A collective gasp echoed through the stadium.
Then—a hushed silence descended.
On the pitch, Hiro lay sprawled on the ground, clutching his leg, writhing in agony. Just beside him, Yang slowly collected himself, pushing up from the turf.
Fwee!
The whistle cut through the silence like a blade.
Then, at once, a cacophonous chorus of jeers rained down upon the stadium. The fans of red and white hurled curses, their voices thick with fury and outrage.
Before long, chaos descended on the field. The Madrid players lost their cool at the sight of their cherished playmaker crumpled on the ground. They surged forward, faces twisted with anger, demanding retribution.
The opposing players scrambled to form a wall around the man responsible—shielding Yang from the advancing storm.
From the sidelines, medics rushed onto the pitch, equipment in hand, their expressions grim and urgent.
Yang stood frozen, unable to react.
