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[20:48, 17/Nov/2020 | Spain 4 vs 2 Germany | La Cartuja Stadium, Seville]

[90+1']

From the free kick, Spain didn't even bother loading the box. Rodri rolled it short to Canales; Canales returned it; then it went back to Ramos, who knocked it all the way to Unai Simón. Neuer stood on his 18-yard line, hands on his hips, watching as his side tried in vain to close down passing lanes.

Rakim still pressed, sprinting from Ramos to Pau Torres to Gayà, refusing to jog it in. His lungs burned, as they couldn't effectively coordinate the press. Finally, Cucurella received near the left touchline and, rather than risk anything, smashed it long into the German half. The ball ran harmlessly through to Neuer.

[90+2']

Neuer looked up quickly, sensing one last chance. He rolled it short to Süle, who drove forward over the halfway line. Spain retreated in a compact shell, content to let Germany come.

In German fashion, they passed out from the back, pinning passes around the Spanish strikers and winger. Rakim was frustrated at the lack of service and the meaningless passes dropped back to the halfway line and demanded the ball from Koch. The defender hesitated before drilling the ball his way, and the winger let it roll through his legs as he turned past Cucurella, who had stepped up to pressure him.

He took a deep breath before exploding forward, dragging the ball with him. Sergio Canales tried to get in his way, but a swift la croqueta saw him glide past him, breaking inwards. He ronaldo flicked the ball to his right into the run of Brandt, who flicked it forward beyond Rodri.

Gnabry stepped up from the edge of the box, holding up play under the pressure of Ramos. He flicked back to the surging Rakim on his left, and the winger chipped it into the box towards the left with his first touch. Werner, under the pressure of José Gayà, sprinted towards the landing point, jumping headfirst.

His forehead met the ball with a sickening crack of contact — perfect timing, perfect direction — and it flashed toward the far corner, skimming just above Unai Simón's leap. The ball flew straight, hinting at the far post with a resounding thud, flicking it up into the air. Everyone watched with disbelief and anticipation as bodies launched themselves towards the foaling ball.

Simón got there first, his gloves gripping the ball tightly as he fell to the ground. "Ohhh, it was almost 4–3!" the commentator cried. "Germany so close to a grandstand finish! Unai Simón with a crucial, crucial save!"

Werner stayed on his knees for a second, fists clenched in the grass, before forcing himself up. Gnabry jogged over, giving him a quick slap on the back of the head in consolation. The referee looked at his watch as the Spanish keeper slowly got up he calmly walked to the edge before booting it up the field.

That was all she wrote as one last shrill of the whistle cut through La Cartuja. (FWEEEET! FWEEEET! FWEEEEEET!)

[FT — Spain 4–2 Germany](Ferran Torres 52', Morata 62', Ramos 79' pen; earlier Spain goal you mentioned at 1–0 HT | Werner 67', Rakim Rex 87')

~~~

"Full time in Seville," the commentator said, his tone a mixture of awe and finality. "Spain was ruthless, dominant for long stretches — Germany showed flashes, especially after Rakim Rex came on, but it was far too late. Spain topped the group. Germany now faces serious questions about their future direction."

Spanish players embraced in small clusters, Ramos roaring toward the main stand with clenched fists. Morata dropped to one knee, arms spread in cathartic relief. Ferran and Oyarzabal swapped grins near the halfway line.

Neuer clapped his gloves together, then went man to man, bumping fists with each teammate. Kroos stared at the turf for a moment before exchanging shirts with Koke. Werner trudged toward the tunnel, shaking his head.

Rakim lingered, hands on hips, breath still misting in the cool Seville air. His muscles hummed with leftover adrenaline — assist, goal, almost a second assist — but the scoreline on the giant screen wouldn't let him forget the reality: Spain 4–2 Germany.

He turned and found Marc Cucurella on the side of the field, then moved towards him. "Good game," He said, reaching out for a handshake which the other reciprocated.

"Oh, you talk, and here I thought you were mute." The Spaniard joked with a light laugh. "Man, you know you're quite frustrating to guard, right?"

"Well, I'm usually on the left, let's play there next time," Rakim said with a light smile. "You guys have a good team. I can't wait to get my revenge."

"Haha, I can't wait to tonight victory still belongs to us," He retorted with a bright smile before indicating for a jersey swap. "You should come to Spain, you could really set the league on fire here."

"Maybe, I'll conquer Germany first before thinking about Spain..."

Cucurella laughed, teeth flashing under the floodlights. "Then hurry up, hombre. We need good villains in La Liga."

"Naw, I'm more like an Anti-hero," Arakim spread his arms with a broad grin. "My fans love it when I crush other people's dreams."

"What's happening to this generation," the Spaniard muttered in exasperation. "Just keep doing what works for you."

They swapped shirts, the Spanish full-back holding Rakim's jersey up with a whistle. "This one's going in the room for players I had in my back pocket," he said, with a wide smile.

"Are you forgetting I made you do the stanky leg?" Rakim retorted with a snear. "Don't even deny it, my guy will snip it and put it on my highlight reel tonight."

"Kids these days..." He muttered something in annoyance before jogging back toward his celebrating teammates.

~~~

[Post-Match | Mixed Zone]

Laura Wontorra caught Rakim as he walked through the mixed zone, wearing his prozone vest on his chest and a Spanish kit slung over his shoulder. His face flushed from exertion as he untied his hair from the bun he had, showcasing his small afro. Beads of sweat trickled down his bare upper body, highlighting his ripped six-pack that rippled with every breath he took.

"Rakim, a moment of your time, please." She stopped him, her eyes subconciosly travelling down to his stomach that was just below her eyeline. For a moment, she forgot he was seventeen, but luckily, he spoke, snapping her out of her trance.

"Yes, sure," he said with an easy smile as he stepped into the designated area.

"(caugh) Tough result tonight, but a brilliant individual performance. How are you feeling?" She said recomposing herself, looking him in the eye, but she quickly regretted it as she got lost in his bright green eyes. 'Curses this COVID dry spell.' She thought to herself, barely hearing his response.

"Disappointed, obviously. We wanted three points, and we didn't get them. But it wasn't all bad as we had some great spells, which shows something about this team's character," he responded after carefully considering his words.

"Your goal was spectacular. What went through your mind in that moment?"

A slight smile appeared on his face. "Honestly? Nothing. The ball just fell to me, and all I saw was the back of the net; all the obstacles disappeared. The rest, well, you know."

"You created several chances, particularly after coming on. Do you feel like you guys lost this, or did Spain win this match?" She asked confidently in her question, but the confused look on his face baffled her.

"I think you confused me with Westbrook. Spain clearly won this match, it's 4-2."

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To be Continued...