Chapter 844: Quarter Finals III

The chaos continued, and even the fans were getting anxious.

Players from both sides swarmed the referee, arms waving, voices raised, and faces twisted with indignation. The crowd roared its disapproval, a cacophony of jeers and whistles that shook the very foundations of the Etihad.

Hiro sat on the grass, his chest heaving, and his mind spinning.

Did I stumble?

Though he did feel the pull, he couldn’t be certain if he had been pulled. The contact was so small that it was dismissible. Hence, even the referee was having a hard time.

From where he stood, it seemed like a clean tackle.

However, he couldn’t just dismiss the claim and resume the match.

"It’s a foul!" Julian shouted.

"It’s a clean tackle," Enzo retaliated, his voice even fiercer. "He just fell on his own!"

"You pulled his shirt!"

"I didn’t even touch him!"

Though Enzo appeared much fiercer than Julian, he was backing down either. Considering the fact that both these players shared much deeper history than the rest, it was rather ironic to see these two fighting.

For a while, it seemed as if the two were going to brawl if it continued further. Had it continued a moment longer, that would have been the situation.

But the referee’s whistle prevented it from happening.

Upon blowing the whistle, he darted towards the sideline. The situation had escalated into something he couldn’t just decide on his own. Hence, he decided to review the footage before deciding.

The chaos came to a halt, and the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath for a while.

Hiro glanced at the two who were arguing as if the world was coming to an end. Their expressions were almost identical, each crimson in indignation.

So much for national teammates...

Hiro couldn’t help but smile a little. But somewhere, he also felt glad that Julian was defending him like his own.

He was even willing to wage war against his best friend.

But considering their nature, this was nothing. Julian wasn’t this hot-tempered to begin with. Hence, it was rather surprising to see him so worked up.

Perhaps it was because of Enzo that he was worked up like this. He wouldn’t dare act like this before others.

The referee reviewed the footage from different angles he would have otherwise missed for a while before coming to a decision.

"Foul!" He pointed at the spot.

For a heartbeat, a still silence descended in the stadium before a collective roar cut through the silence.

Hiro pushed himself up from the grass, brushing the wet turf from his knees. His lungs still burned from the sprint, from the collision, from the sheer violence of the moment, but his eyes were already locked on the goal.

Donnarumma stood there with his head held high.

The Italian goalkeeper adjusted his gloves once, then planted himself on his line like a monument built to deny hope.

For a flicker of a moment, it appeared as if he weren’t even bothered. His expression was calm, almost too calm that it made it even more dangerous.

That was the face of a man who was confident in his prowess.

Hiro took a step toward the penalty spot.

A hand caught his shoulder.

"You should take it."

It was Julian.

Hiro turned. Julian’s face was still flushed from the argument with Enzo, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than anger.

"You won it," Julian said. "You earned it."

For a moment, Hiro said nothing.

The stadium was screaming around them, but their voices seemed trapped in a separate world.

"You’re the better taker," Hiro replied. He meant it. Though he was a decent taker himself, Julian’s technique and experience far surpassed him, and when it came to a moment like that, it was better for the experienced one to take it.

But Julian shook his head.

"No. You’re the one who dragged us here."

His grip tightened slightly on Hiro’s shoulder.

"If you miss, it’s our loss. If you score, we win together. Either way, it’s yours."

Hiro looked at him. For some reason, he appeared even more dependable at this moment.

Julian had always been calm and controlled. The kind of player who solved problems with precision rather than emotion.

But right now, he looked ready to fight the entire world for Hiro’s sake.

Hiro exhaled slowly before nodding.

"Alright."

Julian released his shoulder and stepped back.

"I’ll be watching."

"You better be."

Hiro walked toward the penalty spot.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

The Etihad was no longer a stadium. It was a furnace.

Tens of thousands of City supporters rose as one, their jeers crashing down like waves against a cliff. Flags waved. Scarves stretched toward the sky. The noise was so dense it seemed to have weight, pressing against Hiro’s ears, his chest, his bones.

Miss! Miss! Miss!

He could hear it. Their collective prayers. For some reason, being able to hear those voices made it even worse.

However, he had the perfect skill required for one such moment.

"Focus!" He muttered under his breath, and at once the collective calm returned. Those noises that buzzed in his heart like the buzz of hornets were silenced in an instant.

Hiro placed the ball down. His fingers lingered on it for half a second longer. He could feel the ball; the leather was cold and rather damp.

Then he stood, facing the mountain before him.

He stepped back.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

For an instant, as he stood behind the ball, facing the giant of a man before him, the world around him seemed to pause.

However, the giant was alive and breathing, his pupils crimson, and his figure even more humongous than before.

There was a certain allure of calm in his eyes, almost as if he had seen this moment coming even before it arrived.

Their gaze met for a brief moment, and neither flinched.

Then Donnarumma stepped to his left, and to his right, almost as if he were measuring the post.

But in that instant, the post appeared even smaller than before.