God Of football Chapter 1051: Vindication!

For a split second, João Neves thought about turning.

Then thought about carrying it.

Both ideas vanished the moment he saw the maroon shirt swallowing the distance.

He reacted on instinct and with one touch, he drove the ball long.

High, diagonal and toward the left touchline, something that he had been doing at kickoffs from his time with PSG.

The danger had been avoided, at least for now, but the pass looked overhit.

Pedro Porro certainly thought so and eased off for the briefest moment as the ball curled toward the line.

João Félix never did.

The former Golden Boy winner stretched every inch of himself, twisting his shoulders while using the side of his neck and upper arm to shield the ball from rolling out before cushioning it back under control with remarkable balance.

"Lovely control," the commentary noted on the broadcast as Porro glitched for a second, a bit surprised at the scenes before he tore off towards Félix, who took a touch and then another to settle the ball.

By the time he was done, Porro appeared and lunged, but it seemed he’d been baited as Félix skipped inside him so cleanly it almost looked rehearsed.

The Portuguese supporters found their voices.

"João Félix driving forward! Early opportunity here for Portugal!"

Some metres away, Cristiano Ronaldo had watched the play develop from the centre circle.

He saw Félix beat his man, saw Cubarsí shift across and saw Laporte begin to retreat.

Everything unfolded exactly as a striker expected.

Yet...

Something tightened inside him.

That was the only way he could ever describe it.

Just...

...something.

A feeling he couldn’t describe.

Then that something wrapped around his chest before pulling him forward.

"Go."

His body answered before his mind could.

One stride, then another and then another.

The years seemed to peel away with every step.

The heavy miles, the countless matches and the endless recovery sessions.

For a moment, it all seemed like a whispered dream that had never existed.

His legs stretched across the grass with frightening purpose while his breathing settled.

His arms pumped and for the first time in years, he wasn’t striving to keep up anymore.

He had gone ahead and was dragging the game ahead.

For one impossible instant...

Cristiano Ronaldo no longer felt forty-one.

He felt untouchable, and when Félix glanced up, his eyes widened.

He had been playing with Ronaldo in the Saudi League for the past season, and had learned what Ronaldo could and could not do at his age.

The superstar, despite all the bodily treatments, had aged, and so Félix knew what could or could not fly.

But somehow, it was like 2018 all over again.

"There he is," Félix couldn’t help but think, and despite all that was unfolding around, he couldn’t help but smile.

How...

How was he already there?

Ronaldo had flown between Spain’s centre-backs before either of them truly realised he was moving.

Cubarsí only turned when he’d felt Ronaldo breathing down his neck, and by that time, he knew there were only a few things he could do about it.

Laporte also tried to recover, but he knew there was only one pass to be made before they were rendered useless.

Without a single thought, and almost a tear in his eyes, Félix struck the ball early, almost like a love letter for his idol.

Not toward Ronaldo but slightly ahead of him, into empty grass.

The sort of delivery most forwards would never reach.

"That looks too long..."

The words barely left the commentator’s mouth when Cristiano found another gear.

Cubarsí strained every muscle trying to stay alongside him, but it made no difference.

The gap grew from one yard, two yards, three yards!

Then...

Ronaldo launched himself.

His feet left the turf almost impossibly early.

His body seemed to glide instead of fall, and every muscle aligned itself in mid-air.

In the next second, his chest tucked in, tensing his neck in reaction, and for a moment, he had only one mission, and he was currently glancing at it.

For one heartbeat... everything slowed.

The roar disappeared, the stadium vanished, and for Ronaldo, there was only leather, his forehead and then contact.

THUMP.

The header screamed across goal and Unai Simón, who had had a front row seat till that point, threw himself full length.

But his fingertips found nothing.

The ball tore into the far side-netting with such force that it bounced back out before settling behind the goal.

And for the briefest moment...

AT&T Stadium chucked in one stretch of breath and silence.

Then it exploded.

A wall of red erupted behind the goal as scarves, cups and flags flew into the air.

Beer showered from the stands, and through it, thousands upon thousands of Portuguese voices crashed together into one deafening roar.

The Spanish end stood frozen; hands remained on heads with flags akimbo.

Faces that had moments earlier been smiling now stared silently toward their goal in disbelief.

Ronaldo landed on both feet, looked toward the net, saw it ripple, and it was only then that the sound reached him.

It crashed over him like scripture.

Like vindication.

Like every lonely training session...

...every criticism...

...every question about his age...

...every whisper that it was finally over...

all answered in a single moment.

He clenched both fists, lunged to his feet and then he ran.

"CRISTIANO RONALDOOOOOOOO!"

"THERE IT IS! VINDICATIONNNNNNNNN!"

The commentator almost shouted himself hoarse.

"THE MAN WHO REFUSES TO GROW OLD! HE IS NOT DONE YET!"

Beside him, the co-commentator simply laughed in disbelief.

"How many times have we seen it?"

"Forty-one years old..."

"...and he has attacked that cross like a man in his absolute prime!"

Ronaldo sprinted toward the corner with teammates flooding after him, and for the viewers watching him, they could barely hear the commentary anymore.

"Listen to this stadium!"

"Portugal strike first!"

"Against the tournament favourites!"

"Against Spain!"

"Against Izan!"

"And who else..."

The commentator almost smiled through the chaos.

"...who else could possibly write the opening Chapter of a night like this..."

"...than Cristiano Ronaldo?"

Ronaldo reached the corner flag, planted one foot and rose into the air like the Portuguese symbol that he was.

And when he landed, the entire stadium knew exactly what was coming.

"SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"