Chapter 21: A Funeral for Titans
Rio snapped out of his trance as the locker room door slammed shut, cutting off the distant roar of the fans outside. He blinked, staring at the floor where his neon pink boots sat waiting for him.
He checked the clock on the wall. It read 7:45 PM.
His nervousness spiked as he remembered that the starting lineup had just been posted. He wasn’t starting, obviously, but the reality of who was on the other side of the wall hit him like a freight train.
[Chat Room Active]
Hand_Of_King: Why are you staring at the air? You look like a statue! Wake up!
The_Phenomenon_9: The kid is scared. Look at his heart rate. It is 120 and he is sitting down.
Zizou_5: Fear is normal. But do not let it paralyze you. When I played my first final, I threw up in the toilet. Twice.
Rio_Lance: That makes me feel slightly better, Zizou. But also... fuck. It’s Real Madrid.
Total_Football_14: Exactly. It is Real Madrid. They are arrogant. They will leave spaces. You must be the knife that cuts the arrogance.
Hand_Of_King: Just nutmeg someone! If you nutmeg Vinicius, I will give you a special skill myself!
Rio almost laughed out loud at Maradona’s absurdity. Nutmeg Vinicius? He’d be lucky to get within five feet of the Brazilian without getting his ankles broken.
"Ugh." Rio groaned, leaning his head back against the locker.
"You okay, Rio?"
Rio jumped, his eyes snapping open. Mateo was standing in front of him, already dressed in his kit, holding a bottle of water.
"Yeah. Why?" Rio asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"Dude, go look in the mirror. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or like you’re about to die."
"Die?"
"Yeah. You’re pale as a sheet."
Rio quickly walked to the bathroom mirror. Mateo wasn’t lying. His skin looked washed out under the fluorescent lights, making his dark eyes look huge and terrified.
He splashed cold water on his face, feeling the chill wake up his nerves. He took a deep breath.
After drying his face and taking a second to slap his own cheeks, Rio walked back into the main room. He was met with the sight of Stuani, the captain, pacing back and forth.
"Everyone good? We go out for warm-ups in two minutes," Stuani barked, clapping his hands.
"I need to pee again," Valery muttered, running past Rio.
"Nervous bladder," Mateo whispered to Rio with a grin. "He’s peed three times in ten minutes."
"At least he’s playing," Rio said, feeling a mix of jealousy and relief. "I have to sit on the bench and watch Vinicius destroy us for an hour."
"Hey," Mateo nudged him. "If Vini destroys us, that just means you get to come on and be the hero. The ’Unlikely Savior’, remember?"
"Don’t call me that," Rio groaned.
"Come on, let’s go." Mateo urged, pushing Rio toward the tunnel.
He reluctantly followed, grabbing his warm-up bib. The team jogged out of the tunnel and onto the pitch.
The noise hit them instantly.
Montilivi was packed to the rafters. Red and white flags waved frantically, but peppered throughout the stands were hundreds of white Real Madrid jerseys.
Rio jogged, trying to loosen his legs, but his eyes drifted to the other half of the pitch.
There they were. The Galacticos.
Vinicius Jr. was juggling the ball casually near the center circle, laughing with Rodrygo. Jude Bellingham was stretching, looking like a statue carved out of marble.
"Holy shit," Rio whispered. "They look... relaxed."
Zizou_5: They are always relaxed. That is their power. They do not feel pressure until they are losing.
The_Phenomenon_9: Look at Rüdiger. He is staring at Dovbyk like he wants to eat him for dinner.
Rio looked. The German defender was indeed staring at the Girona striker with a terrifyingly intense grin.
An hour later, the warm-ups were done, and the team was back in the locker room.
"Alright, listen up," Michel said, walking to the center of the room.
The room went silent.
Michel looked different today. Usually, he was intense, shouting tactical instructions. Today, he looked... calm. He was wearing his suit, hands in his pockets.
"I could tell you to mark tightly," Michel started, his voice soft. "I could tell you to watch the offside trap. I could tell you that Vinicius is fast."
He paused, looking at each player in the eye.
"But you know that. The whole world knows that."
Michel smirked, shaking his head.
"Everyone expects us to lose. The press. The pundits. Even the guy selling hot dogs outside."
A few players chuckled nervously.
"They say Real Madrid are the Kings of Europe. And we? We are just the little neighbors from Catalonia."
Michel’s face suddenly hardened. He slammed his fist into his open palm.
"But in this house? We don’t bow to Kings! We make them run! We make them bleed! We make them suffer!"
"YEAH!" David Lopez roared, standing up.
"If they want the three points, they have to kill us first!" Michel shouted, his veins popping. "Are you ready to die for this club today?"
"YES!" The team screamed back, the energy in the room exploding.
Rio felt a shiver run down his spine. He wasn’t even starting, and he felt like running through a brick wall.
"Rio!" Michel called out over the noise.
Rio froze. "Coach?"
"Be ready," Michel pointed a finger at him. "When the chaos starts... be ready."
Rio nodded, his throat dry. "Yes, Coach."
The team filed out into the tunnel.
Rio took his place on the bench, wrapping himself in a blanket. The seats were comfortable, but he felt like he was sitting on needles.
Next to him, Portu leaned back. "Nice speech, huh?"
"Yeah," Rio exhaled. "Intense."
"It’s all bullshit though," Portu winked. "If we don’t mark Bellingham, we’re fucked."
Rio laughed, a short, nervous sound. "Yeah. Probably."
The referee picked up the ball. The anthems played. The camera pans went down the line of superstars in white, and then the gritty underdogs in red.
Total_Football_14: The board is set. Watch the spaces, Rio. Watch how Vinicius moves. He is lazy when he defends. That is your key.
Rio_Lance: I’m watching, Johan.
Hand_Of_King: Forget watching! Pray for a goal!
The referee blew the whistle.
PHEEEEEET!
Girona vs Real Madrid.
The ball rolled.
Ten seconds in, Vinicius Jr. received the ball on the left wing. He didn’t pass. He didn’t look up. He flicked the ball over Yan Couto’s head, caught it on his chest, and sprinted toward the goal.
The crowd gasped.
"Oh fuck," Rio whispered, gripping the edge of his seat. "He’s fast."
The_Phenomenon_9: Told you.
It was going to be a long night.