However, Julio and his assistant coach forgot one thing: as a player, Fernando Hierro never knew the word 'give up'—whether at Real Madrid or with the Spanish national team. Now that he was the team's head coach, that trait was even more pronounced.
At this moment, many shared Julio's sentiment. Even the few Oviedo fans in the stands felt the same. Even if no one knew André's history, no one would believe that Hierro would stake his hopes on a sixteen-year-old boy.
But what they didn't know yet was that this assumption would be completely shattered less than five minutes after the number 19 player stepped onto the pitch.
"Brat, go get 'em!"
"Which of your bloody eyes saw me as 'small'?"
Joselu, coming off the field, hugged André. Damn that old man Miguel—the nickname 'Brat' had practically become what all his teammates called him now.
After coming on, André relayed Hierro's instructions to a few teammates on the pitch, then took his position. It was Oviedo's throw-in.
Having watched from the touchline for so long, André knew exactly what to do. The team was outnumbered in midfield, making it difficult to control the ball under the opponent's pressure. However, the opposition wasn't without weaknesses. Conceding one goal in each half had boosted their morale, but it was clear they'd somewhat underestimated Oviedo, thus pressing very aggressively in midfield.
67th minute. André's fourth minute on the pitch.
He dropped back to midfield to receive the ball. Midfielder Folch passed it to him. Watching the ball roll over, he casually flicked it with his right heel, then immediately turned and evaded the player marking him. He instantly accelerated, shaking off the defender.
This move was completely unexpected by the opponent, making this escape extremely deadly for Alcorcón's defense.
Because the player who'd been shaken off was an Alcorcón center-back. It was precisely because they'd been winning too easily that they made a catastrophic mistake—unknowingly being drawn out of the defensive line by André, and pressing too hard, they were completely bypassed. And after being beaten, the defender tragically realized he couldn't catch up to André, who was already dribbling the ball at full speed.
Both head coaches on the touchline noticed immediately. Julio's face tensed up. He'd discovered that this teenager he'd overlooked possessed nimbleness and speed completely at odds with his massive physique. A panicked Julio immediately rushed to the touchline, shouting frantically at his players.
Hierro, on the other hand, still appeared expressionless, but anyone familiar with him would know he was extremely tense at this moment. Hierro's right hand unconsciously clenched into a fist, and if you looked closely, you could even see a slight tremor.
André's acceleration stunned fans from both sides in the stands. This was truly a sight that defied logic. Who could have imagined a tall, burly teenager sprinting across the pitch like a sports car? It was just as Sánchez had said: this was a tank with a jet engine installed. Truly incomprehensible.
Dribbling the ball forward, André was unaware of others' reactions at this moment. He was completely calm, knowing exactly what to do next.
Saúl came diagonally from the left flank. Then, as if they'd practiced it countless times in training, as Saúl crossed paths with him, the ball at André's feet went to Saúl, while André forcefully charged into the penalty area.
Subsequently, the ball at Saúl's feet was immediately passed back to him—a classic, simple, and direct one-two wall pass.
And what André had to do next was very simple: a light flick with his left foot not only faked out the last opposing center-back who was sliding in, but also shifted the goalkeeper's weight. Then, with the inside of his right foot, he gently pushed the ball.
The Alcorcón goalkeeper, whose balance had been shifted, could only watch helplessly as the ball slowly rolled along the ground into the net.
2-1.
Goal and whistle. The referee pointed to the center circle. Goal valid.
69th minute. Real Oviedo pulled one back through André's goal.
After scoring, André directly snatched the ball from the opposing goalkeeper's hands. Without any celebration, he immediately sprinted toward the center circle with the ball, using his actions to tell his teammates they still had a complete chance to equalize—or better.
Hierro, on the other hand, appeared very excited on the touchline. Sánchez was even happier than a child who'd just gotten sweets. But he couldn't be blamed for his excitement. What could be better than seeing his prized student contribute to the team immediately after coming on?
Meanwhile, Julio on the opposite touchline could hardly believe what he'd just witnessed. He turned to his assistant coach, hoping he'd tell him it was all fake, an illusion. But unfortunately, his assistant had almost the same gobsmacked expression. Julio genuinely wanted to ask the club's scouts: Is this the information you provided? Is this André on the pitch the same André you talked about? Did you write this report after drinking dodgy wine?
The Oviedo fans in the stands also couldn't believe their eyes at this moment. They didn't even know when their team had acquired such a powerful player. They'd seen the entire process of that goal clearly—from the moment of receiving the ball and shaking off the defender, to the cooperation with his teammate, to the calm finish inside the penalty area. They were all die-hard supporters who'd traveled to watch the away game, but even they didn't know who this guy wearing their team's number 19 jersey was.
"I think I know. A few months ago, there was an update on the team's official website saying that a player—I forgot his name, but I remember he wasn't even seventeen—joined the squad. I think he came from Real Madrid's academy. Don't know anything else."
Finally, someone in the stands vaguely remembered the transfer information updated on Oviedo's official website a while back, but unfortunately, no one could remember his name.
The match continued. The referee blew the whistle for the restart.
Actually, before scoring the first goal, André had still been a bit nervous. After all, it was his first time on a professional European football pitch. Even in his previous life as Marcus, he'd mostly sat on the bench with not many actual playing opportunities. But after scoring, he'd found that he was genuinely much better than many players on the pitch. That trace of nervousness gradually disappeared.
And the Alcorcón players, after the match restarted, increasingly felt that this guy who'd just come on was absolutely abnormal.
A complete freak.
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