Football singularity-Chapter 696 Rnd 16 Leg 1 (end)
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~~~
[24/01/2021 | Puskás Aréna, Budapest | 22:45 CET]
[UEFA Champions League Round of 16 - 1st Leg | Bayer 04 Leverkusen 1-1 Manchester City]
[90+2’]
The stadium fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the protests from Leverkusen’s players. Rakim had his hands on his head, convinced it had crossed as his teammates tried to convince the referee calling for a VAR check. Clément Turpin raised his hand to his ear, receiving communication from the VAR officials.
The referee jogged toward the touchline, toward the monitor, while players from both sides waited to see the decision. The replays began on the screens as millions of viewers watched at home. The first angle showed the ball hitting the underside of the crossbar. The second angle, from behind the goal, showed the ball bouncing down, tantalisingly close to the line.
"VAR check underway," Tyldesley said, his voice carrying the tension of the moment.
The third angle—utilising the goal-line technology camera embedded in the post. The graphic overlay appeared: a digital rendering of the ball’s position relative to the line. The entire sphere had to cross entirely for it to be a goal, but the graph showed no goal, by the width of a credit card, perhaps less.
Turpin jogged back onto the pitch, making the square signal with his hands—no goal and play on. "No goal!" Tyldesley announced. "Goal-line technology confirms—the ball did not entirely cross the line! Manchester City survive by the narrowest of margins!"
"Incredible drama," Drury said. "Leverkusen have been denied by the finest of margins. That’s football at its most cruel and most beautiful."
[90+3]
City maintained possession, passing the ball around in their own half. Fernandinho to Rodri to De Bruyne, who played it back to Dias, keeping possession as they waited out the clock. Turpin checked his watch one final time, then brought the whistle to his lips.
(FWEEET, FWEEET, FWEEEET!)
[FT: Bayer Leverkusen 1-1 Manchester City]
~~~
[CBS Sports Studio, London | Post-Match]
Kate Abdo appeared on screen, flanked by the three pundits. Graphics displayed the final statistics: possession, shots, saves, everything that had defined the ninety minutes.
"One-all," Kate began. "A draw that feels like a win for Manchester City and a loss for Bayer Leverkusen. Gentlemen, your thoughts?"
"Leverkusen were robbed," Richards said immediately, leaning forward. "I know the technology doesn’t lie, but that was *so* close. They played brilliantly, created more chances, pushed City to the brink. They deserved all three points."
"But they didn’t get them," Carragher countered. "That’s football. City survived, and now they have the advantage going into the second leg next month as the home team."
Henry nodded thoughtfully. "Leverkusen should be proud of their performance. They proved they belong at this level. But Champions League knockout football is about moments, and City had just enough quality when it mattered."
"Any thoughts on Rakim’s performance tonight?" Kate asked.
"That he’s the real deal," Richards replied without hesitation. "One goal, constant threat, nearly won it at the death."
"Agreed," Henry added. "But he also learned a harsh lesson tonight—at this level, you can’t easily do what you want, as seen in his reduced level of activity."
"Looking ahead to the second leg," Kate prompted, "what does each team need?"
Carragher checked his notes. "The city needs to control the tempo, keep possession, and frustrate Leverkusen. If they score first, the tie is over. Leverkusen need to score—there’s no way around it. They have to be brave, attack, and hope their quality is enough."
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[Post-Match | Mixed Zone]
Carla Jacobs caught Rakim as he walked through, still in his match kit, sweat dripping from his temple. "Rakim, tough result tonight," Carla began. "How are you feeling?"
"Disappointed," he replied honestly. "We had chances to win, but it just wasn’t meant to be. We will go back to the drawing board and come back stronger for the second leg."
"Your goal was excellent. Does that provide any consolation?"
A slight smile. "Goals always feel good, but they mean nothing if we don’t get the win."
"Manchester City is one of the strongest Champions League clubs in football today. Do you believe you can get a result there?"
Rakim met her eyes directly. "We believe in ourselves, and if we play our own game, I think we can achieve a satisfactory result against any team."
"Thank you, Rakim. Good luck." He nodded once, then walked away, heading toward the locker room.
~~~
[25/01/2021 | Bay Arena, Colonge| 12:45 CET]
They arrived home at their stadium the next day, around noon, splitting up after a short meeting. Rakim hopped into his mint green I8, hitting the streets without much fuss, eager to get home. Driving through the city, he could visibly see life returning, revitalising the area.
While the pandemic remained a hot topic, people were fed up with the government that couldn’t make up its mind. They wanted a sense of normalcy to return to their lives, most bitter at being caged up like animals for almost an entire year. Some even had to watch their family members die over the phone without being able to be there to comfort them.
As a politician, they did their best they row with the storm of public sentiment after it broke out. Whether WHO said yes or no no longer mattered; they wanted to be reelected, so they had no choice but to give in. Social distancing became the motto which most just ignored except when dealing with strangers.
When it came to vaccines, there were also varying opinions, but the consensus was to use them if necessary. If your job required you to do it, you got it; if you’re the worrying-and-trusting type, you got it. However, if you were a healthy person who distrusted authority, you scoffed at those who did.
Rakim fell into the first category; he had gotten sick and needed treatment, which led to him catching the virus. So, unless he was mentally challenged, he couldn’t blindly act like the whole thing wasn’t real. A Machiavellian plot by a certain group, maybe, but even if true, he still had to live his life somehow.
Coming to a stop at a red light, his gaze landed on a bakery connected to a florist. Thinking about it for a second, he decided to stop and did just that when the lights turned green, pulling into the parking bay in front of the store. The bell above the door chimed softly as Rakim entered, the warmth of the bakery immediately wrapping around him after the January chill outside.
The space was small but inviting—glass display cases showcasing pastries, bread, and cakes on one side, while colourful flower arrangements lined the other wall, where the florist section began.
"Guten Tag!" An elderly woman behind the counter greeted him cheerfully, her silver hair tied back in a neat bun. She looked up from arranging croissants, her expression shifting to recognition. "Oh! If it isn’t Mr Rex, you’re quite famous in my household."
Rakim offered a polite smile. "Just Rakim is fine. Guten Tag."
"Such a polite young man," she said, beaming. "What can I get for you today? Some fresh pretzels? Perhaps some Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte? Just made this morning."
"Actually," Rakim said, glancing toward the florist section, "I’ll take a dozen roses. Mixed colours, if you have them. And..." He turned back to the bakery display. "Two slices of that strawberry cake,"
The woman’s smile widened knowingly. "Ah, for someone special, yes? Let me get my granddaughter—she handles the flowers. SOPHIE!"
A younger girl emerged from the back room, late-teens, wearing a green apron with the shop’s logo. She paused when she saw Rakim, then just stood there. "Y’ y’ You a-are R’rakim," she managed to stammer out, struggling to form the words. "AHHHHHHHH!"
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To Be Continued...
