Rio stood on the left flank, trying to look like a professional footballer and not like a terrified teenager who had accidentally wandered onto a battlefield.
Okay, Rio thought, wiping sweat from his palms. I'm on. I'm Level 3. I have a plan.
He quickly pulled up his System interface. The translucent blue screen hovered over the chaotic green pitch.
[Level Up Reward Available!]
[Stat Points: 1]
He had one point to spend. Just one.
Where do I put it? Rio panicked. Dribbling? Passing?
He looked at the goal in the distance. It looked miles away. But in his heart, he wanted to be the hero. He wanted to score the winner on his debut.
System, put it in Shooting.
[Confirm? Shooting 51 -> 52]
Confirm.
A tiny, almost imperceptible warmth flowed into his right foot. He was now slightly less terrible at kicking the ball toward the net.
A Shooting stat of 52 was still awful—probably worse than the goalkeeper's—but it was progress.
The referee blew the whistle to restart play.
"Venga! Venga!" the Betis captain shouted.
Real Betis didn't care about Rio's stat increase. They barely acknowledged his existence. They just kept the ball.
For the next ten minutes, Rio played the most frustrating game of his life: "Chase the Shadow."
Betis was playing beautiful, suffocating football.
Isco, the magician in midfield, was everywhere. He flicked the ball, spun around, and passed it before the Girona players could even get close.
Possession: Betis 65% - Girona 35%
Rio ran forward. The ball went backward.
Rio ran backward. The ball went to the other side.
Rio stood still. The ball went over his head.
He was a ghost.
Hand_Of_King: Hey! Did you pay for a ticket to watch the game from the pitch? Touch the ball!
Rio_Lance: I can't! They won't let me! They pass too fast!
Total_Football_14: You are chasing the ball like a puppy, Rio. Anticipate. Cut the passing lane. Don't run to where the ball is; run to where it must go.
Rio tried to listen to Cruyff, but his lungs were burning.
The intensity of La Liga was insane. Every time he got close to Bellerín, the Betis right-back, Bellerín just passed it simple and moved.
"He's not even sweating," Rio gasped, bending over for a split second to catch his breath.
Suddenly, the rhythm changed.
Girona's defensive midfielder, Aleix Garcia, intercepted a lazy pass from Fekir. The Betis crowd groaned.
"Counter!" Aleix screamed.
He looked up. He saw the green ocean of Betis shirts high up the pitch.
And he saw one flash of red and white sprinting into the empty space on the left.
Rio.
"GO!" Aleix launched a long, raking pass through the air.
Rio didn't need to be told. He exploded off the mark.
Bellerín turned to chase, but it was too late. Rio had the jump on him. The ball bounced into Rio's path.
Don't mess up the touch. Don't mess up the touch.
Rio extended his leg. He remembered Zizou's advice. Soft ankle.
He cushioned the ball with his chest, letting it drop to his knee, then to his foot.
It wasn't perfect—it bounced a little too far ahead—but his speed made up for it. He tapped it forward and sprinted.
He was in. He was in the final third.
But as he looked up, his heart sank.
It wasn't a clean breakaway. The Betis center-backs, Pezzella and Sokratis, were already retreating.
They were experienced veterans. They didn't panic. They simply narrowed the angle, forming a wall between Rio and the goal.
It was a 2 vs 5 situation.
Rio on the left. Dovbyk, the big Ukrainian striker, sprinting down the center, surrounded by three defenders. And Rio had the ball.
What do I do? Rio thought frantically. I can't dribble past two center-backs. I can't shoot from here.
He looked at Dovbyk. The striker was pointing to a tiny gap between the defenders. A through ball.
I have to pass, Rio decided. But not a normal pass. If I just kick it straight, they block it.
He remembered playing FIFA with Leo. When you wanted to curve the ball around a defender, you held the R1 or R2 button. A finesse pass. A curved, elegant through ball that bent around the obstacle and landed perfectly in the striker's path.
Dinho_Magic_10: Yes! The Trivela! Use the outside of the foot! Make it curve!
Zizou_5: No. Inside of the foot. Precision. Look at the grass blade you want to hit.
Rio's mind went into slow motion. He was running at 30km/h. The defender, Pezzella, was closing him down, forcing him toward the sideline.
Rio slowed down slightly. He opened his body shape. He stared intensely at his own right leg.
Plant the left foot, he commanded himself. Swing the hips. Wrap the inside of the boot around the ball. Curve it. Curve it like De Bruyne.
He could see the line in his head.
A beautiful, golden arc that would bypass the defender and land at Dovbyk's feet for a tap-in.
Rio took a deep breath. He swung his leg.
He focused on the mechanics. He focused on the angle. He focused on the idea of the pass.
He connected with the ball. He tried to apply the spin.
But there was one problem. In FIFA, you press a button, and the computer calculates the physics. In real life, you need a Passing stat higher than 55 to execute a curled through-ball against a La Liga defense.
The ball left Rio's foot. It did curve. A little bit.
But it was slow. It floated. It lacked the whip, the pace, the bite. It looked less like a deadly weapon and more like a polite suggestion.
Pezzella, the Argentine defender, didn't even have to slide. He didn't have to sprint.
He just took one step to the right.
He stuck out his chest and intercepted the ball with embarrassing ease. He controlled it, looked at Rio, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, Really? That's all you got?
Hand_Of_King: Oh no. My eyes. My poor eyes.
King_10: Telegraphed. You sent him a letter, an email, and a fax saying 'I am going to pass here'.
Rio skidded to a halt, watching in horror as his "masterpiece" turned into a turnover.
"My bad!" Rio waved his hand apologetically at Dovbyk.
Dovbyk threw his arms up in frustration.
"Harder! Pass it harder!"
But there was no time for apologies. Because Pezzella didn't just hold the ball. He launched it forward immediately.
"Counter!" the crowd roared.
Now Girona was in trouble. Because Rio had committed forward, and the left-back (Miguel) had overlapped him, the entire left side of the pitch was wide open.
Isco received the ball in the center. He spun and played a devastating pass into the space Rio had just vacated.
Assane Diao, the young, explosive Betis winger, was sprinting into that space.
"Rio! Get back!" Mateo screamed from the bench, jumping up.
Rio turned and ran. He ignited his engines.
He ran faster than he had ever run in training. The wind tore at his jersey. He was catching up. He was closing the gap on Diao.
I have to fix this, Rio thought, desperation clawing at his throat. I gave the ball away. If they score, it's my fault. Michel will kill me. He'll leave me in Seville.
Diao reached the penalty box. He prepared to shoot.
Rio was there. He was two meters behind. He lunged, attempting a desperate slide tackle to block the shot.
But Diao didn't shoot. He chopped the ball back.
Rio, moving at top speed, couldn't stop. He slid past Diao like a hockey puck on ice, sliding all the way off the pitch and crashing into the advertising boards again.
Bang!
"Ouch," Rio groaned into the artificial turf.
From his position on the ground, he turned his head just in time to see Diao cross the ball.
The cross flew over the defense. It found Willian José, the big striker, who rose above everyone.
He headed it down.
Gazzaniga dove. His fingertips brushed the ball.
The ball hit the post.
It bounced out.
"CLEAR IT!" Blind screamed.
Eric Garcia hacked the ball into the stands.
Rio let out a breath that was half-sob, half-relief.
They hadn't scored. He hadn't cost the team a goal. Yet.
He scrambled to his feet, dusting off his knees. The Betis fans behind him were laughing.
"Nice slide, kid! Want a pillow?"
Rio jogged back onto the pitch, face burning red.
Total_Football_14: That was a lesson, Rio.
Zizou_5: The thought was good. The R2 idea was correct. But the execution... you treated the ball like it was a fragile egg. You must strike through it.
Rio_Lance: I know! I know! I suck!
Michel was standing on the sideline, arms crossed. He wasn't yelling. He was just staring at Rio with a look that said, One more mistake, and you are walking home.
The game restarted with a throw-in for Girona.
Rio stood on the wing, his chest heaving. He had been on the pitch for three minutes.
He had touched the ball twice. One terrible pass, one failed tackle.
He felt the weight of the moment crushing him. This wasn't a chat group game. This was real life.
I need to do something simple, Rio told himself. Stop trying to be De Bruyne. Be Rio.
"Hey!"
He looked up. Dovbyk, the striker, had dropped deep to receive the throw-in.
He looked at Rio and pointed behind the defense.
"Run," Dovbyk mouthed. "Just run."
Rio nodded. Simple. He could do simple.
Aleix Garcia took the throw-in. He threw it to Dovbyk's chest. Dovbyk was strong; he held off the defender, turned, and looked for the pass.
But he didn't pass it on the ground. He didn't try a through ball.
He just hoofed it high into the air, toward the corner flag. A chase ball. A race.
Rio vs Bellerín. Round Two.
Rio didn't look at the ball. He didn't look at his feet. He just looked at the patch of grass in the corner and engaged every muscle fiber in his legs.
Run.
He exploded past Bellerín. The acceleration was violent.
The crowd gasped as Rio seemed to shift gears, leaving the defender trailing by two meters, then three.
He reached the ball just before it went out. He was at the corner flag. He had no support.
The box was empty except for Dovbyk, who was still running to catch up.
Rio was isolated.
Bellerín caught up, panting, and stood off him, wary of the speed.
Now what?
Rio had the ball. He was stopped in the corner. He had zero passing options. He couldn't shoot.
Dinho_Magic_10: He is scared of you now. Look at his feet. He is flat-footed. Rio... do you trust me?
Rio_Lance: What?
Dinho_Magic_10: You have 1 Skill Point in Shooting. It is useless. But you have something else. You have the rhythm. Stop the ball. Put your foot on it.
Rio obeyed the voice. He stopped the ball dead with the sole of his boot. He stood there, facing Bellerín.
Dinho_Magic_10: Smile.
Rio felt ridiculous, but a nervous, jagged grin appeared on his face.
Dinho_Magic_10: Now. Do not pass. Do not cross. Roll the ball forward. Then... step over it.
A step-over? Rio's Dribbling was 58.
Dinho_Magic_10: Just one. Fast. Then go left.
Rio took a breath. The noise of the stadium faded. It was just him and the defender.
He rolled the ball.
He threw his right leg over it.
Whoosh!
Bellerín didn't move. He thought it was a fake.
Rio pushed the ball to the left with his other foot and burst forward.
It worked. Bellerín reacted a split second too late. He reached out and grabbed Rio's jersey.
Rio felt the tug. He could fall. He could dive. It would be a free kick.
King_10: Do not fall! Stay up!
Rio dug his studs into the turf. He fought the pull.
He stumbled, kept his balance, and broke free of the grip.
He was inside the box. From the side. The angle was tight.
Gazzaniga was screaming at the defense. The Betis keeper rushed out to close the angle.
Rio had no one to pass to. Dovbyk was marked.
He had only one option. A bad option. A selfish option.
Shoot.
With his 52 Shooting.
Aim for the far post, he thought. Low and hard.
He swung his leg. He didn't try to curl it this time. He just smashed it with his laces.
BOOM!
The ball flew off his foot. It wasn't elegant. It didn't spin. It was a knuckleball, wobbling in the air like a drunk pigeon.
The keeper dove.
The ball hit the keeper's knee.
It bounced up.
It hit the crossbar.
It bounced down.
And then... chaos.