The goalie began arranging the wall, moving to the left as he stayed by the side of the goal, watching both the wall and the free-kick spot. When he was satisfied, he raised his hand to signal to the referee and moved away from behind the wall, covering the opposite side of the post. The player taking the free kick was the Udinese striker winger, who had been having a brilliant match so far.
He placed the ball in the space marked by the referee, taking three steps back as he analyzed the potential spots to aim for. There were two options: the right-hand corner or the near post, depending on which would offer the best outcome. The near post was obstructed by the wall, and he would need the perfect combination of power, height, and accuracy to get the ball over it and into the net. The far post was open, but the goalie was positioned there, and he would need enough power to ensure the goalkeeper couldn't react in time.
After a moment of contemplation, he made up his mind to go for the near post. With a quick blow of the referee's whistle, he took a stride forward and planted his standing foot closest to the ball. He struck it cleanly, sending the ball soaring. The defenders in the wall jumped, but the ball sailed inches over their heads and dipped toward the near post. The goalie, already anticipating the shot, moved quickly, diving to save it, but his glove only grazed the ball, missing it by inches. The ball swooshed into the net.
The Udinese fans erupted in celebration, their cheers echoing through the stadium as the players ran to celebrate with their teammate, who had removed his shirt in triumph. After the celebrations, the player was handed a yellow card for his actions, but the mood was light-hearted as he put his shirt back on. The AC Milan players, in contrast, were solemn, exchanging glances as the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game.
There was no extra time, and the Udinese fans rejoiced. The coaches of both teams exchanged handshakes before going their separate ways. On the pitch, the player who scored, Hugo Zabaleta, stood proudly as his teammates congratulated him. He had blonde hair, a pale complexion, and a charismatic presence, making him a fan favorite. He was currently the top scorer in the league, surpassing the likes of Rafael Leao, Tavastelia, Hernandez, and Martinez.
As Zabaleta made his way toward the tunnel to meet his teammates in the dressing room, he heard cheers from a group of fans seated near the tunnel. He looked up to see a group of women who threw a bouquet of flowers toward him, which he caught. "Hugo Zabaleta, we love you!" they shouted, blowing kisses his way. Zabaleta blushed, rubbing his head as he moved toward the tunnel.
"Haha, I see you had admirers," came a voice from behind. It was his teammate Bushiaga, a defender for Udinese, who had been one of their key players in the match and Zabaleta's best friend.
Bushiaga slapped him on the back and whispered, "They're looking at you. Which one are you going to choose?"
Zabaleta flushed and stammered, "No, no, it's not like that. They just liked my game today. It's not every time I get flowers."
Bushiaga winked at him and patted him on the back. "Quick, coach would have already started his long yapping."
A few hours later, as the team left the San Siro, Zabaleta collected the bouquet of flowers from Bushiaga. Meanwhile, outside in the rain-soaked streets, a man was running for his life. He was drenched, clutching a black suitcase. It was almost comical the way he was running as though being chased.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered to himself. It was the same man who had tried to kill Mark earlier. Now, he was running for his life, his face pale as he reflected on what had happened.
He remembered the moment he had pointed the gun at Mark and pulled the trigger, expecting a gunshot. But nothing happened. When he opened his eyes, he saw the bullet had indeed been fired, but it didn't hit anything. Instead, it hovered around Mark's body, surrounded by a strange blue light.
Throughout his life, the man had never seen anything like this. He tried shooting again, but each time, the barrier over Mark's body only grew larger. The more he fired, the more his legs trembled from fear. He didn't understand what was going on, but he knew one thing for sure—he had to get away. Panicking, he ran outside, leaving the door wide open behind him. He didn't even take his lock-picking tools or his equipment. He grabbed his materials and began sprinting down the street, the scene earlier in the morning flashing in his mind.
Meanwhile, at the house earlier that same morning, Mark was still asleep with his alarm ringing by his side. Since there was no training today, he decided to sleep in. The moment the alarm went off, he didn't hesitate. He stretched out a hand to silence it, then continued to enjoy the comfort of his bed. But suddenly, he felt something—squeak, squeak—it was like a rodent creeping up his body. He turned his head, and when he looked into the eyes of whatever it was, he found himself face-to-face with a large raccoon. Mark blinked, closed his eyes, and opened them again, but the raccoon was still there.
"Am I still dreaming?" Mark mumbled, rubbing his eyes. The raccoon, undeterred, nipped at his earlobe, and that's when Mark realized it was real.
"Ahhhhhh!" he screamed, flinging the raccoon off the bed and crawling to the other side. He quickly jumped off the bed and ran out of the room, locking the door behind him. He sighed in relief, thinking of how to remove the raccoon when he turned around to find another one sitting on the couch, helping itself to a bag of cereal Mark had left out the previous night. The raccoon was watching TV, oblivious to Mark's shock. And when Mark looked around, he realized there were more of them—squirrels and other rodents playing around the house.
"Ehheeee!" Mark's heart sank. It was reported later that morning that excessive screaming and the sound of things breaking could be heard coming from Mark's house, according to the neighbors.