Two teams stood ready.
Captains approached the referee for the coin toss as stadium lights illuminated the packed stands of Reeves Stadium. Tens of thousands of fans roared in anticipation.
[System Prompt Detected: Opponent - Chile National Team]
[Rating Initialization...]
[Difficulty Team Star Rating: ★★★]
Romeo Teixeira frowned internally. Only three stars? That wouldn't unlock the top-tier rewards he was hoping for.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when Aguero nudged him hard.
"Hey! Romeo!"
"Huh?" Romeo blinked and looked at him.
"I've called you like three times! Don't tell me you're nervous?"
Aguero raised an eyebrow playfully, teasing the teenager.
From the bench, assistant coach Aimar exchanged worried glances with head coach Carlos. They'd noticed the momentary absentmindedness and read it as nerves.
"Did I make the wrong call?" Carlos muttered under his breath. "He's only nineteen. Maybe starting him right away was too much."
Aimar didn't know how to respond. He too was anxious.
Romeo was talented—no one doubted that—but this was his debut on such a massive stage.
Carlos sighed. "God, take care of the kid."
Back on the pitch, Romeo finally understood Aguero's joke.
"You think I'm the one who's nervous?" Romeo said, a sly grin forming.
Aguero scanned his teammates—most looked tense. But Romeo was actually smiling.
"I was just thinking... what if we kill this game in the first half?"
Aguero snorted. "You're dreaming. Chile's defense is no joke."
Romeo brushed off the comment. "Akun—do you want a hat-trick in the first half?"
Aguero blinked. "Of course! I'd love that. But realistically—"
Romeo cut him off. "Just hang near the box, stay onside, and follow my lead. I'll feed you three. No jokes."
Aguero gave him a suspicious look and reached toward his forehead. "Are you sick or something?"
Romeo slapped his hand away. "If you don't believe me, I'll ask Leo instead."
"Alright, alright! I'll listen!" Aguero laughed. "If I get that hat-trick, I'll shine your boots and call you Dad!"
---
"Both teams are in formation—let's look at the lineups!"
"The reigning Copa America champions, Chile, are playing a 4-3-3."
"Goalkeeper: Bravo. Defenders: Mena, Jara, Medel, Isla. Midfield: Vidal, Marcelo Diaz, Charles Aránguiz. Forwards: Beausejour, Eduardo Vargas, and Alexis Sanchez."
"Now for Argentina! Also in a 4-3-3."
"Goalkeeper: Romero. Defenders: Mercado, Otamendi, Funes Mori, Rojo."
"Midfielders: Mascherano, Pastore, and... wait a second..."
The broadcaster squinted at his sheet. Then gasped.
"Number 7... Romeo Teixeira!"
Shock filled the booth.
"Romeo is only nineteen, and this is his debut! The number 7 jersey isn't handed out lightly—it's iconic. This shows the faith the coach has in him."
"Fans, you're witnessing history. This isn't some local club debut. This is Argentina!"
Online, reactions exploded.
[What?! A teenager wearing Argentina's No. 7?!]
[Doesn't happen unless the kid is something special.]
[He's gonna shut up every critic who doubted him.]
[The guy Yanzu rejected is now Argentina's No. 7... poetic justice.]
[Reminder: Yanzu doesn't believe in talent. They only believe in failure.]
[We finally have someone to believe in—and he's not even playing for us.]
[Anyone still upset he left should rethink their priorities. The kid deserves this stage.]
The stadium buzzed with whispers and gasps as fans waited to see if Romeo would rise to the occasion.
"And leading the front line—No. 10 Messi, No. 9 Aguero, and No. 11 Di Maria."
The referee blew the whistle. The match kicked off.
"Chile opens with possession. Marcelo Diaz threads it to Sanchez—he's charging toward the Argentine defense!"
"Pastore steps in—clean tackle! Argentina takes control."
From the first whistle, Romeo's eyes burned with focus.
This wasn't just a match.
This was his statement to the world.
---