Narrator: Andrew
9.87—that was his rating. Who exactly was this SANTI boy? He had made me look average—not just me, but everyone on the pitch today, yes, we had lost to Team A, but how could he have been this good good? We were in Red Zone, there were zero weak players here.
All his passes were successful, perfect dribbles, he made use of the ball everytime he had it, today, I was just a character in his story, he was the main character, I was nothing more than a midfielder, donning the No.8, my connection with SANTI on the pitch today earned me a 7.8 rating.
To survive here I just needed to serve SANTI well, I needed to serve him like a true slave, I'll just use him to keep myself here, I needed to get very close to him, after all, it would be nasty business if another team got him or convinced him to leave us.
We had all showered and were just relaxing while preparing to sit in the stands for the next game, I offered SANTI a cola-flavored soft drink while he ate some chicken wings, and he simply thanked me. I sat beside him and engaged in small talk about his family.
His almost always gloomy face dropped even harder, he only said he didn't wanna talk about it, that's all, nothing else. He refused to speak to me again after that, damn, I must have struck a nerve, SANTI was skilled, but he seemed indifferent to everything.
He scored two bangers and did not celebrate any in the last game, what typa psycho does shit like that. We went to the stands, and I sat beside him and JAMES—our striker, not the Steward boy, who had been invisible in the last game.
In this game, Team K faced Team B. I watched as the game started and their striker, a young Mexican named E. SANCHEZ, scored straight from kickoff.
How the hell are there these many monsters in Red Zone? Team B restarted and tried the same tactic, but Team K's goalkeeper grabbed the ball and safely released it to his right center-back.
He passed to their No. 2, who then gave it to their No. 6. The ball was then passed to their No. 7, who exchanged passes with their No. 8. They occasionally passed back to No. 6, who also passed accurately.
They continued their intricate triangular passing style as they advanced into the opponent's half, their passing and control were so precise that none of the players attempting an interception even came close to touching the ball.
They passed to their No. 10, who went past two players before passing it to their No. 9, SANCHEZ. Running into the box, SANCHEZ lobbed the ball, and No. 10 scored with an elegant scorpion kick.
GOAL!!!! The stadium erupted in cheers, just as they had when SANTI scored, team K was crazy strong.
Only seven minutes had passed but team B had been dropping an absolute stinker today, it was beyond embarrassing. As they resumed, SANCHEZ intercepted the ball from the first pass, exchanged passes with his team's No. 10, evaded three players, and scored with a powerful shot into the top left corner, even though he hadn't advanced far into their half. Jesus fucking Christ, this SANCHEZ was a bastard, what the actual fuck, team K got SANCHEZ and we got JAMES, life really was not fair.
Team B ended the match having conceded seven goals without scoring any. SANCHEZ scored five and provided one assist, earning a 10.0 rating. Things were getting really interesting.
It was hard to notice, but their No. 10, who wore a helmet and had SANTI's surname on his jersey, was the one controlling this game, he was the captain on the field and was directing the field of play, it was all super crazy, if they played like this throughout this tournament, they would suffer no losses.
We went for a break and afterwards, Team C and Team J played each other, the game ended three goals to one in favor of team C but perhaps that would have not been the case if team J had not given them an easy penalty as well as scoring an own goal.
The other games were uneventful, ending in draws. The day ended, and we were free to do as we pleased. I went to the hall to review the stats for the day. We were second to last, team B was of course last on the table with zero competition from any and everyone.
At the end of the day, the standings were as follows: Team K was in first place, followed by Teams A and C as the top three. Teams F, D, H, I, G, and E followed behind, as they all drew their matches. The day's losers, in order, were Teams J, L, and B.
ENZO SÁNCHEZ, followed by Patho from team A, SANTI, Taart from team C and Rice from team E, made up the top five on the scoring and rating charts, everyone else had just a goal on the scoring charts, I of course happened to be nowhere on any chart, almost like I did not even play.
The next matchday was in a day. I needed to relax now and train
twice as hard later, at least if I wanted to survive here, I needed to get closer to JAMES and SANTI. They were the monsters on this team.
Our next match was against team K. No, I most certainly was not excited about that fact. They had massacred the last team who faced them and it could be said that that was the second best team in Red Zone, I mean, they are Team B after all.
We got whacked by Team A and they quite easily whacked Team B with even stronger ferocity. It was time to train and I knew what I had to do, I had to see just how I could work with SANTI and JAMES.
SANTI refused to train, so it was just JAMES, Steward, and me. JAMES was playing exceptionally well—too well, in fact. AKIRA, however, matched him in every regard. Not a single shot got past him. Where was this AKIRA in our earlier match? He had been poor then but was now performing exceptionally well in practice.
SANTI was speaking to our center-back, who had scored an own goal. Like SANTI, he was also refusing to train. Maybe SANTI was following his lead—who knew?
SANTI was the first I heard. He asked our center-back why he refused to train and why he was so nervous and error-prone on the field. His response was some shit about how he had an injury, it took well over six months to heal. He had been told that if he sustained the same injury again, he would never play football again.
SANTI, in the calmest voice I had ever heard, explained to him in very clear terms why this made no sense. He explained that if he didn't face his fears about this injury, it would affect his game, and with his current form, no professional team would consider him.
He explained that if he failed this trial, his football career would be over. If he was going to lose his career regardless, he might as well enjoy himself and give his all. He concluded the conversation with, 'Getting the same injury again is merely a possibility that could end your career, but poor form is a sure way to end it. Play freely and remember, your performance affects the team as a whole. Don't be selfish and think only about yourself.'
Our center-back, MAHMOUD ALI, shared a hug with SANTI, and they both proceeded to play. MAHMOUD was exceptionally strong when he wanted to be. We trained and in the drills that had him marking JAMES, he had him perfectly locked, he jailed him mercilessly and made him look less than average.
SANTI was still flawless in his performance. He was great captain material, but there were no captains in Red Zone—it was every man for himself.
It was time for the random tests of the day. SANTI came first in the running tests, reaching 33.59 kilometers per hour, followed by JAMES at 29 kilometers per hour. I was fourth but the rest of us were not far from one another, we were of course far from the top two though.
AKIRA, JAMES and SANTI were first, second, and third, respectively, in the jumping tests, JAMES and SANTI continued to excel, ranking in the top three of nearly every test. Our rankings were updated: SANTI was No. 3, JAMES was No. 17, and I, for some reason, was No. 22—a rank I knew I did not deserve.
One thing was clear: SANTI and JAMES were exceptional players, and this team was not worthy of their talent. We needed to improve. Our game had to get better. To survive here, we had to EVOLVE......…...