In the 71st minute of the match, Real Oviedo once again had an excellent opportunity.
This time, after a neat combination in midfield between left-back Christian and central midfielder Folch, Christian used pure pace to burn past the opposing right-back and sprinted along the touchline toward the byline. Just before reaching the end line, he lofted a cross into Alcorcón's penalty area.
Actually, the quality of Christian's cross wasn't particularly high—the ball was a bit too floated and lacked pace, which gave the defenders time to set themselves. But this ball was clearly aimed at André.
With this 1.9-meter giant stationed in the box, he was practically a lighthouse.
Alcorcón's two center-backs sandwiched André, one in front and one behind. The one in front was constantly shuffling his feet, judging the trajectory of the ball. Both of them were seasoned veterans. While moving, they were sneakily tugging at André's jersey—not constantly, but enough to tug and release, in a way the referee couldn't easily call a foul. The result was that André couldn't jump cleanly or surge forward.
Unfortunately for them, they both completely underestimated their opponent.
While the ball was still in the air, André hadn't moved at all. But as the ball began to descend, André moved. Sandwiched between the two defenders, André twisted his massive frame left and right a few times, causing the two guys in front and behind him to start losing their balance.
Then André began to move those two powerful legs forward. And this guy, very mischievously—whether intentionally or unintentionally—swung his arms a tiny bit wider during the movement. His right palm very coincidentally slapped the opponent's arm hard. André, who had no eyes in the back of his head, didn't see the face of the guy he'd just flung behind him twist into an expression of extreme pain. For a moment, that defender felt like his arm no longer belonged to him.
It couldn't be helped—these two unlucky souls didn't know who André's coach was. That man was Fernando Hierro, the legendary center-back for Real Madrid and Spain. What does a center-back do? They defend forwards. Tugging jerseys, pinching soft spots, poking ticklish areas—that was his specialty. When Hierro first taught him these dark arts, André was genuinely impressed. The most diabolical trick was gently blowing air onto your opponent's ear during tight marking. Absolutely disgusting.
Wait, getting off track here! Hierro is a legend, a player with great merit. How could he teach such dirty moves? These were obviously moves André figured out on his own. Obviously.
Facing the incoming ball, André turned sideways toward the goal. Behind him, the other Alcorcón defender was still pulling André's jersey. The referee nearby had already put the whistle to his lips, ready to blow. This bastard clearly wasn't taking him seriously! But the quality of Oviedo's jersey was bloody excellent—it stretched ridiculously without tearing.
But what the referee didn't know was that this level of jersey-pulling had virtually no effect on André's next move. To make an analogy, it was like the difference between a locomotive pulling ten carriages versus eleven carriages. Barely noticeable.
André didn't even need to jump. With a simple flick of his head right there—a classic header—the ball's trajectory immediately changed. Although the goalkeeper was prepared, the shot kissed the inside of the left post and bounced into the net.
2-2.
Comically, the referee first blew the whistle confirming the goal was valid, and then showed the defender who'd been pulling André's jersey a yellow card.
The player who received the punishment accepted it calmly. André, meanwhile, was rather bewildered, staring blankly at the referee solemnly brandishing the yellow card.
It wasn't until Saúl jumped onto his back that André snapped back to reality.
"You absolute legend! You've scored twice! Two goals! We bloody tied it!"
Just as André was about to respond, he was tackled to the ground by his surrounding teammates, and they all piled on top of him.
"Bloody hell, who did that? I'm dying! Christ, don't put your armpit near my mouth!"
André was instantly buried at the bottom of the pile. At this point, it wouldn't matter if Superman showed up—it was useless. Everyone on Oviedo except the goalkeeper rushed over and piled onto him. What made it worse was that some bastard managed to position his sweaty armpit right next to André's mouth and nose. The smell nearly made him pass out.
When the referee intervened to stop their celebration, they all scrambled up and dispersed. André, who was the last to get up, looked as if he'd just been mugged. He still had grass stuck in his mouth, and his kit was completely wrinkled. If this scene had happened to someone in a dark alley at night, the first instinct of anyone seeing it would be to call the police.
Even the referee looked at him with some pity.
"Saúl, damn it, was that you with the armpit?"
"No, no, André! How could it be me? We're partners, we're brothers! Really, please believe me. I swear on my girlfriend's name—I think it was Hernández. It must have been him. He definitely wanted revenge for training."
"Mate, maybe you shouldn't swear on her name. Your girlfriend changes every other week."
"That's... that's not the point!"
Hierro, who'd been standing on the touchline, had already sat back down on the bench at some point. Now it was Julio's turn to stand on the sideline, looking absolutely shell-shocked.
Julio truly felt like he'd been completely stitched up. He'd initially thought that substituting a sixteen-year-old meant the opponent was giving up on the match. But this wasn't giving up at all! They'd substituted on a trump card—a ridiculously overpowered trump card at that. You couldn't bloody stop him! What was this? His jersey was pulled so badly it nearly came off, and he still scored! If it had been some veteran player, he would've just gone down easily, leading to protests and leaving the final decision to the referee.
Although the score was tied, Julio was already starting to worry about the outcome of the match. Looking conflicted, Julio thought for a while before turning and signaling toward the substitute bench.
In the 75th minute, after Oviedo equalized, Alcorcón chose to make substitutions. Julio brought on two players at once.
Number 13, defensive midfielder Peña, replaced forward Jonathan Pereira. Number 3, center-back Rodas, replaced attacking midfielder Eddie. Alcorcón's formation immediately shifted to a 5-4-1 ultra-defensive setup.
Moreover, after the two substitutes came on and the match restarted, everyone noticed that the entire Alcorcón team had retreated deep. Even the sole forward, Muñoz, who'd been holding the front line, had fallen back into his own half. Alcorcón's formation was completely compressed into their defensive third.
Julio's intention was crystal clear: secure one point. Take the draw and run.
"This guy has absolutely no shame," Sánchez muttered while sitting next to Hierro on the bench.
Hierro said nothing. But a small smile played at the corner of his mouth.
He'd brought on his secret weapon for a reason.
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