Please vote to show me your support for the story. The higher we climb in the rankings, the more motivated I will feel. Mass releases will be rewarded for each 10 rankings we manage to climb.
#More than 10 Chapter ahead on my Patreon: patreon.com/TrikoRex
{!!!Please leave a Review it helps me a lot and lets me know how many people are invested in the future of this novel!!!}
~~~
[Olimpijska Poland, Stadion GOSiR, 16:35]
"Yo, isn’t your rival isn’t playing France right now?" Wirtz asked with a questioning tone as he stepped into the player lounge. They had travelled to Olimpijska Poland for their quarter-final clash with Norway and were in the process of getting ready. Unlike other games that kicked off early, they were the latest in this round as they would kick off at 6 pm.
"What are you talking about?" Rakim inquired as he looked up from his phone clearly confused and a little displeased that he was interrupted just as he was about to send his PEKKA’s to destroy an unsuspecting village.
"Matteo Smith isn’t he like your biggest rival, I even heard you two came up together sharpening your skills against the other," Florian commented with a slight smile as a mischievous idea came to mind. "Oh, and one of the reports stated he was something like a big brother to you teaching you all his skills and pushing you to become the player you are today."
Youssoufa Moukoko catching on also commented with a smile. "Yeah, I heard that too, something about you playing to catch up to him and defeat him in a professional match one day."
"Really and here I thought Rakim was the type to look up to nobody but himself," Angelo commented from the side sounding genuinely surprised as he joined the conversation. More and more players started to join the conversation stating what they had heard from the so-called ’articles’.
Rakim who had been enjoying his time off was at first surprised by the sudden interruption but quickly turned to anger. He could quickly tell that Wirtz was trying to get a rise out of him and was about to brush it off but as more of his teammates joined in, he found himself questioning life. He had never considered himself as someone who would get easily baited but his ego was quickly feeling triggered as the stories started to spiral out of control.
"It must be fuck with Rakim day," he muttered to himself silently before finally having enough. "Hey, you mouth-breathing flat earthers, shut the F-up or so help me I will make it my personal side quest to dribble through all of you 3 times in today’s match," Rakim exclaimed with furred brows squeezing his phone so tight that the protective glass started to crack.
"Let’s make one thing clear, I have never Idolised a player whose name isn’t Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Kaka or Zlatan. Even then Rakim’s favourite player is Rakim," He continued speaking clearly angry as he eyed every one of them causing a few to gulp. "Ahahah, look at your faces, why so tense I thought we were having fun?"
The room fell silent for a moment, everyone absorbing the intensity of Rakim’s outburst. Then, laughter began to bubble up among the players, starting with Florian Wirtz, who clapped Rakim on the shoulder with a wide grin.
"Alright, man, we got you good!" Florian chuckled, the tension dissolving as the rest of the team joined in the laughter.
Rakim, seeing the genuine amusement in his teammates suddenly stopped laughing staring at them with a deadpan stare. They didn’t notice right away but those that did quickly shut their mouths, but no one passed the message onto Florian. "Man, I could practically see your brain ticking on the verge of exploding," he stated in hearty laughter as he slapped Rakim’s shoulder.
By this point, everyone else had stopped laughing clearly having more situational awareness or a better danger sense than Wirtz. Some had even stepped back just in case shit hit the fan. "Hey Youssoufa, did you see his expression when you said Matteo is his Idol?" Wirtz’s asked in glee only to notice the latter was gone. "Hey, where did Youssoufa go?"
"Guy’s? ...ehem where is everyone?" He asked again his laughter having disappeared as he noticed that everyone had left. Turning to face Rakim he found the latter’s green eyes locked onto him with a frown as he gazed at Wirtz’s hand still on his shoulder. It was only at this time that the young midfielder realised that his teammates had left him holding the bag.
"So, you found it funny right? I think we should double your workouts since you have so much energy to be pulling pranks." Rakim stated coldly as he took hold of the hand on his shoulder brushing it off as if he was shooing a bug. "We definitely should double or maybe triple our workouts since I’m also feeling restless for some reason,"
"N’no, I won’t do it, man!" Wirtz exclaimed as he sprinted off clearly not willing to entertain his friend’s sadistic side when it comes to training. Rakim didn’t chase him as simply sat back down pulled out a pair of headphones and logged onto the streaming app that was broadcasting this tournament. He was just in time to see Matteo take a shot in the 15th minute.
~~~
[Zdzisław-Krzyszkowiak-Stadion, 16:45, USA U-20 vs. France U-20 – Round of 16]
[15]
Matteo’s shot erupted like a cannonball from the top of the box, its trajectory a blur of raw power. Alban Lafont sprang into action, diving to his right with every ounce of determination. Yet, his fingertips merely grazed the ball—it struck the crossbar with a resounding clang that reverberated around the stadium. For a heartbeat, time seemed to stall as the ricocheting ball hurtled back into the penalty area.
In that split-second, no one moved but soon chaos ensued as the bodies of players scrambling to the ball’s landing point could be seen. Pulisic who had already been making his run inwards was the closest, but Pierre Kalulu was nipping at his heels not giving a moment of space. He tried to take it on the volley, but the angle was too tricky and the ball skiffed off the top of his boot.
It bounced backwards to the edge of the box where the figures of Soumaré and Weston McKennie could be seen fighting for position. The crowd held its breath as Soumaré managed to nudge McKennie slightly, just enough to get a toe on the ball and clear it towards the midfield. However, his clearance was not as effective as he would have hoped.
The ball landed directly at the feet of Yunus Musah, who was hovering near the centre circle, ready for any opportunity to recycle possession. Musah, spotting Reyna drifting into space between the lines, quickly tapped the ball to him. Reyna turned with it smoothly, assessing his options in a split second.
With the French defence slightly disorganized from their attempt to clear, Reyna spotted Timothy Weah making a dynamic run down the right wing. With a deft flick of his boot, Reyna sent a precise through ball slicing through the French defence. Weah, with his speed, easily outpaced Rayan Aït-Nouri and met the ball just inside the box.
He didn’t even take a touch to settle it; instead, he whipped in a sharp, low cross towards the far post. Matteo Smith, who had recovered from his earlier shot, had drifted towards that location and simply slipped past Loïc Badé with a burst of speed. With the goal at his mercy, Smith timed his slide perfectly, connecting with the ball and sending it flying past Lafont into the back of the net.
The American fans erupted in cheers as Smith leapt up, pumping his fists in the air before being mobbed by his teammates as he jogged to the corner flag. He didn’t seem to feel the extra weight and simply advanced to the cameraman at the side. Shooing George Bello off his back he knocked on his left chest with his right fist twice before picking up an imaginary crown, crowning himself as KING.
The sourc𝗲 of this content is freēwēbηovel.c૦m.
.
.
.
.
To Be Continued...