The ball hit the crossbar with a sound like a gavel striking a judge's desk.
For a split second, time seemed to freeze inside the Benito Villamarín. Sixty thousand people held their breath.
The goalkeeper, Rui Silva, was on his back, staring up helplessly. The defenders were scrambling like ants when their hill is kicked over.
Rio Lance was the only one moving.
The ball bounced down from the bar. It spun viciously on the six-yard box, begging to be cleared.
Pezzella, the Betis center-back, lunged toward it with a desperate slide, trying to hook it away.
Rio didn't think. If he had stopped to think, he would have remembered that his Shooting stat was a measly 52. He would have remembered that he was unbalanced, falling backward, and facing away from the goal.
But instinct—raw, panic-induced instinct—took over.
Rio threw his body into the air. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't the kind of athletic bicycle kick Cristiano Ronaldo would do. It looked more like a man slipping on a banana peel while trying to do karate.
He whipped his right leg up in a scissoring motion.
Connect. Please just connect.
His laces made contact with the spinning ball.
Rio crashed onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. He stared up at the night sky, waiting for the jeers. Waiting for the ball to land in the upper deck.
He scrambled up on his elbows just in time to see the miracle.
His awkward volley had flown past the defender's ear, hit the inside of the right post, bounced across the goalmouth, hit the left post, and finally tumbled across the white line into the side netting.
The net rippled.
For one second, there was absolute silence. The kind of silence that is heavy and suffocating.
Then, the referee blew his whistle and pointed to the center circle.
GOAL.
Rio blinked. "I... I scored?"
The realization hit him like a freight train. He didn't just touch the ball. He didn't just make a pass.
He, Rio Lance, the boy with the square wheels, had just scored his first professional goal against Real Betis in La Liga.
"YESSSSSSSS!"
The scream ripped out of his throat before he could stop it. He scrambled to his feet, adrenaline flooding his system like jet fuel.
Celebration! his brain screamed. Do something cool! Do the knee slide! No, do the backflip! No, do the Siu!
Rio started sprinting toward the corner flag, his mind racing through a catalog of celebrations he had practiced in his bedroom mirror for years. He prepared to jump, to spin, to look like a hero. But he never got the chance.
Before he could even launch himself into the air, a massive weight slammed into him from behind.
"RIO!!!"
It was Dovbyk. The giant Ukrainian striker tackled him with the force of a bear hug, dragging him to the ground.
Then Aleix Garcia landed on top of them. Then Miguel. Then Blind.
Within seconds, Rio was at the bottom of a pile of sweating, screaming men in red and white jerseys. He couldn't move. He could barely breathe. All he could see was grass and the joyful faces of his teammates.
"You crazy kid!" Aleix was screaming, grabbing Rio's head and shaking it. "What a finish! What a garbage, beautiful finish!"
"You pinball wizard!" Yan Couto yelled, slapping Rio on the back.
Rio was laughing so hard he was choking. tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. This is it, he thought. This is the feeling. This is why we run until we vomit. For this moment.
[System Notification!]
[Achievement Unlocked: First Professional Goal]
[Reward: +1000 XP]
[Reward: +2 Shooting]
[Reward: +2 Mental]
[Current Rating: 60 (E+ Rank)]
The pile slowly broke apart. Rio stood up, his kit stained with grass, his hair a mess.
He looked up at the stands. The Betis fans were furious. They were whistling, throwing cups, screaming insults. The same fans who had told him to go back to school. The same fans who had laughed when he slipped.
Rio felt a surge of defiance. He wasn't the scared kid anymore.
He walked toward the sideline where the loudest abuse was coming from. He didn't smile. He didn't dance.
He simply raised his right index finger and pressed it to his lips.
Shhhhh!
The gesture was simple.
The stadium erupted in a fresh wave of boos, but Rio didn't care. He turned around, pointing to the name on the back of his jersey. LANCE.
Remember the name, he thought.
Hand_Of_King: HAHAHA! The disrespect! The audacity! I love it! Shush them all, Rio! Silence the library!
Dinho_Magic_10: The goal was ugly but the celebration? 10/10. You have style, little cheetah.
King_10: Humility is a virtue... but sometimes, a little fire is necessary. Well done.
On the sideline, Coach Michel was clapping. He stood with his hands in his pockets, a look of profound relief washing over his face. He turned to his assistant.
"I told you," Michel said, though his voice shook slightly. "I told you speed kills. Even if it's clumsy speed."
"He was falling over when he hit it," the assistant laughed, marking the goal on his clipboard.
"Details," Michel waved a hand. "It's 1-0. Now, we survive."
The match restarted. And the mood changed instantly.
"Attack! Kill them!" the Betis captain roared.
The last ten minutes of the game were a siege. Rio didn't touch the ball in the attacking half again. He became a second left-back.
Minute 88. Fekir dribbled past Aleix Garcia. He wound up a shot from the edge of the box. Rio, seeing the danger, abandoned his position and threw his body in the way.
The ball smashed into Rio's ribs. It hurt like hell, knocking the wind out of him, but the ball deflected wide.
"Good block, Rio!" Gazzaniga shouted from the goal, punching the air.
Minute 90+2.
A corner kick for Betis. Even their goalkeeper came up. The box was crowded. Rio was marking a man twice his size.
"Don't let him jump!" Mateo screamed from the bench.
The ball floated in. Rio didn't try to win the header. He just backed into his opponent, making it awkward. The header went wide.
Minute 90+5.
The referee checked his watch. He put the whistle to his lips.
Pheeeeeeeeeeee-WEEEEET!
The sound was sweeter than any music Rio had ever heard.
Rio collapsed to his knees. His legs gave out. He was completely, utterly empty.
FULL TIME: Real Betis 0 - 1 Girona FC
Goalscorer: Rio Lance (82')
Mateo sprinted onto the pitch from the bench, ignoring the stewards. He tackled Rio again, rolling him onto the grass.
"You did it! You actually did it!" Mateo was screaming, his eyes wide. "We won! In Seville! And you scored!"
Rio stared up at the stadium lights, panting.
"Did you see it? Did you see the bounce?"
"I saw it hit everything but the hotdog vendor!" Mateo laughed. "It was the ugliest goal in history! But who cares?!"
The First Team players came over. Stuani, the veteran, pulled Rio up and ruffled his hair.
"You bought yourself a dinner, kid," Stuani grinned. "And maybe a new pair of boots. Those neon pink ones are lucky, but they are hideous."
"I like them," Rio grinned weakly.
As they walked toward the tunnel, the Betis fans were leaving, grumbling and cursing. But a small section high up in the corner—the traveling Girona fans—were chanting.
It was faint, but Rio heard it.
"Rio! Rio! Rio!"
Total_Football_14: Listen to that sound, Rio. That is the drug. Once you taste it, you can never go back. Tonight, you are the King of Girona.
Zizou_5: Enjoy the night. But remember, the goal was 90% luck and 10% instinct. Tomorrow, we work on making it 100% skill.
Rio walked into the tunnel, the cool air hitting his sweaty skin. His ribs ached from the block. His shin was bruised from the tackle. His feet were blistered. He had never felt better.
Inside the locker room, the celebration was chaos. Someone had turned the music up to maximum volume. Water bottles were being sprayed everywhere.
Michel walked into the center of the room. The music lowered slightly.
"Gentlemen," Michel said, looking at his exhausted team. "That was ugly. That was messy. We defended like scared rabbits for half the game."
He paused. A smile broke across his face.
"But we got the three points! VAMOS!"
"VAMOS!" the team roared back.
Michel looked at Rio, who was sitting in the corner, trying to untie his laces with shaking hands.
"Lance," Michel called out.
The room went quiet.
"Get up," Michel said.
Rio stood up, nervous. "Yes, Coach?"
Michel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, ceremonial pin—the Man of the Match pin given by the broadcasters.
"They wanted to give this to Isco because he completed 100 passes," Michel said, tossing the pin to Rio. Rio caught it, fumbling slightly. "But you scored the winner. Keep it. Put it on your shelf. And don't ever expect me to play you for 90 minutes until you learn how to pass the damn ball."
The locker room erupted in laughter.
"Yes, Coach!" Rio beamed, clutching the pin.
[System Notification!]
[Quest Complete: The Debut]
[Reward: Daily Roulette Spin (Instant Unlock)]
[Quest Progress: The Sleeping Giant (25%)]
Rio looked at the notification. His brother. Leo.
He quickly grabbed his phone. He had a hundred messages. One from his mom (crying emojis). One from his dad (a video of the TV screen screaming).
And one from Leo.
Leo: Saw the goal. You hit it with your shin. Total luck. But the 'shhh' celebration was cold. 6/10.
Rio laughed. A 6/10 from Leo was basically a standing ovation.
"Hey, rookie!" Daley Blind called out. "Put your phone away! We are going to take a team photo!"
Rio ran to join the group. He squeezed in between Stuani and Gazzaniga.
"Say 'Champions League'!" someone shouted.
"CHAMPIONS LEAGUE!"
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A/N: Rio finally got his goal! Even if it was a total pinball mess.