The goal celebration was short.
It had to be.
Because when Mark scored that goal, when the ball hit the net and silenced the eighty thousand people in the Santiago Bernabéu, something changed.
Real Madrid woke up.
Before the goal, they were playing like kings. Arrogant. Relaxed. They were playing with their food.
Now, as they carried the ball back to the center circle, they did not look like kings. They looked like soldiers.
Sergio, the captain, was not smirking anymore. His face was a mask of pure, cold fury. He clapped his hands once. It sounded like a gunshot.
"Vamos," he said.
It was not a shout. It was an order.
The whistle blew.
And Arsenal disappeared.
For the next twenty minutes, Alex did not play football. He played "try not to die".
Real Madrid turned on a switch. They were faster. They were stronger. They were everywhere.
The ball moved so fast Alex could barely see it. Zip. Zip. Zip.
