The referee dashed over to the scene of the foul.
Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled out a red card.
Tehero's reckless lunge had shown his studs, going directly for the ankle—no question, it was a sending-off offense.
"That's not a red card!"
"Are you blind?! How much did they pay you?!"
Solari exploded on the touchline, shouting furiously at the referee.
The assistant coaches tried to hold him back, but Solari had completely lost it.
The referee's face turned cold. His tone was firm and sharp.
"I'm the referee! I know how to judge! Keep your mouth shut!"
You could call him blind. You could say his call was unfair. But accusing him of corruption? That was another matter entirely.
Red card for Solari!
"Get off the touchline! Now!"
The referee pointed toward the stands.
"You…"
Solari clenched his fists, trembling with rage.
He was on the verge of snapping—his composure gone.
The assistant coaches rushed forward to hold him back before things escalated. If he laid a hand on the ref, it'd become a disaster.
On the bench, Coach Herald clasped his hands together, drawing frantic crosses over his chest.
Oh, dear God… Grandpa… Grandma… Dad, Mom… Uncle Alan… Aunt Teresa… please protect him!
Don't let anything happen to my little gem!
Romeo Teixeira lay on the pitch, grimacing in pain. Herald nearly dropped to his knees in prayer.
The entire stadium went silent with tension.
"Thug! You're no footballer!"
"Garbage! Absolute disgrace!"
"Dirtiest player on the pitch!"
The home fans hurled abuse at Tehero, who was walking off the field in disgrace.
Even Iniesta, Messi, and Mino Raiola, who were watching from the stands, stared anxiously at the pitch.
The team doctor sprinted onto the field, kneeling beside Romeo.
Romeo winced but forced himself to stay calm.
If it weren't for the God-Level Perspective alerting him about the sneaky tackle, and his quick evasive movement…
He'd be in a hospital right now.
The doctor examined him thoroughly.
"Good news! The bones are intact."
He grabbed a cold spray and applied it to Romeo's ankle.
The pain subsided quickly.
Romeo stood up slowly, taking a few tentative steps. The stiffness faded.
Phew…
Herald exhaled deeply, his forehead covered in sweat.
"God bless. Thank you, ancestors!"
---
The referee walked over.
"You good to continue?"
Romeo nodded. The ref grabbed his spray and marked out the set-piece spot.
Frontcourt free kick!
"Su, are you taking it, or should I?"
Pujic jogged over, ball in hand.
He was the usual first-choice free-kick taker, but since Romeo had drawn the foul—and they were close friends—he offered the chance.
Romeo paused.
He had one more assist to complete the System Task.
He looked up at the clock.
Less than five minutes left.
An idea flashed in his mind. He leaned in and whispered to Pujic.
"Fake a shot, then lay it off right. I'll be there. Just trust me."
Romeo moved into position on the edge of the box.
Zinedine Zidane Jr., Castilla's goalkeeper, was busy organizing the wall.
Down to ten men, Castilla were vulnerable.
The whistle blew.
Pujic ran up, faked a shot with his right—then used his left foot to slide the ball to the side!
A disguised pass!
The Castilla wall jumped, but they were completely fooled.
The ball rolled perfectly into Romeo's path.
And then…
Golden Passing Lane!
A dazzling line appeared before Romeo—his first time seeing a 100% success rate.
Even he was stunned.
He struck the ball firmly with the inside of his boot.
It soared with a beautiful arc into the box.
Players jostled for position…
And it was Ronald Araújo who rose highest!
The powerful center-back twisted in mid-air, his timing perfect.
Boom!
Zidane Jr. reacted quickly, diving full-stretch.
His fingertips grazed the ball—
But not enough.
GOAL!!!
3–0!
That was the knockout blow.
"Beautiful!!"
Coach Herald sprinted down the sideline, arms raised.
The cloud of relegation had finally lifted.
Araújo raced to Romeo, pulling him into a bear hug.
Then Pujic joined—tackling both of them from behind.
And then came Adama Traoré…
"No, no—WAIT!"
Romeo's eyes widened in horror.
One by one, the entire team leapt on him.
Coaching staff, subs, even Herald and assistant coach Pymienta…
He was at the bottom of a human pile!
"PUJIC! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"
"TRAORÉ, YOU CRAZY OX!!"
---
Up in the stands, Mino Raiola stood up and applauded.
His face lit up like he'd just hit the jackpot.
Like he bought a cheap lotto ticket and won a hundred million.
"Get the contract ready!"
He turned to Daisy, his assistant.
"Show him our greatest sincerity!"
Daisy blinked.
"Fifteen percent transfer, commercial commission?"
"No!" Raiola shook his head.
"Ten percent is already Pogba and Zlatan level…"
"Still too small!" Mino snapped.
"Romeo Teixeira isn't just a talent. He's a future icon—Messi, Ronaldo? He'll surpass them."
Daisy blinked.
"But Mino… we need to make money too."
Raiola gave her a sidelong glare.
"The transfer commission? Zero."
"Commercial cut? Only five percent."
Daisy's jaw dropped.
"F-Five? We'll barely break even!"
Mino grinned.
"Short-term? Maybe. But long-term?"
"Don't forget—Romeo may hold an American passport, but he's got Argentine blood, and his father's name is Teixeira. That opens two massive global markets."
"South America. North America. And the rest of Europe will follow."
"His commercial value will be off the charts!"
Daisy frowned.
"So… total freedom in transfers too?"
"Absolutely. No manipulations. He's not some cash cow like others. We follow his wishes."
"Let's prepare the most sincere contract we've ever offered."
Mino looked up at the sky, smiling.
"God… You didn't forget about your servant Mino after all."
"You took Ronaldo to Mendes, and Messi was managed by his dad… but this kid?"
"You saved the best for me."
---