Striker of The Gods

Time: April 31st 2034 : 13:30 CET

Caos had arrived at the legendary place.

There was no one to stop him. 

Actually, no one wanted to touch him at all.

After all, they had learned their lesson.

Now, it was time to shine.

San Mamés was already shaking before kickoff.

The stadium was full of red and white. Scarves moved above the stands like waves, and the noise had become almost continuous, a deep sound that seemed to come not from thousands of individual voices but from the stadium itself.

Athletic Club had spent the entire week preparing for one player.

Caos.

They had watched his recent matches again and again. They had studied his movements, his changes of direction, the way he used his physical strength, and, above all, the strange patience with which he sometimes waited for a defensive line to make the smallest mistake.

They knew what happened when teams gave him space.

They also knew what happened when they gave him none.

So Athletic had decided to do something different.

They would not simply sit back.

They would attack him.

Their plan was built around a compact 4–4–2 that could become a five-man defensive line whenever Caos entered the final third. One midfielder would follow him. Another would close the nearest passing lane. The fullbacks would remain narrow.

If Caos received the ball with his back to goal, two players would arrive.

If he turned, a third would come.

And whenever Athletic won possession, they would immediately send the ball toward the wings and attack the spaces behind Real Madrid.

It was risky.

Perhaps too risky.

But San Mamés had never been a place that asked football to be reasonable.

The supporters sang while the players warmed up.

Caos stood near the halfway line and listened.

He had played in enormous stadiums before. He had heard tens of thousands of people shout his name. He had even become accustomed to silence after scoring impossible goals.

But San Mamés was different.

There was something almost personal about the noise.

As if the stadium itself had decided that it disliked him.

Caos smiled.

He liked it.

BEFOR THE STORM

The social-media numbers were enormous.

Global Social Media Pulse

#AthleticVsCaos : 8.5 million posts in 36 hours

@Marca:“Athletic Club have prepared one of their most aggressive plans of the season. San Mamés believes the pressure of the stadium can make the difference. Que putas es la frase mas comun aqui.”

@AS: “Caos has scored 24, 22 and 21 goals in recent matches. Athletic know that defending normally is not enough.”

@LaLiga: “San Mamés is ready. Athletic will press, attack the wings and collapse around Caos whenever possible.”

A training clip of Caos had also gone viral.

He was sprinting at 500 mph.

Then striking a ball with enough force to destroy a reinforced target.

Another clip showed him inside one of Erebus’s prehistoric simulations, fighting enormous creatures.

The caption was simple:

“Athletic prepared for Caos. Caos prepared for dinosaurs.”

Caos had seen the post.

He had laughed.

Athletic had not.

BEFORE THE TUNNEL

Athletic captain Iñaki Williams stood near the tunnel.

He looked across at Caos.

“Ready?”

Caos nodded.

“You?”

Williams smiled.

“We’re at San Mamés.”

He gestured toward the stands.

“They’ll do the rest.”

Caos looked toward the supporters.

“I know.”

Williams studied him for a moment.

“You really don’t get nervous, do you?”

Caos smiled.

“I do.”

“When?”

“Before matches like this.”

Williams looked genuinely surprised.

“Seriously?”

Caos nodded.

“That’s why I like them.”

Williams laughed.

“Fair answer.”

For a few seconds neither said anything.

The noise from the stadium rolled through the tunnel.

Williams looked toward the pitch.

“You know, there’s something strange about you.”

Caos glanced at him.

“What?”

“You look calmer when everyone wants to kill you.”

Caos thought about the question.

“Maybe that’s when football becomes simple.”

Williams laughed.

“I don’t understand you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Mbappé walked over while adjusting his shirt.

“They’re going to stay tight around you.”

Caos looked toward the Athletic defensive line.

“I noticed.”

“They’ll probably follow you everywhere.”

“Then we’ll move them.”

Mbappé smiled.

“You’re already thinking about it.”

“I always am.”

“And if they don’t move?”

Caos looked at him.

“Then you score.”

Mbappé laughed.

“That’s why I like playing with you.”

Xabi Alonso approached CAOS.

He placed one hand on Caos’s shoulder.

“They’ll try to turn this into a physical match.”

Caos nodded.

“Then we keep moving.”

“And if they start pressing higher?”

“We use the space behind them.”

Xabi smiled.

“Exactly.”

He paused.

“Don’t rush.”

Caos looked at him.

“I won’t.”

Xabi raised an eyebrow.

“You say that every time.”

Caos laughed.

“And sometimes I mean it.”

THE PRIVATE BOX

High above San Mamés, Zeraphina, Keyla and Michaela watched the players enter the pitch.

Zeraphina’s hand rested protectively against her growing belly.

Keyla looked down at the field.

“Athletic look serious.”

Michaela nodded.

“They should.”

Keyla glanced at Zeraphina.

“You’re not worried?”

Zeraphina smiled.

“I’ve seen him train.”

Keyla laughed.

“That wasn’t my question.”

Zeraphina looked toward Caos.

“I know.”

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then:

“I’m worried about the person who thinks he’s invincible.”

Keyla looked at her.

“You mean Caos?”

Zeraphina smiled.

“No.”

She looked down toward the pitch.

“I mean the person he might become if everyone keeps telling him he is.”

HERE WE GO! 

THE BATTLE STARTS NOW.

The whistle blew.

San Mamés erupted.

Athletic immediately pressed.

The first five minutes were physical.

Every Real Madrid possession was challenged.

Every time Caos moved toward the ball, an Athletic midfielder followed.

The first time he received it, two defenders closed him down.

Caos passed backward.

The crowd roared.

Athletic pushed forward.

The second time he received the ball, three players surrounded him.

Again, he released it.

Mbappé collected the pass.

The attack continued.

Kempes observed:

“Athletic have clearly decided that Caos cannot be allowed to turn. They are putting players around him immediately. The first objective is simple: don’t let him face the goal.”

For fifteen minutes, the plan worked.

Caos barely had room.

And something inside him became increasingly uncomfortable.

Not fear.

Not frustration.

Something else.

He had spent so long being the player who could always escape that being trapped felt almost unfamiliar.

He looked at the defenders around him.

They were not afraid.

That interested him.

At the twenty-third minute, Athletic nearly scored.

A long ball was sent behind the Real Madrid defense.

The winger crossed.

The shot went just wide.

San Mamés groaned.

Caos watched from midfield.

He understood.

Athletic weren’t afraid.

That meant they would leave space.

He only needed to find it.

THIRY EIGHT MINUTES.

Real Madrid recovered possession.

Caos dropped into his own half.

The Athletic midfield immediately moved toward him.

One player closed from the left.

Another from the right.

A third waited behind.

Caos looked up.

For an instant, he saw the entire structure.

The defenders.

The midfielders.

The empty spaces.

The enormous stadium.

And, far above him, the private box.

His eyes stopped there.

His mother.

For one second, everything inside him became quiet.

He remembered being a child.

He remembered believing that football was simply a game.

Perhaps, he thought, it had never been that simple.

Then he moved.

500 mph.

The first defender did not even have time to turn.

The second tried to step across.

The Triassic Vortex tore through the gap.

Caos crossed the halfway line.

Then the next line.

The defenders were chasing something they could no longer reach.

He was already 84 meters from goal.

He planted his foot.

His body twisted.

And then came the strike.

350,000 Newtons.

The ball flew toward the goal at approximately 855 km/h.

The goalkeeper barely moved.

The net exploded backward.

San Mamés went silent.

Not gradually.

All at once.

The commentator shouted:

“GOAL! CAOS! Athletic defended him perfectly for almost forty minutes, but one opening was enough!”

Caos turned.

He looked toward the private box.

Zeraphina was standing.

Her hand was still over her belly.

Caos pointed toward her.

Then he returned to the center circle.

There was no smile on his face.

For some reason, that goal had not felt like a victory.

It had felt like an answer.

THE SECOND HALF

Athletic came out fighting.

They pushed forward again.

They wanted another goal.

They got it.

20–1.

The stadium erupted.

Their supporters continued singing.

Caos stood near midfield.

Mbappé walked over.

“You’re going to answer that.”

Caos smiled.

“Probably.”

Mbappé laughed.

“Here we go.”

The answer came almost immediately.

Caos received the ball near the center circle.

One defender approached.

Then another.

Caos accelerated.

The first disappeared behind him.

The second tried to tackle.

Caos changed direction.

Then he struck.

21–1.

The match became increasingly open.

Athletic scored again.

21–2.

The crowd celebrated every goal as if it were a victory.

Caos appreciated that.

They were losing.

Yet they were still singing.

There was something admirable in that.

He did not mock them.

He did not gesture toward the scoreboard.

He simply kept playing.

Then came one of the strangest goals of the night.

A cross came into the box.

It was too high.

Caos ran underneath it.

He jumped.

Higher.

Higher.

MORE.

COME ON!

YOU CAN DO IT!

FEEL THE PASSION OF FOOTBALL.

Then twisted completely around.

His heel met the ball.

A 70-foot chilena.

The ball flew over the goalkeeper and into the upper corner.

22–2.

Kempes nearly shouted himself hoarse.“CAOS! A CHILENA! SEVENTY FEET IN THE AIR! That is absolutely ridiculous!”

Caos landed.

He immediately looked toward the private box.

Zeraphina was laughing.

Keyla had both hands over her mouth.

Michaela was already applauding.

Caos pointed toward them.

Then touched his chest.

The celebration lasted only a few seconds.

The game continued.

AFTER THE MATCH

The three maids waited near the private exit.

Zeraphina reached him first.

She looked at him for several seconds.

“Twenty-four.”

Caos smiled.

“You counted?”

“I always count.”

Keyla walked up beside her.

“Twenty-four goals.”

She shook her head.

“I’m starting to think this is getting ridiculous.”

Caos laughed.

“You’ve been saying that for months.”

“Because it keeps getting more ridiculous.”

Michaela smiled.

“You did look happy out there.”

Caos nodded.

“I was.”

Zeraphina stepped closer.

Her hand rested over her belly.

“You were thinking about us.”

Caos looked down at her hand.

“Of course.”

He placed his hand gently over hers.

“And the children.”

Keyla folded her arms.

“Do you think they’re going to understand how strange their childhood is?”

Caos smiled.

“Probably not.”

“They’ll see old videos of you scoring twenty-four goals.”

“They’ll probably think I’m annoying.”

Keyla laughed.

“They’ll definitely think you’re annoying.”

Caos looked at her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Michaela laughed quietly.

Zeraphina shook her head.

Then she looked back at Caos.

“What do you want them to remember?”

Caos did not answer immediately.

He looked toward the stadium.

The noise was still coming through the walls.

Thousands of people were still talking about him.

Twenty-four goals.

Seven assists.

Another record.

Another impossible night.

Yet suddenly none of it seemed important.

Finally he said:

“That they were loved.”

The others became quiet.

Caos continued.

“I don’t care if they play football.”

He looked at Zeraphina.

“I don’t care if they want my career.”

Then at Keyla.

“They don’t have to carry my name like a responsibility.”

Then at Michaela.

“They don’t owe me a legacy.”

He smiled.

“They can be scientists. Artists. Teachers. Farmers. Engineers. Musicians. Anything.”

Keyla grinned.

“What if one of them wants to be terrible at football?”

Caos shrugged.

“Then I’ll teach them how to be terrible properly.”

Keyla burst out laughing.

Zeraphina smiled.

“That sounds more like you.”

Caos laughed with them.

For a moment, there was no stadium.

No cameras.No records.

Caos had surprised them again.

No argument about whether he was the greatest player in history.

There were only four people standing together after an impossible match.

And, perhaps for the first time that night, Caos did not feel like a legend.

He felt like a man.

And that was enough.

To be continued...