The roar of the crowd washed over the stadium as both teams emerged from the tunnel.
Blue-and-white scarves danced through the air.
Drums echoed from the home supporters’ section.
Children pressed against the railings, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite players.
Among the names being shouted, one stood out more than the others.
“Fifty-five!”
“Loria!”
“Number fifty-five!”
Giorgi couldn’t help but smile.
Just two weeks ago, no one in this stadium had known who he was.
Now supporters were chanting his name before he had even stepped onto the pitch.
He quickly pushed the thought aside.
*Don’t get distracted.*
There was still a match to win.
The teams lined up as the commentator introduced the starting elevens.
“Dinamo Tbilisi remain with Ferdinand Feldhofer’s familiar **4-4-2**.”
A graphic appeared on television.
**Goalkeeper**
Mikheil Makatsaria
**Defense**
Saba Khvadagiani
Aleksandre Kalandadze
Kike Cadete
Nikoloz Ugrekhelidze
**Midfield**
Giorgi Lominadze
Nikoloz Tsetskhladze
Giorgi Gvasalia
Nika Ninua
**Forwards**
Vakhtang Salia
Davit Iobashvili
The commentator continued.
“On the bench today, the teenager everyone has been talking about…”
“Giorgi Loria.”
“We’ll have to wait and see whether he features again.”
Attention shifted to the visitors.
“Dinamo Batumi line up in an attacking 4-3-3!”
Another graphic appeared.
**Goalkeeper**
Ricardo Silva
**Defense**
Revaz Chiteishvili
Mamuka Kobakhidze
Levan Kharabadze
Wanderson
**Midfield**
Vladimer Mamuchashvili
Alef Santos
Jean Victor
**Attack**
Paata Ghudushauri
Jalen Blesa
Honore Gomis
The co-commentator nodded approvingly.
“That’s a dangerous front three.”
“Plenty of pace.”
“And Mamuchashvili is the man who makes everything tick.”
The referee glanced at both assistants.
A sharp whistle pierced the air.
Kickoff.
The opening exchanges were cautious.
Neither team wanted to make the first mistake.
Possession changed hands repeatedly around midfield as both sides searched for weaknesses.
From the substitutes’ bench, Giorgi watched every movement.
His eyes rarely followed the ball.
Instead, they tracked the spaces around it.
Where midfielders positioned themselves.
How Batumi’s front three pressed.
How Dinamo responded.
Every detail mattered.
Three minutes in…
Dinamo earned the game’s first real opportunity.
Vakhtang Salia won a free kick roughly twenty-five yards from goal after being clipped from behind.
The crowd applauded expectantly.
Nika Ninua stood over the ball.
The whistle sounded.
His effort curled toward the near corner.
Ricardo Silva barely needed to move.
The Batumi goalkeeper gathered it comfortably before distributing the ball quickly.
“Routine save,” the commentator remarked.
“Comfortable for Silva.”
A swift move down the right flank earned them a corner.
Vladimer Mamuchashvili jogged across to take it.
The delivery swung dangerously toward the near post.
Jalen Blesa attacked it aggressively.
The header flashed inches wide.
A collective gasp swept through the stadium.
Makatsaria shouted at his defenders.
“Wake up!”
The next fifteen minutes drifted by in waves.
One team attacked.
The other defended.
Then the roles reversed.
Neither side managed to establish lasting control.
The game rose and fell naturally.
Short bursts of excitement followed by slower spells of possession.
The supporters remained fully invested.
Every tackle drew applause.
Every interception earned cheers.
Every attack carried the promise of something special.
On the bench, Giorgi remained completely absorbed.
Whenever Batumi built from the back, he mentally noted their passing patterns.
When Dinamo lost possession, he watched how quickly they reorganized.
Vakhtang Salia occasionally glanced toward the touchline after pressing, gesturing for midfielders to step higher.
Little details.
Tiny habits.
The sort of things television cameras rarely noticed.
The stadium clock reached twenty-three minutes.
Then…
Everything changed.
Alef Santos received possession inside Batumi’s half.
Without hesitation, he fired a perfectly weighted pass between Dinamo’s center-backs.
The defensive line split apart.
Jalen Blesa burst through.
The striker’s first touch carried him into the penalty area.
Only Makatsaria remained.
The goalkeeper rushed forward.
Blesa nudged the ball past him.
Then…
Aleksandre Kalandadze launched himself into a desperate sliding challenge.
The tackle was committed.
Necessary.
Reckless.
His legs swept through the striker.
Blesa crashed onto the grass.
The referee’s whistle rang instantly.
He pointed emphatically toward the spot.
Penalty.
The home supporters protested furiously.
Kalandadze spread his arms.
“I had to!”
His frustration was understandable.
If he hadn’t made the challenge…
Blesa almost certainly would have scored.
Instead…
He had traded a likely goal for a penalty.
The referee reached into his pocket.
Yellow card.
Nothing more.
A red would have ended the match completely.
Jalen Blesa collected the ball.
Then surprised everyone.
Instead of placing it on the spot himself…
He handed it to Honore Gomis.
The winger smiled confidently.
The commentator raised an eyebrow.
“Interesting.”
“Gomis will take responsibility.”
The stadium fell almost completely silent.
Makatsaria bounced lightly on his goal line.
Gomis carefully positioned the ball.
Three steps backward.
One deep breath.
The referee blew the whistle.
Gomis sprinted forward.
His right foot struck through the ball.
Makatsaria guessed correctly.
But he never reached it.
Because…
CLANG!
The shot smashed against the right post.
The stadium erupted.
Not in celebration.
In disbelief.
The ball rebounded violently back into play.
Straight toward the six-yard box. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Jalen Blesa had never stopped running.
Before any defender could react…
He arrived first.
One simple finish.
The ball rolled into the empty net.
Goal.
Batumi celebrated wildly.
The rebound had fallen perfectly.
The commentator sighed.
“So unfortunate for Dinamo.”
“Gomis misses the penalty…”
“But Blesa reacts quickest.”
“The visitors lead.”
The scoreboard updated.
<>Dinamo Tbilisi 0–1 Dinamo Batumi<>
The restart came quickly.
Dinamo had no choice but to respond.
Their pressing immediately became more aggressive.
Vakhtang Salia led the charge, sprinting relentlessly toward Batumi’s defenders.
Davit supported him from the opposite side.
The midfield pushed higher.
The defenders compressed the space.
For several minutes, Batumi struggled to leave their own half.
Yet…
Despite all that pressure…
Clear chances remained scarce.
Whenever Dinamo entered dangerous areas, Batumi defended intelligently.
Compact.
Disciplined.
Patient.
The frustration grew.
Then Batumi almost struck again.
A quick counterattack caught Dinamo’s defense stretched.
Paata Ghudushauri surged down the right wing before cutting the ball inside.
Jean Victor arrived at full speed.
His first-time effort flashed narrowly past the far post.
Makatsaria watched helplessly.
The home crowd exhaled together.
Another warning.
Rather than forcing another attack immediately, Batumi slowed the tempo.
They recycled possession calmly.
Waiting.
Waiting for Dinamo to overcommit.
Ferdinand Feldhofer paced the touchline.
He refused to let his players lose their composure.
“Keep moving!”
“The goal will come!”
The clock ticked toward halftime.
Forty-one minutes.
Dinamo circulated possession across midfield.
Nikoloz Tsetskhladze looked up.
No obvious opening.
Then…
He spotted movement.
Vakhtang Salia drifted between Batumi’s center-backs.
The midfielder clipped a delicate lob over the defensive line.
The ball dropped beautifully just outside the penalty area.
Salia controlled it with his chest.
One bounce.
No hesitation.
His left foot swung through the ball.
The strike stayed low.
Threading through a maze of defenders.
Past one outstretched leg.
Between two others.
Ricardo Silva reacted late, his view blocked by the crowd of bodies in front of him.
By the time he saw the ball…
It was already kissing the inside of the left post.
Goal.
The stadium exploded.
“GOOOOOAL!”
the commentator roared.
“THE VETERAN RETURNS!”
“VAKHTANG SALIA!”
“WHAT A FINISH!”
Salia sprinted toward the corner flag, punching the air before being swallowed by celebrating teammates.
Ferdinand clenched both fists.
The substitutes leaped from the bench.
Even Giorgi found himself shouting with delight.
The veteran had announced his return in style.
The scoreboard changed once again.
<>Dinamo Tbilisi 1–1 Dinamo Batumi<>
The home supporters sensed momentum shifting.
The visitors suddenly looked uncertain.
And with nearly an entire half still left to play…
The battle for three priceless points was far from over.