From the very first moments after kick-off, the change was undeniable.
Bastard München had made their decision.
Lionel Messi would not breathe again.
Two shadows followed him everywhere.
Relentlessly.
One stepped when he stepped.
Another closed passing lanes before they even formed.
Even when he walked…
They walked with him.
Raphael leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"They're not just pressing him," he murmured.
"They're containing his existence."
Beside him, Oscar nodded once.
"They've accepted something," he said quietly.
"That they can't stop him once he starts…"
His gaze sharpened.
"So, they won't let him start at all."
It worked.
But like every decision at this level,
it came with a price.
Space.
And that space…
belonged to Lavinho.
The ball shifted wide and Lavinho received it.
This time
no suffocating pressure.No immediate collapse. Just one defender. Another arriving late.
A mistake.
Lavinho smiled.
And the game tilted.
His touches came alive. Loose. Fluid. Unpredictable.
A step-over melted into a body feint.
A drag-back snapped into acceleration.
He slipped between two players like water through cracks.
The crowd rose with him.
Raphael's eyes lit up.
"They're giving him too much freedom…"
Lavinho surged into the final third.
One defender left. A cut inside, space opened. The angle appeared.
He shot.
Blocked.
A groan rippled through the stadium.
Raphael whispered, frustration creeping in,
"He gets there… but his end product isn't clinical enough."
And the pattern repeated.
Lavinho dazzled.
Lavinho broke lines.
Lavinho reached the edge of danger.
And then
it ended.
A pass slightly off. A shot half a second late.
A decision just… not enough.
"They don't fear him the same way," Oscar said.
"They respect him. But not enough."
His eyes flicked toward Messi, still tightly marked.
"…In the worst case, they believe he's the lesser of the two monsters.
The one they'll allow to roam, as long as the other is kept in check."
68′
The rhythm cracked open again. Arjen Robben cut inside sharply. A quick exchange followed
Thomas Müller drifting into space, linking play with effortless precision. The ball moved fast. Suddenly zipped to the left. Franck Ribéry surged forward. Close control. Tight touches.A sudden shift inside.
Sergio Busquets stepped in.
A fraction too late.
Ribéry cut the ball back, but his leg lingered
and Busquets caught his foot.
The whistle pierced the air.
Foul conceded, just outside the box.
Left side. A myriad of plays possible from this one position. The stadium tensed.The ball was placed. And then,
Noel Noa stepped forward.
Raphael blinked.
"He's taking it? I thought Ribéry was the better free-kick taker."
Oscar's eyes narrowed.
"He can strike it with either foot."
"Inside curl, outside curve… even a disguised pass."
The wall shifted. Then shifted again. The goalkeeper hesitated. One step left. Then right. Then still. Indecision knawed at him.
And in that moment,Noa moved.
No run-up theatrics. No hesitation. Just… execution. He struck the ball. Clean. Violent. Precise.
The sound alone cut through the stadium.
The ball rose.
No spin. No arc.
A knuckleball.
It swerved mid-flight.
Unnaturally.
The goalkeeper reacted too late, left to openly gaze the ball stuck in the top right corner of his goal.
Silence.
For a heartbeat.
Then
the away end erupted.
GOAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!
71′
Barcha 2 – 2 Bastard München
(Agg: 2 – 3)
Noa didn't celebrate.
He turned immediately.
And walked back into his position, ready for the next kick off.
Task complete.
Raphael stared.
"…He didn't even look. He was that certain the goal was inevitable."
Oscar's gaze lingered on him.
"That's a finisher with absolute belief in his ability."
74′
Play resumed. But something…
was off.
Oscar leaned forward slightly. Eyes narrowing. Messi moved. But not the same way. A step slower. A fraction heavier. Subtle. But undeniable.
"…That's strange," Oscar murmured.
Raphael didn't notice at first.
His focus still chased the flow of the match.
But Oscar, had seen too much football to miss it.
Messi received the ball.
Turned.
Released it immediately.
No glide.
No pause.
Nothing that expressed who he was, almost as if he'd become passive. But that wasn't the Messi he knew, something must have happen…
Oscar's expression shifted.
"…No."
Something clicked. A realization. "I was wrong."
Raphael glanced at him.
"About what?"
Oscar didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained locked on Messi. Watching. Confirming.
"That goal he scored…" He exhaled slowly.
"…wasn't just flow." Raphael blinked. Oscar's voice dropped. Heavier now.
"It was the Zone."
The word settled between them.
"A state far beyond flow," Oscar continued,
"where everything sharpens perception, reaction, control, physicality, dexterity, shooting and more."
"All pushed beyond their natural limits… to the absolute extreme."
Raphael's mind replayed the goal instantly.
Every touch.
Every impossible adjustment.
"…That's why it felt different," he whispered.
Oscar nodded. "But there's a cost." His gaze hardened.
"And he's paying it now."
On the pitch, Messi slowed again. Hands briefly resting on his hips. Breathing heavier.
"He used it before halftime," Oscar said.
"To ignite the team."
A pause.
"To give them belief."
"But he's not in his prime anymore," Oscar continued quietly.
"The strain…"
His eyes didn't leave Messi.
"…has drained him more than he intended."
Realization settled in.
"…So he's running on fumes?" Raphael asked.
Oscar didn't sugarcoat it.
"Yes."
Silence lingered.
Then Oscar spoke again.
Quieter this time, as if reminiscing.
"I've never reached that state myself."
Raphael looked at him.
"But I've seen someone touch it."
A distant memory flickered in his eyes.
London nights. Blue shirts. Roaring crowds.
"At Chelsea FC…"
"…Eden Hazard."
Raphael leaned in.
"For a brief moment," Oscar continued,
"…he stepped into something close."
A faint smile.
"But only a glimpse, it was too much for even someone like him, who stood on equal footing with the best for a short time."
His gaze returned to the present.
"That level…"
He shook his head slightly.
"…doesn't let many in."
"Only a few players ever reach it," Oscar said.
"The ones who dedicate everything to the game.
Who live it. Breathe it. Obsess over it."
"And even then… it still might not be enough."
"The gains are borderline supernatural
but it demands everything from your body."
His gaze returned to messi on the pitch
"Especially when you're no longer in your prime."
On the pitch, the game raged on.
Faster now.
Harsher.
desperation began creeping in.
At its centre
a fading legend.
a ruthless predator.
and a stage that demanded everything.
Raphael's eyes burned.
Not with awe this time
but understanding.
"So that's the peak…" he whispered.
Not just brilliance.
But Sacrifice.
His fists tightened.
"…These guys really are monsters, but if it was easy, everyone would do it wouldnt they? I can't wait to meet them all.
On the world stage"
(AN, sorry for inconsistency in chapters, and idk if u think this is dragging on, but the match ends in the next chapter, and story should progress from there. I've got it in the works and am just fine tuning it now. Any suggestions or questions please let me know cause I'm not rly sure if I'm doing anything right😅)