Chapter 357: GWS
Savinho received the ball near the right touchline and danced past Fuentes before cutting sharply inside. Instead of forcing the shot himself, he rolled the ball backward toward the edge of the area where Rodri was arriving completely free.
For a split second, the Spaniard opened his body to strike.
Then Martinelli came flying toward him.
Rodri got the shot away first.
His side-footed effort skipped low through traffic toward the bottom corner while Martinelli lunged desperately to block it. A moment later, the Fluminense midfielder crashed heavily into Rodri’s standing leg.
The ball hit the net.
"GOALLL! Manchester City make it three!"
But Rodri stayed down.
The celebrations immediately lost their intensity.
The City players turned toward him almost instantly as Rodri rolled onto his side clutching at his groin area. The midfielder’s face tightened in visible pain while the stadium noise dipped into nervous murmuring.
On the touchline, Pep Guardiola’s expression changed immediately.
He tried to remain calm, but his hand instinctively covered his mouth as he stared toward the pitch. Rodri had only recently returned from the ACL injury that had sidelined him for months earlier in the season, and seeing him on the ground again immediately sent tension through everyone connected to Manchester City.
Bernardo Silva urgently waved toward the sideline.
"Medic! Medic!"
The medical staff sprinted onto the field while Rodri remained seated on the grass, rubbing at his calf with frustration written all over his face. Lukas, sitting on the bench after his substitution earlier, leaned forward anxiously with the rest of the substitutes watching in silence.
After a brief examination, the physios helped Rodri slowly to his feet.
He could not continue.
It was not his knee, thankfully, but something in the calf area. Even so, he was clearly struggling to put full weight on the leg. Rodri wrapped an arm around each member of the medical staff as they carefully assisted him toward the sideline while the City supporters applauded loudly in support.
Pep walked over immediately and placed a hand on the back of Rodri’s neck, speaking quietly to him as he limped past.
Nico González quickly stripped off his training top and entered the match in his place, but there was barely any football left to play after that interruption.
A few minutes later, the referee finally blew for full time.
3-0.
Manchester City were through to the semifinals of the Club World Cup, though the mood at the final whistle was slightly quieter than it should have been as everyone waited to find out how serious Rodri’s injury really was.
* * *
The next morning, the atmosphere around Manchester City’s training base in Boca Raton was noticeably quieter than usual.
Most of the players were already awake by around 9 a.m., moving through breakfast and recovery preparations, but conversations kept drifting back toward Rodri. News had already spread through the squad that the midfielder would be flying back to Manchester later that morning for more detailed examinations on his calf.
No one knew how serious it was yet.
That uncertainty alone was enough to make people uneasy.
Outside near the entrance of the main building, Rodri stood beside a couple of club staff members and medical personnel with a small travel bag slung over his shoulder. Several players came over one after another to greet him before he left for the airport.
"Keep us updated," Bernardo Silva told him while pulling him briefly into a hug.
"I will."
Lukas walked over a moment later. "Did the doctors say what exactly it is?"
Rodri shrugged lightly, though the frustration in his face was obvious.
"They’ll know more after the tests in Manchester," he replied. "Right now they just think the pain is in my groin area. Hopefully nothing too serious."
Lukas nodded. "Safe recovery."
Rodri smiled faintly at that before looking toward the group gathered around him.
"You guys better win this competition for me," he said.
Bernardo immediately pointed toward him. "Don’t worry. We’re not planning on losing."
A few moments later, the staff members guided him toward the waiting vehicle outside the campus entrance. The players watched as the SUV drove away toward the airport before slowly returning inside to continue their morning.
By around 10 a.m., most of the squad had changed into lighter training gear for recovery work. Nobody was preparing for a full tactical session that day. The schedule mostly involved stretching routines, gym recovery, light jogging, massage therapy, and small technical drills to keep the legs loose after the Fluminense match.
Lukas sat near one of the benches tying his boots while Phil Foden dropped into the seat beside him.
"So," Foden said casually, "who do you think goes through tonight? Chelsea or Palmeiras?"
Lukas tightened the lace on his right boot before answering. "Most likely Chelsea."
"You sound very sure."
"I mean... they’re having a really good season," Lukas replied. "They qualified for the Champions League for the first time under their new owners, won the Conference League even if people joke about the competition, and they still had to go all the way to win it. They look strong."
Foden nodded slowly. "Yeah. Enzo’s doing well."
There was a slight smile on his face when he mentioned Maresca. Most of the City players still knew him personally from his years working under Guardiola.
"He learned a lot here," Foden continued. "You can see it in how Chelsea play now. He’s a very good coach."
Then Foden glanced sideways toward Lukas.
"If we face them," he added, "he’s probably already thinking about ways to stop you."
Lukas laughed softly at that while finishing the knot on his boots.
"Well," he said as he stood up, "I guess we’ll see if he’s successful."
Foden smirked and shook his head before standing up beside him.
Around them, players slowly began heading toward the recovery areas. Haaland and Doku were already arguing about something near the massage tables while Bernardo Silva walked past carrying a resistance band over his shoulder. Nico O’Reilly and Rico Lewis headed toward the gym section together, still talking about the previous match.
The recovery sessions themselves were always quieter than normal training days.
Music played softly through the speakers inside the gym area while different groups of players moved between stretches, ice baths, massage tables, and low-intensity cycling machines. Some players talked casually the entire time while others preferred silence after matches.
Lukas was halfway through a stretching routine when Haaland walked past holding an enormous recovery shake in one hand.
The Norwegian stopped briefly and looked down at him.
"You know," Haaland said casually, "those passes you play are dangerous for my health."
Lukas looked up, confused. "How?"
"Because now every time somebody else crosses badly to me, I get angry."
That earned a laugh from a couple nearby players, including Rico Lewis, who nearly lost balance stepping off one of the bikes.
Haaland smirked slightly before continuing toward the recovery area.
"Just keep doing it," he added over his shoulder. "Makes my job easier."
Lukas shook his head lightly, still smiling to himself as he returned to stretching.
Even now, part of him was still adjusting to moments like this. A year ago, he had been watching these players through television screens. Now he was sharing dressing rooms and recovery sessions with them like it was normal.
