Mexico City, May 18, 2025Azteca Stadium - Clausura Tournament Final
Marco Antonio Durán was twenty-six years old, ran a taco stand that barely provided him with enough to survive, and had a heart that beat exclusively sky blue. Tonight, after twenty-three years of cosmic suffering, Cruz Azul was about to break the curse.
Eighty-nine minutes and thirty seconds. Cruz Azul 2 - América 1.
"Holy shit, holy shit, HOLY SHIT!" Marco shouted from his spot in the general admission section, clutching his cousin Toño, a complete stranger who was now his brother in arms. Tears were already streaming down his dark face. "This is real, bro! THIS IS REAL!"
His phone vibrated. It was his mother: "Son, if they win, promise me you'll find a girlfriend right away ? "
Marco didn't even read the whole message. His eyes were fixed on the field, where the sky-blue players were defending with all their heart and soul. The clock read 89:47.
"Thirty seconds," Marco whispered, crossing himself three times. "Saint Lupita, Virgin Mary, all the saints in heaven... just thirty seconds."
Fate, however, had other plans.
In the 90+2 minute, a cross from América. Marco felt his stomach turn to lead.
"No..."
The ball soared through the air in slow motion, or at least that's how Marco perceived it. A header. The ball kissed the post, bounced...
"NOOOOOOO!"
...and went in.
2-2.
The entire stadium fell into a deathly silence for three seconds. Then it erupted: half in yellow jubilation, the other half in blue lament.
Marco felt something inside him break. It wasn't metaphorical. He literally felt a snap in his chest.
"Bro, are you okay?" Toño asked, but his voice sounded distant, as if it came from another universe.
"It's just... it's just..." Marco put his hand to his chest. His heart was beating erratically. "There were... thirty... seconds left..."
The giant screen showed the replay. America's goal over and over again, as if the universe were enjoying its torment.
The referee blew the whistle for extra time. But Marco wasn't paying attention anymore. The pain in his chest was intensifying.
"It can't be..." he muttered, a wry smile spreading across his sweaty face. "I'm going to have a heart attack... because of that damn Cruz Azul..."
"WHAT?" Toño grabbed him by the shoulders. "Marco, it's not funny!"
"It's just that..." Marco started laughing, a hysterical, demented laugh. "It's perfectly appropriate, don't you think? Twenty-three years... twenty-three years of waiting... and when there are THIRTY SECONDS left..."
His laughter turned into a cough. The people around him were beginning to notice that something was wrong.
"Someone call an ambulance!" someone shouted.
Marco fell to his knees, still staring at the screen where the match statistics were now displayed. 94% possession in the last five minutes for Cruz Azul. A 99% probability of winning.
"One... percent..." Marco gasped. "That one percent killed me..."
The stadium lights began to dim. The last thing he heard was the final whistle of extra time. A draw. It would go to penalties.
"Of course it's going to penalties," Marco whispered with his last breath, a resigned smile on his face. "Damn my Cruz Azul luck..."
And then, everything went black.
Death Certificate - General HospitalCause of death: Acute myocardial infarction due to extreme emotional stressAdditional notes: Patient experienced a fatal arrhythmia following a sporting event. Statistical probability of death due to a sporting cause: 0.8%. Unusual case for medical records.
What Marco didn't know was that his death, absurd and tragicomic as it was, had triggered something. Somewhere beyond time and space, an ancient system like the multiverse itself registered an anomaly:
DEATH DUE TO EXTREME IMPROBABILITY DETECTEDQUALIFIED CANDIDATE FOR TRANSFERINITIATING MULTIVERSAL REINCARNATION PROTOCOLASSIGNED DESTINATION: MIDDLE-EARTH - SECOND ERAREASON: The universe owes him compensation for all that accumulated bad luck
When Marco Antonio Durán woke up, he was no longer at the Azteca Stadium.
He was lying in a field of impossibly green grass, under a sky bluer than he had ever seen, with two suns on the horizon.
"What the hell...?" he murmured, feeling his chest. No pain. No heart attack. "Did I die?"
A mechanical voice, laden with sarcasm, echoed in his mind:
[Welcome, Marco Antonio Durán. Yes, you died. And in the most pathetic way possible, I must add. A sporting draw. Truly, your species never ceases to amaze me.]
Marco sat up abruptly, turning his head in all directions.
"Who said that? Where am I? Is this heaven? Because if heaven has grass and sunshine, I was sold the wrong image in catechism..."
[This isn't heaven. This is Middle-earth. Second Age. And I'm TARS, your new assistant in what promises to be a significantly more interesting existence than selling tacos and dying for a football match.]
Marco blinked. Then he scratched his head.
"Wow... either I'm hallucinating in my agony, or... Middle-earth? Like in The Lord of the Rings?"
[Correct. I see your education wasn't completely useless.]
"So what the hell am I doing here?"
[That's the right question, Marco. But first... are you hungry? Because I understand that humans in your dimension are always hungry.]
Marco's stomach growled in response, and despite the absurdity of the situation, he couldn't help but smile.
"Well... at least I don't have to watch Cruz Azul lose on penalties anymore..."
[Optimism. Interesting. You're going to need it.]
And so, in a green field of a land that was not his own, after dying in the most ridiculous way possible, Marco Antonio Durán was about to discover that his true adventure was just beginning.
An adventure that would involve elves, dwarves, wizards, rings of power...
...and a store that connected all possible universes.
But that's a story for the next chapter.
[END OF CHAPTER 1]