Chapter 896: Three Wins from Three
The noise inside the stadium was deafening, yet one could still clearly hear the dull thump of impact.
"Oh! Bruno's gone for it directly!"
The ball rocketed off Bruno's boot, slicing through the air with blistering speed. He had struck it with full power, keeping the curve low—it skimmed over the head of Austria's outermost defender.
Goalkeeper Daniel Bachmann readied himself instantly. The Austrian No.1, wary of Bruno's technique, tracked the ball's flight. It was fast and straight, with no wobble—a clean, controlled strike. "It's powerful," he thought, "but I've got this."
At that distance—forty meters—Bachmann had confidence. The longer the flight, the more reaction time a keeper had. He judged the path, dove to his right, hands tight together. Even if he couldn't catch it, he would surely block it.
But just as the ball reached its apex, it dipped—suddenly, sharply, almost unnaturally.
In that fractional moment, Bachmann realized his fatal misjudgment. The slight drop changed the trajectory entirely. His fingertips missed the ball by a breath.
...
At twenty-seven, Bachmann was hardly inexperienced. A decade of English football had seasoned him—the Stoke academy, years in the Championship, now Watford's first-choice keeper. Yet even that experience couldn't save him here.
He adjusted mid-dive, trying desperately to palm the ball, but it slipped beneath his hands and into the corner of the net. He landed with a thud, empty-handed.
Goal.
"It's in!!!"
"It's actually in!!!"
"Oh my God—a forty-meter direct free kick! Bruno Fernandes scores from impossible range!"
"Unbelievable! A thunderbolt from Bruno—an absolute missile into the Austrian net!"
For a moment, the entire stadium froze. Even the Portuguese fans were stunned—then came the explosion. A roar erupted across Bucharest's National Arena, a mix of disbelief and delirium.
Even Bruno looked in shock. He had felt the strike come off perfectly, but for a split second, he hadn't seen whether it cleared the goalkeeper. Only when he realized Bachmann lay face-down without the ball did it hit him.
Goal. For real this time.
Bruno sprinted toward the stands, sliding along the touchline, arms wide open.
Over twenty thousand Portuguese fans erupted, chanting his name in unison. Their voices rolled through the stadium like thunder.
Forty meters out—his longest successful free kick. Bruno had scored from distance before, but never from quite this far.
...
Portugal couldn't have wished for a better start. Two minutes in, already 1–0 up thanks to a wonder goal. And they weren't done yet.
The left flank buzzed with energy—Jota and Guerreiro linking beautifully. Through the middle, Bruno and Ronaldo controlled play like generals, while on the right, Bernardo Silva's confidence surged. Semedo, shaky in defense, was excellent going forward.
Wave after wave crashed against the Austrian penalty area until, after twenty-plus minutes of suffocating pressure, Austria finally cracked again.
Ronaldo drifted right, received from Bernardo, and whipped a pinpoint cross into the box. Bruno surged forward, heading home from close range. 2–0.
Two minutes later, another attack nearly broke them again—Semedo crossing, Bruno arriving late, only for Bachmann to clutch the shot.
Five minutes after that, Bruno unleashed a fierce strike from outside the box. Bachmann parried weakly, and Ronaldo pounced on the rebound. 3–0.
"Unbelievable! 3–0—before halftime!"
"This is utter dominance! Bruno with six goals in the group stage already, and Ronaldo right behind on five—these two are unstoppable!"
...
Portuguese fans in Bucharest were in ecstasy, singing and waving flags. Few had imagined such a performance against Austria—a team ranked 23rd in the world and 15th by UEFA, respectable by any measure.
But under Portugal's onslaught, they looked helpless.
Ronaldo's goal, which brought him level with Bruno atop the tournament's scoring chart, had him grinning ear to ear. Surrounded by teammates creating constant chances, his only job was to finish—and he was loving it.
Portugal pressed relentlessly. By halftime, they'd recorded a staggering 72.9% possession. Austria hadn't managed a single shot on target—or even off target.
At the break, Fernando Santos showered his players with praise. "Keep going," he urged. "Stay focused, stay aggressive."
But with the result effectively sealed, the second half became a demonstration of control rather than destruction. Portugal eased off the throttle, content to dictate tempo and conserve energy. Bruno, visibly relaxed, orchestrated with casual brilliance.
...
The final whistle blew with the score untouched: 3–0 Portugal.
The fans were enraptured. It was an exhibition—flowing football, ruthless precision, and total authority.
The only minor disappointment? So far in the tournament, only two names—Bruno and Ronaldo—had scored for Portugal. Everyone else remained goalless.
Still, Portugal's dominance was staggering. Against Austria, they had 76% possession, thirty total shots to Austria's two—neither of which were on target.
As the Sky Sports commentator joked: "Rui Patrício could've watched this match with a drink in hand. The best seat in the house was in his own six-yard box."
Passing stats told the same story: Portugal completed 589 passes with 86.5% accuracy. Austria? Barely 170. The Portuguese midfield trio—Bruno, Palhinha, and Rúben Neves—combined for more passes than Austria's entire squad.
A complete dismantling.
"Portugal unleashed a hurricane of attacking football today—arguably the most complete performance of the tournament so far," said one analyst.
"Austria's defense is usually solid, but Bruno's early 40-meter free kick shattered them mentally. From that moment, the match belonged to Portugal."
"For seventy minutes, Bruno conducted the game like a symphony—two goals, total control. This was his masterpiece."
...
Portugal's 3–0 demolition sent shockwaves across Europe.
They had been title favorites before the tournament, but now they looked inevitable. Three group matches, three wins, eleven goals scored, and none conceded. Their football wasn't just efficient—it was crushingly beautiful.
Newspapers the next morning couldn't get enough.
Bruno Fernandes, with two goals and an assist, earning a perfect 10 from Sky Sports, was again the man of the moment. Headlines everywhere hailed him as Europe's footballing force of nature.
Many journalists predicted it outright: if Bruno continued at this level and led Portugal to the trophy, he would reclaim both the Ballon d'Or and FIFA's World Player of the Year come December.
As The Guardian put it:
"If Bruno Fernandes maintains this form—driving Portugal to victory after victory—not only will his nation lift another European crown, but he will stand as a living legend of Portugal, and of world football."
(END CHAPTER)
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 40 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/Cortez10