Chapter 846: Quarter Finals V

Like a commander on a battlefield, he barked orders while his teammates scrambled around him.

Hiro grabbed the ball, and as he did, a tidal wave of disappointment crashed over him. It wasn’t failure that tormented him but something else.

Donnarumma had read him.

Not guessed, or reacted on instinct. But he had read him, and outsmarted him in his own game.

Hiro had shifted his eyes left, intending to drag the goalkeeper’s weight away from the right corner. It should have worked. Against almost anyone, it would have worked.

But Donnarumma had not followed the lie.

He had waited and crushed him.

Hiro flinched, and his grip tightened. He didn’t want to repeat the error. For that to happen, he had to forgive himself.

Hence, he exhaled a deep breath.

Fine.

If the front door was locked, then he would stop knocking on it. He would look for another door.

He placed the ball and stepped back to look at the box. The box was swarmed with players from both sides, as ants gathered before a cube of sugar. His eyes traced their movements, their positioning.

In such a situation, the most logical answer would be crossing high to the one who could reach the ball.

However, when compared to the opposition, his side lacked the required height to execute that option.

Even as he stood in the corner, he could hear the buzzing crowd behind him. He could hear their jeers, each taunting him for the earlier miss. For once, as he stood there, a nervous smile escaped his lips.

A wall of blue scarves rose and fell in the stands, and chants crashed down from every direction, thick and relentless.

"You can’t do a shit, kid!"

"This is Manchester!"

These were supposed to be one of the less passionate supporters?

There was nothing less passionate about these people.

Often, there had been instances when the supporters were labelled as the twelfth player on the field, and right now it was proving to be true.

However, that was to be expected; after all, it’s their home.

Even so, Hiro couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. Hence, his pupils rolled around as he continued to search for an option.

Then he raised his hand, signalling for the cross.

Bam!

He struck the ball, the grass slick beneath his feet as the ball curved towards the box.

The box was crowded, packed with bodies. Enzo commanded the near post, and two towering defenders marked Romero, the giant from Madrid. Having Sorloth would have been reassuring.

However, he was benched for now, and most of their players paled in comparison to the opposition.

But Hiro had some other ideas in mind.

Just as he struck the ball, Julian’s weight shifted before he darted to the near post. Meanwhile, Lee drifted toward the edge of the box.

Enzo, who had been occupied with Julian since a moment earlier, saw the shift.

"Mark the near post!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. "Don’t let him swing it in!"

The blues shifted, their defenders crowded toward the near post. Even Donnarumma couldn’t help but take notice of Julian’s run.

However, at that moment, a subtle smile escaped Hiro’s lips before he darted toward the box.

The stadium held its breath as the ball swerved inside the box.

The ball rose sharply, curling away from the near post, away from the crowded mass of players, over their heads, towards the far end of the post.

Donnarumma’s weight shifted as he rushed to the far side.

"Far post." Enzo roared.

However, it was too late. He had misjudged. Too occupied with Julian, his decision had been inaccurate.

He had been manipulated.

Panic settled in as the realization struck him like a freight train.

Even Julian’s run, he had misjudged it, as he held his run, concealed behind two opposing players, then exploded to the far post at the last possible moment.

The ball arrived.

Julian rose, and for one suspended heartbeat, he hung in the air, his body twisting, his eyes locked onto the descending ball.

Donnarumma turned.

His body reacted instantly, throwing himself back across his goal. But he was late, not by much. Only by the smallest, cruelest distance.

Julian’s header crashed toward the top corner.

The Etihad screamed; both home and away sides surged to their feet.

Had he reacted earlier, he would have reached the ball before Julian. However, that didn’t mean he had been defeated.

Though he couldn’t reach the ball beforehand, he still stretched his limbs, attempting to save the header.

His glove tore through the air, the ball grazing his fingertips just like before. The effort wasn’t enough to send it out of course.

His pupils followed the ball, his heart hammering against his chest.

Then—

Clang!

The ball struck the pole, and a relief washed over him.

The sound rippled through the stadium as the crossbar shuddered violently.

The ball ricocheted downward, spinning back into the penalty area like a live grenade, and for one chaotic second, everything happened at once.

Bodies collided. Boots swung.

Donnarumma scrambled up from the grass.

Even Enzo, who had misjudged Hiro’s intention earlier, threw himself to clear the loose ball. This was his moment of redemption, and he wouldn’t allow himself to fail this time.

Hence, he put his body on the line in an attempt to clear the loose ball.

His effort fell short, and the ball bounced. Though his side failed to collect the ball, the ball didn’t fall into the hands of his opponents either.

That made him relieved.

However, the relief on his face didn’t last long as his expression twisted, and his heart hammered against his ribs upon finding a familiar face he didn’t like seeing in that moment.

Hiro!

The ball bounced once. Twice.

Then it fell before Hiro, toward the edge of the six-yard box.

Hiro raised his left foot, his face covered in shadows. Then he shifted a bit, almost as if adjusting his angles.

Enzo couldn’t bring himself to look away from him.

A cold glint flashed past his pupils. Then—

BAM!