CHAPTER 112: THE SSS-RANK MAGICIAN

4-3.

Apex United, who had been 2-1 down and on the ropes just minutes earlier, were now leading in the most chaotic, beautiful, and utterly unhinged football match in history.

Ethan stood in his technical area, his hands on his head, a wild, breathless laugh escaping his lips. He looked over at Maya.

She was just staring at the pitch, a look of profound, almost comical despair on her face, as if her entire, logical, data-driven understanding of the universe had just been proven wrong by a bicycle kick and a lucky corner.

On the pitch, the players were a beautiful mess of adrenaline and confusion.

"I have no idea what’s happening anymore!"

Kenny McLean was yelling, a huge grin plastered on his face.

"Are we good? Are we bad? Are we just incredibly lucky?!"

"Who cares?!" David Kerrigan roared back, his voice hoarse with celebration.

"We’re winning! Just keep giving me the ball!"

The game had officially transcended tactics. It was now a living, breathing entity of pure, glorious chaos.

Maya, however, was a tactician. And she was furious.

The chaos was unacceptable.

She called her shell-shocked captain over to the sideline.

"Get a grip!" she hissed, her voice a low, intense command that cut through the noise.

"Forget the score! Forget the wonder goals! We go back to basics. 4-1-4-1. We are compact. We are disciplined. Gavi," she yelled at her S-Rank Maestro, "you are the shield! Nothing gets past you! We do not concede another goal!"

Her team, spurred on by the ferocity of their young manager, responded.

The game, which had been an open, end-to-end basketball match, now tightened.

Nova Athletic, their pride wounded, became a defensive wall, their flair replaced by a gritty, determined resolve.

The next ten minutes were a brutal, attritional battle in the midfield.

The beautiful football was gone, replaced by crunching tackles and tactical fouls. It was a war.

In the 78th minute, the war had its first casualty.

A long ball was played over the top for Viktor Kristensen.

He brought it down with a sublime touch, but the Nova center-back, who had been a rock all game, was tired of being made to look foolish.

He came through the back of the young Danish striker with a cynical, ugly, and completely deliberate foul.

It was a tackle born of pure frustration. And the referee, who had seen enough chaos for one evening, had no hesitation. He marched over and brandished a straight red card.

"AND IT’S A RED CARD!" the commentator, who had just about recovered his voice, shrieked. "A moment of madness from the Nova Athletic defender! A terrible, cynical challenge, and the visitors are down to ten men! Maya’s tactical masterclass is in tatters! Her team has completely lost its head!"

Maya just stood there, her hands on her hips, her face a mask of thunderous fury.

She wasn’t angry at the referee. She was angry at her own player for losing his composure.

Ethan saw his chance. A one-goal lead and a one-man advantage.

This was the moment to be a professional. To be the calm, sensible manager he knew he could be.

He called his stand-in captain over.

"Ben!" he yelled. "We’re changing it. We’re going to a 5-3-1. I’m bringing on another defender. We are shutting this game down. We are not conceding another goal. We are going to be boring, we are going to be professional, and we are going to win."

Gibson nodded, a look of grim, satisfied determination on his face. The fun part was over. It was time to be winners.

The substitution was made.

Apex United, now in a solid, five-man defensive block, simply kept the ball.

They passed it in calm, patient triangles, making the ten men of Nova chase shadows.

The home crowd, who had been on a rollercoaster of emotions, now started to "olé" every pass.

The frustration of the Nova players was palpable. They chased, they harried, but they couldn’t get near the ball.

In the 89th minute, with the game all but won, Apex launched one final, beautiful attack.

It started, as everything did, with Emre Demir.

He received the ball in the center circle, turned, and glided past a tired, lunging challenge. He looked up and saw a single, hopeful run from the left flank.

It was the full-back, Dimitris Giannoulis. He had been a defensive rock all game, a picture of quiet, unassuming professionalism. But now, with the game won, he bombed forward, a blur of blue.

Emre slid a perfect, defense-splitting pass into his path.

The Greek defender was in. He was one-on-one with the keeper.

The entire stadium rose to its feet, expecting a shot.

But Giannoulis, a defender at heart, saw a better option.

He looked up and saw Viktor Kristensen, unmarked, in the middle. He calmly squared the ball, a simple, unselfish pass that gave his striker the easiest of tap-ins.

But Viktor didn’t shoot.

In a moment of pure, beautiful, selfless teamwork, he dummied the ball, letting it run through his legs.

And arriving like a freight train, having made a 70-yard recovery run and then just kept on going, was the man who had started the move.

The SSS-Rank magician. Emre Demir.

He met the ball with a simple, side-footed finish and passed it into the empty net.

5-3.

It was a goal of such breathtaking, intricate, and unselfish beauty that it was the perfect, glorious exclamation point on a match that had been defined by chaos.

The final whistle blew a moment later.

The Apex players celebrated, not with the wild, chaotic energy of before, but with the calm, satisfied joy of a team that knew it had just produced a complete and total performance.

Ethan walked onto the pitch, a wide, proud, and utterly happy grin on his face. He met Maya in the center circle. She was no longer furious.

She just looked... impressed.

"Okay," she said, shaking his outstretched hand.

"You win. Your chaos is officially better than my logic."

"It was a good game," Ethan said, a genuine respect in his voice.

"Your Maestro is a special, special player."

"He is," she agreed. "But your number ten... he’s a cheat code. And your number nine scored a bicycle kick. And your left-back thinks he’s a winger. Your team is a beautiful, unmanageable mess. I have absolutely no idea how you do it."

"Neither do I, most of the time," he admitted with a laugh.

"Well," she said, a playful, challenging glint returning to her eyes.

"You won the battle. But the war, the league... that’s not over yet. I’ll see you in a few weeks. And next time, my Maestro will be ready for your magic."

She turned and walked away, leaving Ethan standing in the middle of the pitch, the roar of his adoring home fans washing over him.