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God Of football

Chapter 1050: Early Unrest! · Oct 10, 2026

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Chapter List (1057)

Page number / 22

1001 Chapter 1001 - 18[2] 2026-10-10
1002 Chapter 1002: Shedding 2026-10-10
1003 Chapter 1003: Could Be Today! 2026-10-10
1004 Chapter 1004: Last Of Dying Breed! 2026-10-10
1005 Chapter 1005: German Domination Machine! 2026-10-10
1006 Chapter 1006: The First Red! 2026-10-10
1007 Chapter 1007: Beyond Special! 2026-10-10
1008 Chapter 1008: Record Breaking Day! 2026-10-10
1009 Chapter 1009: What A Season Left Behind! 2026-10-10
1010 Chapter 1010: Football’s Holy Grail! 2026-10-10
1011 Chapter 1011: Chattanooga 2026-10-10
1012 Chapter 1012: The Biggest It’s Ever Been! 2026-10-10
1013 Chapter 1013: Start Of Summer Fever! 2026-10-10
1014 Chapter 1014: Opening Game 2026-10-10
1015 Chapter 1015 - 6th World Cup! 2026-10-10
1016 Chapter 1016: All This Noise For A That Hasn’t Started Yet! 2026-10-10
1017 Chapter 1017: Can’t Stop What You Love! 2026-10-10
1018 Chapter 1018: Uncharacteristic! 2026-10-10
1019 Chapter 1019: Thin Lines! 2026-10-10
1020 Chapter 1020: The Shark! 2026-10-10
1021 Chapter 1021: Six And Sickening! 2026-10-10
1022 Chapter 1022: Ask Me Then! 2026-10-10
1023 Chapter 1023: Not So Easy, Is It? 2026-10-10
1024 Chapter 1024: Deemed Unworthy! 2026-10-10
1025 Chapter 1025: Too Much To Hold! 2026-10-10
1026 Chapter 1026: Nothing Random With Him! 2026-10-10
1027 Chapter 1027: Time And Time, Again! 2026-10-10
1028 Chapter 1028: Bad Guy! 2026-10-10
1029 Chapter 1029: Dopamine! 2026-10-10
1030 Chapter 1030: A Reason To Hope 2026-10-10
1031 Chapter 1031: La Roja And La Celeste! 2026-10-10
1032 Chapter 1032: HEIGHTENED! 2026-10-10
1033 Chapter 1033: Should Have Been! 2026-10-10
1034 Chapter 1034: Men With Reputations! 2026-10-10
1035 Chapter 1035: A Dangerous Alternative! 2026-10-10
1036 Chapter 1036: Refusing Greatness! 2026-10-10
1037 Chapter 1037: Akron Interlude! 2026-10-10
1038 Chapter 1038: Can’t Keep Doing This? 2026-10-10
1039 Chapter 1039: Last Of Group H! 2026-10-10
1040 Chapter 1040: A Lost Limb! 2026-10-10
1041 Chapter 1041: Is It A Bad Time? 2026-10-10
1042 Chapter 1042: Brunch! 2026-10-10
1043 Chapter 1043: Round Of 32 Affairs! 2026-10-10
1044 Chapter 1044: No Izan, No Problemo! 2026-10-10
1045 Chapter 1045: Man On A Higher Pedestal! 2026-10-10
1046 Chapter 1046: Two Titans! 2026-10-10
1047 Chapter 1047: Doomsday [1] 2026-10-10
1048 Chapter 1048: Already Won! 2026-10-10
1049 Chapter 1049: Doomsday [2] 2026-10-10
1050 Chapter 1050: Early Unrest! 2026-10-10

Chapter 1050: Early Unrest!

Before either could answer again, the fourth official stepped between them.

”Gentlemen.”

Both captains nodded as the refereeing team moved into position at the front of the tunnel.

A marshal raised his arm, and then a moment later, the leading official beckoned the players forward.

”Letʼs go,” he said.

The roar waiting outside seemed to double the instant the players showed.

Every step toward the light made it louder.

Then suddenly...

The tunnel gave way to daylight, and almost without a shred of conscience, the AT&T Stadium exploded.

Flames burst upward along both touchlines, but that wasnʼt the only thing.

Fireworks cracked above the giant video boards as the teams emerged side by side, their captains leading the way beneath a deafening wall of noise.

The giant screens flashed first Portugalʼs crest, then Spainʼs, before settling on Ronaldo and Izan walking shoulder to shoulder toward the halfway line.

The stadium announcer barely allowed the applause to settle before joining the hype!

”Ladies and gentlemen...”

His voice boomed around every corner of the arena.

”Welcome... to the FIFA World Cup Round of Sixteen!”

The response shook the stadium, and even in this, the fans of both sides tried to make a contest of their roars.

Back in the gantry, Tyldesley laughed louder than heʼd expected.

”And there they are,” he began as his partner, McCoist, folded his arms beside him.

”Look at that.”

”It doesnʼt get much bigger than this. It really doesnʼt.”

Tyldesley watched both teams spread across the pitch before speaking again.

”People often talk about destiny in football. They speak about moments that somehow feel inevitable.”

”I donʼt pretend to know what happens over the next ninety minutes...but Iʼd be very surprised if the winners of this tie arenʼt lifting the World Cup in a few weeks.”

”I couldnʼt agree more,” McCoist replied.

”These are two outstanding football teams.”

”And yet only one gets to keep dreaming tonight.”

Down below, the players formed their lines.

Portugal stood proudly in their traditional red while Spain faced them wearing the deep white-wine away strip that had quickly become one of the tournamentʼs defining images.

A moment later, Portugalʼs anthem rang out first, and every Portuguese player sang, but none louder than Ronaldo, whose face showed the strain of how much passion he was singing with.

When the final note faded, applause swept around the stadium before Spainʼs wordless anthem followed.

Its orchestral melody filled the arena while thousands of Spanish supporters supplied the missing lyrics with applause alone.

Once the formalities ended, both teams crossed paths.

Club teammates exchanged smiles and brief embraces.

Quiet and short jokes transpired as Bruno Fernandes clasped Rodriʼs hand.

Vitinha shared a grin with Pedri while João Cancelo tapped Lamine lightly on the shoulder before both teams peeled away toward their own halves.

Away from the pitch and up in the gantry, Tyldesley glanced down at his team sheet before turning towards his mic.

”And these are the lineups. Letʼs run you through Portugal.”

”Diogo Costa starts in goal behind a back four of Nuno Mendes, Renato Veiga, Rúben Dias and João Cancelo.”

”In midfield itʼs João Neves alongside Vitinha, with Bruno Fernandes operating just ahead.”

”João Félix starts from the left, Pedro Neto from the right...”

”...and, of course, Cristiano Ronaldo leads the attack.”

McCoist nodded thoughtfully.

”That midfield battle could decide everything tonight.”

”If Portugal can stop Spain controlling the centre of the pitch, theyʼll fancy their chances.”

After that, Tyldesley turned the page, moving onto the next.

”And Spain.”

”Unai Simón keeps his place in goal behind Pedro Porro, Pau Cubarsí, Aymeric Laporte and Marc Cucurella, a defence thatʼs conceded just once all tournament.”

”Rodri and Pedri anchor midfield while Dani Olmo plays ahead of them.”

”For the front three, Alex Baena starts from the left, while Lamine Yamal mirrors him on the opposite flank!”

”And captaining Spain through the middle...” McCoist said with a smile, ”...Izan Hernandez Miura.”

By the time the two were finished, both teams had settled into position.

Izan tightened the captainʼs armband once more before leaning toward Dani Olmo, who had crept up behind Izan.

The former seemed to mutter a final reminder that Izan nodded at before pulling away.

When he did, Izan picked his head up and across the centre circle, Cristiano Ronaldo rested his boot gently on top of the ball.

The referee checked with one assistant.

Then the other before he began checking on his equipment as the final checks began.

High up in the gantry, Tyldesleyʼs voice dropped almost to a whisper.

”Everything weʼve spoken about over these last few days...”

”Everything these two nations have built toward...”

”Everything Cristiano Ronaldo still dreams of...”

”And everything Izan Hernandez Miura is only just beginning to chase...”

”...starts now.”

Down the pitch, the referee slowly lifted the whistle to his mouth.

And for the briefest of moments... ninety thousand people forgot to breathe or make a sound.

Like a flag at a race, the shrill sound of the whistle resonated across the pitch and in reaction to that, Cristiano Ronaldo breathed in finally.

”This is it,” he muttered and then kicked the ball back with a sigh as a loud roar that could have shaken the foundations of the Great Wall sounded through the pitch.

Bruno Fernandes met it first time, opening his body before slipping a simple pass back into João Neves.

The instant the ball left Brunoʼs foot... Izan lurched forward like a sin.

His form, if one studies keenly, looked like an eldritch horror that had just learned to run when he started.

A slight hunch of the shoulders, almost instinctive, like something ancient inside him had scented movement, but then he corrected, and when he did, he exploded.

”Immediately Spain press!” the commentator exclaimed.

”And immediately itʼs Izan leading it!”

João Neves had barely taken his first touch before the teenager was on top of him.

The acceleration almost defied explanation.

There were quick footballers.

There were explosive footballers.

Then there was... whatever Izan possessed.

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