The penalty shootout. The cruellest, most beautiful, most utterly heart-stopping invention in the history of sport.
Ten kicks from twelve yards to decide the fate of Europe, the culmination of an entire season distilled into a few agonizing seconds.
Leon stood on the halfway line, arm-in-arm with his brothers, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.
The message from his system AI pulsed in his mind, a devil's bargain offered in the heat of battle.
[Activate 'Predictive Analysis'? Probability of Victory: 98%. Risk of Guardian Detection: High.]
He looked across the pitch at Alisson Becker, his captain, his goalkeeper, a man who had already produced miracles tonight. He saw the calm, steady focus in the Brazilian's eyes. He thought of his teammates, the men who had fought and bled beside him for 120 minutes. He thought of Arne Slot's words: Trust the man next to you.
