelona, Valencia and Seville, people watched from cafés and terraces, cups left untouched on tables as the minutes disappeared.

Even those who had never cared much for either nation had found themselves watching.

There was simply too much at stake.

After Portugal took the lead, there was hope, despite a lot of people feeling like the referee had caved under the weight of the match, awarding Portugal a penalty that a lot of eyes had seen and deemed unworthy to be called such, but it was what it was.

Back inside the stadium, the broadcast cameras found a young Spanish supporter sitting near the front rows.

He couldn't have been more than seven or eight, but he also looked to be sharing the burden of his nation.

A Spanish shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, and tucked beneath one arm was a small plush toy wearing what looked suspiciously like a miniature version of Izan's usual hairstyle.

But the boy wasn't smiling anymore.

His eyes remained fixed on the pitch, wide and glossy, fighting against tears that had already begun gathering along his lower eyelids.

His mother reached over and placed a hand against his shoulder, but he didn't look at her.

All he could see was the pitch, and on that pitch, his heroes were losing.

Around him, other Spanish supporters were in much the same state.

Some tried to shout, trying to pull themselves into the game, but it was easier said than done.

Trying to gather words in that state felt like climbing a mountain that one wasn't supposed to climb.

A few held their heads between their hands, while others stared at the scoreboard as though willing the numbers to change.

85:00.

Five minutes.

That was all that remained of the clock, barring added time.

Five minutes before the possibility of extra time or five minutes before the possibility of going home.

On the opposite side of the stadium, the Portuguese supporters were celebrating far less than one might expect from a team leading a World Cup knockout match.

They sang, certainly, and they waved their flags.

But every time Spain crossed the halfway line, the songs became quieter.

Nobody believed it was over.

Not yet.

Portugal had Ronaldo.

Spain had Izan.

And with those two still on the pitch, one goal could change everything.

With the fans stuck in that delirium, the cameras returned to the field just as another Spanish attack collapsed.

Nico Williams had found a pocket outside the box and taken his chance without hesitation.

The shot was vicious, but Diogo Costa got across and beat it away.

From behind, Izan slowed several yards outside the area, watching the rebound disappear toward the flank.

His chest rose and fell until his vision flickered.

[85:00]

The system's notification appeared and vanished almost as quickly.

Izan stared ahead, and now it was different.

At first, it had just been a few players, but now, the entire Portuguese team carried that strange intensity around them.

[AWAKENED]

It hovered above one player after another.

Bruno.

Vitinha.

Nuno Mendes.

Rúben Dias.

Diogo Costa and even the most recent additions like Rafael Leao and then Bernardo Silva.

Portugal hadn't dropped.

If anything, they seemed to have grown more difficult to break.

Izan looked around at his players too and found Pedri was staring at him.

Olmo was too.

Then Rodri.

Then Lamine.

There was something in their eyes that didn't need to be spoken, but at the same time, it said everything.

Do something.

Izan swallowed, and for the first time in a while, the heavy expectations that he usually replied to with a goal or an assist were starting to get to him.

He looked toward the Portuguese penalty area and then toward Ronaldo, who was beckoning his mates to stay switched on.

Opposite that, Nico Williams walked toward the corner flag, and Izan followed, but then he stopped.

If Spain were going to find something, perhaps it had to come from something this simple.

A corner.

A header.

A deflection.

Anything.

With that, he turned and stepped into the box and almost immediately, another figure followed him.

Cristiano Ronaldo.

Izan glanced sideways, and when he met the gaze of one of football's greatest treasures, Ronaldo smiled.

"There was never going to be an easy way out."

Izan blinked, as though the words had pulled him out of his thoughts.

He then turned and nodded towards Ronaldo before answering, "No."

Ronaldo nodded at Izan's response, but then his expression changed, his smile fading into something more serious than it had been a few moments ago.

"This won't be your last," he said into Izan's ear and to that, Izan didn't reply.

Ronaldo looked around the penalty area and then back at him.

"Unfortunately for me..."

His voice dropped.

"...this one is."

After that, he looked towards Nico, and Izan could almost hear him gnashing his teeth.

"I'm not letting anyone take it from me."

Izan listened for a second more, but then Nico raised his hand and the stadium noise climbed.

Spanish supporters rose behind the goal, as the Portuguese defenders tightened their positions, and in the next moment, Nico Williams took the corner.

He swung his right foot through the ball and the delivery climbed high over the first wave of players before beginning to dip toward the heart of the penalty area.

Bodies collided beneath it as arms fought for position and boots searched for stable ground to lunge off, but then two figures rose above everyone else.

Ronaldo and Izan, almost in tandem.