The stadium was alive, pulsating with energy. The air was charged, and electric, and the roar of the crowd was deafening, building with each stride Xavi took.
With a predator's precision, Xavi tore into Atlético Madrid's territory. His movements were fluid yet calculated, each step purposeful. It was as if he were orchestrating a symphony with his feet, and the ball was an extension of his will.
Against Xavi's brilliance, the five-man defense of Atletico was crumbling like a fragile wall of sand beneath a tidal wave.
Twisting his hips, Xavi danced past one defender, then another, leaving them flailing in his wake. His balance was mesmerizing—leaning just enough to sell a feint but springing back into action like a coiled spring.
At this moment, it looked as if he was possessed by some demon.
