Striker of The Gods

La Liga : Matchday 27

Saturday, 27 April 2034 — 11:30 CET

Estadi Montilivi, Girona

Caos hijueputa.

Te vamos a matar.

No mereces vivr.

Tu lo arruinas todo.

Te odiamos caos.

Girona vs. Real Madrid

The stadium was already loud when the players came out.

Red and white flags waved above the stands. Girona’s supporters had filled Montilivi with songs, whistles, and the sort of stubborn enthusiasm that made it clear they had not come to watch their team surrender. After all, they had more to lose than to win at all. What is more, nothing can make it live as others may think. The more you look at it, the more you realize that you are all alone. 

However, this was not the case for Caos at all.

Girona knew what Caos could do. Everyone did by now.

They had watched the footage. They had studied his movements, his acceleration, the ridiculous power behind his shots. They had seen defenders close around him only to discover that the space they thought they had covered was already behind him.

So their manager had prepared a different plan.

Girona would defend with five at the back when Real Madrid had possession, crowd the central channels, and send two or three players toward Caos whenever he received the ball in dangerous areas. They would press aggressively after losing possession and use quick, direct passes to attack the space behind Madrid’s fullbacks.

It was risky. If the press failed, the defence would be exposed.

But sitting back and waiting for Caos to arrive had hardly worked for anyone.

In the tunnel, Gerard Moreno, watching from the stands as a guest of the club, spoke to Dani Parejo, who had come to support the team.

“They’ve been preparing for this all week. We all know that this can give us the glory we need. No one can doubt what we are made of. Even if it we do something about it, there will be no doubt that we can take on this whole new thing. That is to say that Caos cannot defeat us today,” Gerard said, looking toward the pitch.

Parejo folded his arms. “Preparing is one thing. Doing it when he’s running at you is another.”

“You sound optimistic.”

“I’m being realistic.”

Gerard smiled faintly. “That’s worse.”

A few metres away, Caos was listening to Mbappé.

“Girona will try to suffocate you,” the Frenchman said. “They’ll send two players, then a third. Don’t get trapped trying to beat all of them.”

Caos tightened the tape around his wrist.

“Then I’ll pass.”

Mbappé stared at him.

“That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Something about how you’re going to destroy their entire formation.”

“You’ve been listening to Keyla too much.”

Mbappé laughed. “Fair enough.”

Xabi Alonso approached before the teams entered the field.

“They’ve prepared for your usual movements,” he told Caos. “If they close the middle, use the wings. If they follow you, someone else will be free. Make them choose.”

Caos nodded.

“And don’t turn this into a personal battle,” Xabi added.

“I won’t.”

“Good. I’d like to finish one match without wondering what you’re going to do next.”

Caos looked at him. “You’d be bored.”

Xabi sighed.

“That’s exactly the answer I was afraid of. Anyway, Caos should be able to handle it just easy.”

The players walked out.

The crowd rose to its feet.

High above the pitch, Zeraphina stood beside the glass of the private box, one hand resting protectively over her growing belly. Keyla was already taking pictures of the stadium, while Michaela watched the players complete their warm-ups.

“It’s smaller than the Bernabéu,” Keyla remarked.

Michaela glanced at her. “Thank you for the analysis.”

“You’re welcome.”

Zeraphina smiled without taking her eyes off Caos.

“Look at him.”

“He looks perfectly calm,” Michaela said.

“He usually does.”

Keyla lowered her phone. “Do you think Girona’s plan will work?”

“For a little while,” Zeraphina answered. “They’ve clearly thought about it.”

“And then?”

Zeraphina’s eyes followed Caos as he moved toward the centre circle.

“Then he’ll have to think too.”

The referee checked his watch.

The whistle sounded.

Girona kicked off.

Girona began with a high press.

Their forwards closed down Madrid’s centre-backs, while the midfielders stepped forward to prevent easy passes into the middle. Madrid moved the ball from side to side, searching for an opening.

For several minutes, Girona held their shape.

Caos dropped into midfield to receive the ball, but the nearest midfielder followed him. When he moved toward the right, the left-sided defender stepped out, forcing him to pass backwards.

The crowd applauded.

They had managed to make him give up possession of the space he wanted.

“That’s what Girona need,” the La Liga commentator explained. “They can’t allow him to turn and run at the defence. They’re closing the space early, and so far they’ve made Madrid work for every opening.”

Caos received the ball again in the ninth minute.

This time, he did not try to turn.

He passed to Kroos, moved away from the pressure, and waited.

Girona’s defensive midfielder followed him for a few steps before returning to his position. The moment he moved back, Caos changed direction and ran into the gap behind him.

Kroos saw it.

The pass arrived at Caos’s feet.

Two defenders closed in from either side. A third stepped out from the back line, ready to challenge him before he could enter the penalty area.

Caos accelerated.

The first defender barely had time to turn. The second reached for his shirt and caught nothing but air. Caos slipped between them, pushed the ball ahead, and crossed the remaining distance before the goalkeeper could settle himself.

He struck from roughly eighty-seven metres.

The ball travelled at 861 km/h.

The goalkeeper moved, but the shot was already past him. The net snapped backward.

For a moment, the noise of Montilivi faltered.

Then the Madrid supporters erupted.

Girona 0–1 Real Madrid.

The commentator’s voice rose above the crowd.

“Caos has done it again! Girona had three players closing the space, and he still found the way through! From his own half, an extraordinary strike—and the goalkeeper had almost no chance!”

Caos turned toward the sky.

His lips moved briefly. He said nothing loud enough for the cameras to catch.

His mother had always occupied a part of him that football could never reach. Even now, after all the records and impossible performances, there were moments when he wanted to look upward and feel that she could see him.

He lowered his head.

Mbappé came running over.

“Could you at least give us ten minutes before doing something like that?”

Caos looked at him.

“You were asking me to use the space.”

“I meant the space near the box.”

“You should have been more specific.”

Mbappé laughed and pushed him lightly on the shoulder.

Girona returned to the centre circle. Their captain gathered the midfielders around him and spoke quickly, pointing toward the right side of the pitch.

They had conceded, but they had not abandoned their plan.

The next time Caos received the ball, three players moved toward him. He passed to Vinícius, who carried the ball down the left and sent a low cross toward Mbappé.

Mbappé finished.

Girona 0–2 Real Madrid.

The Frenchman turned toward Caos and pointed at himself.

“That one counts too.”

Caos nodded solemnly. “I’ll make sure the records show it.”

“Very funny.”

The match continued, and Girona began adjusting their defensive line. Their wingbacks dropped deeper, the midfield narrowed, and the central defenders tried to maintain a little more distance between themselves and Caos.

It helped for a while.

Madrid had to circulate the ball more carefully. Bellingham moved into the half-spaces, drawing a midfielder away from the centre. Rodrygo made runs behind the defence, forcing the wingbacks to watch both him and Vinícius.

The space began to open.

Caos took advantage of it.

His next goal came after he drew two defenders toward the right side and changed direction so quickly that both men collided while trying to recover. He scored again from a through ball, then once more after intercepting a pass intended for Girona’s defensive midfielder.

The goals came rapidly.

But Girona continued to attack whenever Madrid lost the ball. They did not simply retreat and wait. They tried to force mistakes, sending long passes toward their forwards and pushing their midfielders into the box.

In the twenty-seventh minute, one of those attacks nearly paid off.

A long ball travelled behind Madrid’s defence. Girona’s winger reached it first, brought it under control, and crossed toward the striker.

Courtois rushed off his line.

The striker got there first and headed the ball toward the far post.

Courtois stretched, but the ball passed his fingertips and struck the post.

The rebound rolled across the goalmouth.

A Madrid defender cleared it.

The Girona supporters sprang to their feet, roaring at the near miss. Their striker bent forward with his hands on his knees, furious with himself.

Caos watched from midfield.

Girona had finally found a way to hurt Madrid. Their attack had been direct, fast, and simple. They had used the space left by Madrid’s advancing players rather than trying to compete with Caos in the middle of the pitch.

When play resumed, Caos began dropping deeper to receive the ball.

Girona’s midfielder followed him.

That was the opening he wanted.

Caos played a short pass to Bellingham and moved forward. The midfielder tracked him for several steps, leaving a gap in front of the defensive line.

Bellingham returned the ball.

Caos was already moving through the space.

He struck before the centre-back could close him down.

The ball hit the net.

The commentator spoke over the celebrations.

“Girona nearly found a goal at one end, and now they’re punished at the other! That is the danger of pushing forward against this Madrid side. One mistake in the middle, one pass through the gap, and Caos is in.”

Girona’s manager shouted instructions from the touchline. His players were tiring, and the match was slipping away from them.

Still, they kept trying.

Caos scored again after a quick combination with Vinícius. Another goal came when he used his acceleration to reach a loose ball before the goalkeeper. A third followed a corner, when he collected a clearance outside the penalty area and sent it back through the crowded defence.

By halftime, the scoreboard had become almost impossible to comprehend.

Girona 0–21 Real Madrid.

Caos had scored seventeen goals, with the remaining four coming from his teammates.

The crowd was stunned. Some supporters continued chanting for Girona, refusing to let the score silence them. Others watched with their arms folded, trying to understand what they had just witnessed.

At the edge of the pitch, Girona’s captain approached Caos as the players headed toward the tunnel.

“Can I ask you something?”

Caos stopped.

“Go ahead.”

“Do you ever get tired of scoring?”

Caos considered the question.

“Sometimes I’m tired of running.”

The captain laughed despite himself.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Caos added, “You nearly scored before halftime. Your team has found ways through us. Keep doing that.”

The captain looked toward the goal where the ball had struck the post.

“We should have scored.”

“Yes.”

Caos continued toward the tunnel.

The captain remained where he was for another second before following his teammates.

Xabi Alonso waited until the Madrid players had settled in the dressing room.

“Keep your heads in the game,” he said. “They’re still attacking, and that means there will be spaces. Use them properly. Don’t force every pass, and don’t assume the next goal will come by itself.”

He looked at Caos.

“You heard that last part?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.”

Mbappé leaned toward Caos.

“He was talking about you.”

“I know.”

“And you’re not going to do anything ridiculous?”

Caos looked at him.

“What counts as ridiculous?”

Mbappé rubbed his face.

“I’m not answering that.”

Across the stadium, Girona’s manager addressed his players.

They were exhausted. Some had barely spoken during the break. Their captain stood near the centre of the room, listening while the manager explained how he wanted them to approach the second half.

“We can’t change what has happened,” the manager said. “We can still play our football. Keep making the runs. Help the player beside you. If there’s a chance to attack, take it.”

One of the defenders finally spoke.

“What if he scores again?”

The manager looked at him.

“Then we restart.”

The answer was simple, almost ordinary.

The defender nodded.

They returned to the pitch.

Girona began the second half with renewed aggression. They pressed Madrid high and tried to win the ball before the midfield could establish control.

Caos received a pass near the centre circle. Three players moved toward him.

Instead of accelerating, he released the ball to Kroos and ran behind the nearest midfielder. Kroos moved it across the pitch, and Madrid attacked through the space Girona had left open.

Vinícius crossed.

Caos reached the ball in the air.

He twisted his body, adjusted to the awkward delivery, and struck it with a chilena from an extraordinary height of seventy-three feet.

The ball flew toward the goal.

The goalkeeper leapt.

He did not reach it.

The net shook, and the stadium erupted.

Girona 0–22 Real Madrid.

Kempes shouted over the noise.

“What a finish! Caos has turned a difficult cross into an overhead strike from an impossible height! ESTALLA EL ESTADIO. ES UN GOLAZO.There are moments when you simply have to watch and accept that you’ve seen something extraordinary!”

Caos landed and turned toward the private box.

He raised one hand toward Zeraphina, thinking of the children she and Leonor were carrying.

The gesture was brief. He did not need to explain it.

Zeraphina placed her hand over her belly. Keyla had stopped filming, and Michaela smiled beside her.

Keyla finally spoke.

“He really does make everything look easy.”

Zeraphina shook her head.

“It isn’t easy. He just makes it look that way.”

On the pitch, Vinícius caught up with Caos.

“You know most people would fall over trying that.”

“Most people aren’t you.”

“That’s supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it however you like.”

Vinícius laughed and shoved him gently toward the centre circle.

The match resumed.

Girona scored their first goal in the sixty-second minute. A quick counterattack caught Madrid’s defence out of position, and their striker finished low into the corner.

The home supporters erupted. The players ran toward the corner flag, shouting and embracing one another.

For them, the goal mattered.

It did not change the result, but it rewarded the work they had continued doing when almost everything else had gone against them.

Caos watched the celebration from the halfway line.

Mbappé came to stand beside him.

“Don’t tell me you’re happy they scored.”

“I’m happy they kept trying.”

“You really do think about everything.”

“Not everything.”

Mbappé glanced toward the scoreboard.

“Then stop thinking for a minute and score another goal.”

Caos smiled.

“As you wish.”

He returned to the match.

The next stretch was brutal for Girona. Their defenders were exhausted, and their formation began breaking apart whenever Madrid moved the ball quickly. Caos found gaps between the centre-backs and wingbacks, while his teammates exploited the spaces created by the pressure.

He scored from a low cross, then from a pass that split the defence. Another goal came after he intercepted a clearance and drove the ball into the net.

Madrid’s other players continued contributing. Bellingham scored after a combination through the middle. Rodrygo finished a counterattack. Mbappé added another after Caos drew the defence toward him and slipped the ball into his path.

The scoreboard continued climbing.

Yet Caos was not simply running past everyone. He changed his approach whenever Girona changed theirs. When they crowded the centre, he passed wide. When they spread out to cover the wings, he attacked the middle. When they stepped forward to press, he used the space behind them.

Their defenders knew what he was doing.

Knowing did not make it easier to stop.

Girona scored their second goal late in the match. This time, their striker finished a cross after a scramble in the penalty area. He punched the air and turned toward the crowd, and the supporters answered with another roar.

Caos applauded once from the centre circle.

The striker saw him and gave a small, surprised nod before returning to his position.

The final minutes passed with Madrid still attacking. Caos added more goals, his teammates continued finding space, and Girona fought to keep their defensive shape even as fatigue took its toll.

When the final whistle sounded, the scoreboard read:

Girona 2–31 Real Madrid.

Caos had scored twenty-five goals and provided six assists. His teammates had scored the remaining six goals, each assisted by him.

He stood near the centre circle for a moment after the whistle.

One finger rose toward the sky for his mother.

His other hand pressed against his chest as he thought of his father, the man whose words had come too late to repair everything between them.

The gesture was small enough that many people in the stands did not notice it.

He lowered his hand and walked toward the opposing players.

The La Liga commentator delivered the final words of the broadcast.

“Real Madrid take the victory, and Caos adds another extraordinary performance to a season that continues to defy expectation. Girona kept fighting, even when the score was beyond reach. They’ll have plenty to think about after tonight, but Caos and Madrid leave with the points.”

Caos exchanged handshakes with Girona’s players. Their captain held his hand for a moment longer than the others.

“Next time,” the captain said, “we’ll try something else.”

Caos smiled.

“I hope you do.”

He walked toward the tunnel.

The stadium remained loud long after the players had disappeared.

Caos had earned his fifty-second consecutive Man of the Match award across all competitions. Another record had been added to a growing list, and the numbers would be discussed for days.

But when he reached the private exit, the first person he looked for was Zeraphina.

She stood waiting with Keyla and Michaela, one hand resting over her belly.

“Twenty-five goals,” she said when he approached. “You’ve made it very difficult for anyone to write a normal report about this match.”

Caos smiled and placed his hand gently over hers.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I did.”

“Good.”

Keyla folded her arms.

“You know, some footballers come home after a match and talk about the game.”

“I talked about the game.”

“You gave us statistics.”

“They were accurate statistics.”

Michaela laughed.

“Let him breathe, Keyla. He hasn’t even sat down yet.”

Zeraphina leaned closer to Caos.

“Come home. Eat something, and spend time with us. You can worry about the next match tomorrow.”

Caos looked at her, then at Keyla and Michaela.

“All right.”

Keyla narrowed her eyes.

“No laboratory? why would it not be tonight. Just tell me how we should do it. Even so, it would not do any harm thou.”

“Not tonight. Well, it is just another night like today.”

“ dragon research? Maybe, we could research your dragon.”

“No disappearing for six hours because Erebus has discovered something interesting that could bring us more hope than dispair?”

Caos paused.

Zeraphina looked at him.

“Caos.”

“I said not tonight.”

Keyla seemed satisfied, although not entirely convinced.

They walked out together.

The match would be replayed, analysed, and argued over. Managers would look for new ways to contain him. Defenders would study his movements. Supporters would debate whether anyone could ever stop him.

Caos knew all of that would come.

He also knew there would be another morning, another training session, another difficult decision waiting for him.

For now, he had promised to stay.

And this time, he intended to keep that promise.

In the world of football, Caos is the honoured one. Nothing can tell use what he can do. Even so, this life cannot satisfy him. There would be no living pupose to continue living.

To be continued…