***Bonus for 200 stones***
"What? No one? Isn't the captain of Barcelona following me all the time!?" Torres' mind flashed, completely baffled, as he received the pass and twisted his body sideways.
Since the game's first whistle, the formidable captain of Barcelona had been glued to Torres like a hawk—refusing to give him an inch. But now? Like a magic trick, Puyol had vanished.
Torres blinked, scanned around quickly, and realized something incredible.
The closest player to him now was Motta, trailing behind, who saw Torres had possession and quickly rushed over, ready to contain the ball and keep it locked in midfield. Motta's determination was clear—his mission was to prevent Torres from launching anything dangerous.
But Puyol? The man tasked with marking Torres with fierce tenacity? He had stopped in his tracks, standing just outside the center circle, chatting with another central defender—Marcos. The two defenders stood roughly two or three meters away from Torres, near enough to look intimidating but far enough to give Torres a moment of clarity.
It was that moment Torres' sharp eyes caught something crucial.
There, between Marcos and Puyol, was a gap. A chink in the armor. Roughly a meter wide—a tiny sliver of daylight in what should have been an impenetrable defense.
Torres' mind clicked into gear immediately. This was the moment. If he could thread the ball through that gap, if he could just exploit that tiny space, he could get past the wall of defenders.
So, cautiously, he took a step forward, nudging the ball gently.
Puyol, seasoned and experienced, was watching. He understood the danger instantly. Torres' forward move was a warning sign. He knew he couldn't hold back anymore. He had to close down the attacker before disaster struck.
Taking a decisive step forward, Puyol moved towards Torres, ready to challenge, to tackle, to take the ball away at the source.
But Torres wasn't just any forward. He had eyes everywhere.
He seemed to have predicted Puyol's next move.
As Puyol charged, Torres suddenly switched tactics, faster than a cat pouncing on a mouse.
With a sharp flick of his right foot's outside, Torres slapped the ball hard, sending it sailing past Puyol and Marcos. The ball landed about four or five meters behind the two defenders, into open space.
The Camp Nou erupted.
Over 90,000 fans rose to their feet, gasping, roaring, their excitement crackling through the stadium like electricity.
And Torres? He was just getting started.
With every ounce of power in his legs, he pushed off the ground, planting his studs into the turf. His feet flew, carrying him forward like a bolt of lightning.
He didn't just run. He flew.
The grass blurred beneath him as he burst through the gap between Puyol and Marcos, who were still caught flat-footed, frozen in disbelief.
Suddenly, Torres found himself in open territory.
Only one opponent stood between him and glory now: Valdes, the Barcelona goalkeeper.
The young striker sprinted into the penalty area, the ball glued to his feet, feeling the roaring crowd fuel his fire.
Valdes had just rushed out from the goal line, positioning himself at the penalty spot to cut down the angle and intimidate Torres.
The keeper's mind raced.
He had chosen to come out aggressively, anticipating he could intercept or smother the ball once Torres got past Puyol.
But Torres' speed was overwhelming.
Valdes hadn't expected the forward to accelerate again after retrieving the ball, weaving with precision directly into the penalty box.
Now Valdes faced a dilemma.
Should he keep charging forward to cut off the angle, risking Torres dribbling past him?
Or should he drop back, spreading his body on the ground to cover as much of the goal as possible?
Half a heartbeat of hesitation. That was all it took.
Valdes decided to stay aggressive.
He sprinted toward Torres, who, sensing the keeper's approach, consciously slowed down just a little.
But this Torres wasn't the clumsy young striker who would kick the ball blindly. No, this was the Spanish golden boy, the rising star already studying Valdes' position carefully.
He watched the keeper's movements, reading his intentions like an open book.
When Valdes was about two meters away, Torres made his move.
With confidence, precision, and a cool head, Torres kicked the ball decisively.
Now, Valdes was slightly off his line at this moment.
If Torres had chosen to chip the ball over the keeper, he'd have a brilliant chance to score an easy goal.
But the young striker had a trick up his sleeve.
Instead of a flashy lob, he went for a sneaky push shot.
The ball slid low, skimming the grass as it zipped toward the Barcelona goal.
****
But most goalkeepers would find it very difficult to save such a shot!
Imagine this: you're the goalkeeper, and a player is barreling down the pitch at full speed, the ball glued to his feet like it's magnetized. You're ready, nerves sharp, reflexes primed to stop any shot that comes your way. But then suddenly, from nowhere, he strikes a ground ball—not a thunderous rocket, not a flashy chip—just a simple, sneaky push along the grass. The ball skims low, almost as if it's tiptoeing past you, slipping into a tiny gap between your outstretched limbs and the turf.
Most goalkeepers dread this exact scenario. It's one of the trickiest shots to save because it happens so fast, so unexpectedly, and the distance between the ball and your body is almost impossible to judge perfectly. You think you have time, but the ball is just far enough away to make your reaction ambiguous. Do you dive early? Wait too long? It's a nightmare.
Valdes, the Barcelona goalkeeper, is known for his lightning-fast reflexes and excellent anticipation. He was ready. When Torres unleashed his sneaky push shot after bursting into the penalty area, Valdes reacted in an instant. His body shot out sideways, arms reaching with desperate urgency, hoping to get a fingertip on the ball.
But even with his incredible speed, the ball just slipped by. It was that elusive kind of shot—the one goalkeepers hate most. Valdes' dive sent him sprawling across the grass, but he didn't touch the ball at all.
The next instant, Valdes, sprawled on the ground and face turned toward the net, looked back helplessly.
His eyes followed the ball's slow, steady roll.
It was crossing the goal line.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
····
"Goooooooooooooooooooooool~~~~~~!"
The roar burst out, but in the commentary box, Jon was still frozen, shocked into silence by the speed of events.
But Lineker wasn't holding back. He jumped from his seat, shouting ecstatically, "Only 24 seconds! Twenty-four seconds into the game! Fernando Torres has given Leeds United the lead on Barcelona's home turf!"
His excitement was like an electric jolt through the broadcast.
"Hahaha! Who said Leeds United would be crushed by Barcelona tonight after that draw? Who said Arthur would be buried under pressure and rubbed out by Rijkaard's machine? Who said Torres and Ibrahimovic crumble in the Champions League knockout stage? Zlatan might not be playing today, but Torres? Absolutely! No! It's!"
Jon finally recovered from his shock and joined in, his smile wide and proud.
"Yes! Since Rivaldo sent that perfect pass to Torres, Leeds United's 25 million euro signing from Atletico Madrid has shown the world what a pure individual hero's goal looks like! He broke through the defending champions' defense on his own! Twenty-four seconds into the game, Barcelona are behind 0–1 at Camp Nou!"
"That's right!" Lineker was still practically dancing in the studio, caught in a celebration mood. "Arthur once again proves his talent for spotting potential! Leeds United proves football is unpredictable—anything can happen in ninety minutes! And I've just been told that Torres' goal ranks fourth in Champions League history for fastest goals!"
····
At Camp Nou, where the crowd was roaring moments before, silence fell like a heavy curtain as the ball rolled into the net.
More than 90,000 fans, including the commentator high above the stadium, were stunned into speechlessness.
Even the Barcelona players looked dazed.
After the goal, they stood there with blank, bewildered faces, unable to believe what had just happened.
The psychological blow was heavy.
The match had barely started, and the underdog Leeds United had stolen the lead from the defending champions right in their own fortress.
But Leeds United's players didn't pause to admire their effect on their rivals.
Torres, full of energy and adrenaline, had already sprinted from Barcelona's penalty area to the Leeds bench.
His teammates rushed to join him, a wave of celebration flowing forward.
Rivaldo was the first to reach Arthur. He threw his arms around him and shouted in his ear, "Boss! Boss! We're ahead! Maybe the process wasn't exactly as we planned before kickoff, but the result is the same! And I even got to give Fernando the assist… hahaha!"
Arthur laughed, his heart pounding with excitement and pride.
This was the moment Leeds United had dreamed of.
The impossible had suddenly become reality.