Araujo was genuinely surprised.
He had been hearing that Santander’s new goalkeeper was the hottest rising star around lately, and seeing him in person, the rumors weren’t exaggerated.
That stirred Araujo’s competitive spirit.
For a striker, the ultimate goal was to completely shatter a goalkeeper’s confidence and leave a permanent mental scar.
Michael Chen met Araujo’s intense stare and raised an eyebrow.
‘This kid’s eyes look a little crossed…’ Michael thought.
Michael restarted play, distributing the ball accurately to Oriol.
This was the unique understanding between the two; Michael took a little pace off the pass, allowing Oriol to drop back comfortably to receive it.
Oriol overlapped and carried the ball forward.
The home side couldn’t quite figure out his chaotic movement, so Santana and Simón immediately moved in to double-team him.
Oriol suddenly knocked the ball ahead and accelerated hard.
Both the man and the ball slipped right through the gap between them!
“Oriol looks like a slippery fish out there!
He’s somehow squeezed between the two defenders and reached the edge of the six-yard box!
Oriol sends in a forty-five-degree cross!
Otuño clears it!”
“But the clearance has gone high, not far!
The second ball falls perfectly!
Morandi hits it on the volley with the outside of his foot!”
“Goal!
GOOOOOAL!”
“Morandi has pierced the home side’s net with an incredible strike!
He has finally ended his goal drought!”
Morandi hit a massive knee slide in excitement, ripping two deep tracks into the grass near the touchline.
1–2.
Santander had pulled one back!
Las Palmas began to feel the pressure, and for a while, both sides traded heavy blows back and forth.
In the 70th minute, Viera drove forward, exchanging rapid passes with Arimán and Momo, dragging five defenders out of position.
Arimán slipped into the crowd and was cynically brought down by Seth.
The referee immediately awarded a free-kick.
“This free-kick is in almost the exact same position as the one in the first half!
And once again, Momo is standing over the ball.”
“Same forward, different goalkeeper!” Jack said, his voice buzzing with excitement.
It wasn’t often a commentator got to witness a direct redemption arc like this.
Michael stood in his six-yard box, shouting at Oriol to lie down behind the wall to block the low shot.
After a month of grueling special training, Michael wanted to see if he could actually stop this free-kick on raw instinct.
Momo took his run-up and struck the ball.
It drew a vicious, curling rainbow through the air.
Michael pushed hard off both feet, fully extended his body, and managed to brush the ball with his fingertips.
It still went in!
Just an inch too short!
‘Rewind five seconds!’
This time, the second Momo started his run-up, Michael took a calculated half-step toward the near post.
Momo noticed the keeper shift early.
Panicking slightly, he tried to compensate, but he no longer had time to adjust his footing.
The strike lost its shape, and the ball bent harmlessly wide of the post.
Michael’s expression turned dead serious.
When he rewound time and anticipated early, top-tier players actually had the awareness to notice the shift and adjust their shots on the fly.
He would need to be much more subtle next time.
Even after a month of intense practice, his pure athleticism still wasn’t enough to reach elite free-kicks.
He definitely needed to add more explosive plyometric jumping to his daily routine.
The broadcast camera zoomed in on Michael’s intense expression, and Jack timed his commentary perfectly.
“From what we can see here, Michael Chen is an incredibly composed player.
Even when a shot bends wide, his eyes are still tracking it, still analyzing the situation. New chapters come out on g.com first.
This is a young goalkeeper with phenomenally high professional awareness.”
Momo kicked the turf in pure frustration.
Araujo rubbed his head, and the two trudged back toward the center circle.
Play restarted, and the midfield wrestling match resumed.
Santander spread their formation wide, patiently circulating the ball.
Spotting a gap behind Koné, Granero lifted his head and threaded a sharp pass right through the lines.
Koné received it with his back to goal, turned his marker, and completely blew past him.
He hit top speed down the flank and whipped in a cross!
In the middle, Miguel launched himself at it, heading the ball violently toward the goal.
Barbosa threw his body across the line and managed an incredible parry.
But Morandi was already there, aggressively following up on the rebound.
“Goal!”
“Santander had scored twice in seven minutes!”
The away section went completely mental.
On the touchline, Raul punched the sky like a madman, shooting a smug look straight at Silva’s dugout.
“Santander were two goals down at half-time!
And they’ve just equalized with two rapid-fire goals in seven minutes!
They refuse to die!
There are still twenty minutes left on the clock, and this match has just become a classic!” Jack yelled, his blood clearly boiling.
Panicking, Silva quickly made an offensive substitution, dragging off defender Ertiles to bring on attacking midfielder Gómez.
Fresh off the bench, Gómez was a nuisance, pressing relentlessly in the final third and trying to link up with Araujo.
But Santander strictly followed Raul’s instructions.
They dropped deep, absorbing the pressure and turning their defensive shape into an unbreakable low block.
The two sides remained deadlocked all the way into stoppage time.
In the final agonizing minute of added time, Koné managed to break on a counter and was cynically chopped down about thirty meters from the goal, earning a dangerous free-kick.
Michael sprinted all the way up the pitch, grabbing Seth by the arm.
“Captain, let me take this.”
Knowing the referee was about to blow the final whistle anyway, Seth nodded and stepped aside.
The towering center-backs flooded into the penalty area, waiting for the delivery.
Michael stood over the ball, his eyes coldly measuring the distance to the net.
The entire stadium held its breath, and the broadcast camera zoomed in tight on his face.
Michael took a slow, deep breath and measured out two steps backward.
Bang!
He stepped up and struck the ball.
Instead of floating a cross into the chaotic box, the ball carved a bizarre, whipping arc through the air, violently curling right past the jumping crowd of defenders.
It took a wicked bounce just in front of the far post.
And skipped cleanly into the back of the net!
“Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!”
Every single Santander player lost their minds, charging straight toward Michael.
This time, Michael didn’t just stand calmly in his box like he usually did.
He sprinted passionately toward the corner flag, high on pure adrenaline.
He leapt high, spun in the air, landed with his arms spread wide, and roared at the hostile crowd:
“Siuuu!”
It was something he had always dreamed of doing as a kid.
Whenever he scored a crucial goal, he wanted to hit the iconic celebration.
He just never expected he would only get to do it after officially becoming a professional goalkeeper.
A goalkeeper hitting the Cristiano Ronaldo celebration to win the match!
Despite losing, huge sections of the stadium stood up to applaud the sheer audacity of it.
No one could deny the magic this kid brought onto the pitch in the second half.
“Michael Chen’s celebration is a direct tribute to Cristiano Ronaldo!
A game-winning free-kick from a goalkeeper!
This is going to completely break the internet tonight!” Jack shouted.
Tweet!
Tweeeet!
The referee blew the final whistle.
Las Palmas 2–3 Racing Santander!
Santander had completed a miraculous comeback with a 90th-minute winner!
Raul aggressively shook hands with a shell-shocked Silva, then sprinted straight onto the pitch, grabbing his players in massive hugs.
“Michael!
You are a god!” Raul screamed, grabbing him.
Michael felt the manager’s bear hug literally squeezing the air out of his lungs.
“Coach, relax, I’m just doing my job,” Michael gasped with a grin, seizing the perfect moment.
“But hey, if you’re really this happy…
how about letting me take all the long-range free-kicks from now on?”
“I’ll seriously think about it!
Go get showered.
You’re coming with me to the press conference!” Raul yelled, pure joy plastered across his face.
…
Standing in the shadows of the players’ tunnel, Mario watched the chaotic celebration on the pitch.
He gritted his teeth, turned his back, and trudged to the dressing room alone.
Araujo walked over to the celebrating keeper, gesturing to swap shirts.
Michael pulled his off without hesitation and handed it over.
“Michael, you really are a freak of nature in goal,” Araujo said, wiping sweat from his face.
“Your saves tonight reminded me of an old friend of mine.
David de Gea.”
“Appreciate the compliment, man,” Michael said with a respectful nod.
Keeping his cool, composed aura, he finished the shirt swap and jogged over with the rest of the squad to applaud the traveling away fans.
As he clapped for the supporters, Michael’s mind was already turning.
‘Araujo is right.
I really should start studying De Gea’s reflex foot-saves.
If I can improve my leg flexibility with Emma, I’ll definitely start testing that technique out in training.’
…
At the post-match press conference, the room was packed.
A reporter immediately stood up.
“Coach Raul!
The team’s dynamic completely shifted between the first and second half.
Was that massive momentum swing purely because you finally subbed Michael Chen on?”
“The entire squad performed well in the second half,” Raul deflected smoothly.
“Our tactical setup in the first forty-five simply wasn’t working, so we made the necessary adjustments in the locker room.
After that, our transitions became much more fluid.”
The reporters stared at him, absolutely nobody buying that corporate answer.
You swap out your bleeding goalkeeper at half-time, your team magically stops conceding and scores three, and you expect us to believe it had nothing to do with him?
At that moment, a younger reporter near the front stood up.
“Michael!
Today you scored a direct free-kick as a goalkeeper, completely rewriting the club’s history books.
How does it feel, and what would you like to say to the fans?”
Michael stared blankly at the wall, completely silent.
“Michael?” the reporter asked again, holding his microphone out.
Michael didn’t blink.
He just sat there in dead silence.
A veteran journalist sitting next to the kid leaned over and whispered, “Put the mic down, idiot.
Didn’t your editor warn you?
He never acknowledges a single word from Baka Sports.”
The young reporter lowered his notepad, looking completely bewildered.
This kid really held onto his grudges!