"Why doesn't he like the name King Kong? I think it sounds pretty good and suits him very well," Sánchez asked, looking at the dejected André with some confusion.
"I asked him, and he said he doesn't like being called a gorilla."
"Sigh, this kid. King Kong is King Kong, and a gorilla is a gorilla. Even if King Kong is a gorilla, he's a cute one."
Fortunately, André didn't hear this. Otherwise, he probably would've coughed up blood and collapsed on the spot.
Speaking of coughing up blood, the one who should be doing so now was Jagoba Arrasate. He felt that his entire professional career as a player and coach had been completely overturned. He really couldn't understand how a player built like a tank could pull off a move like the Marseille Turn. Moreover, the way he'd prepared for the shot at the edge of the penalty area was just like a seasoned fox. He simply couldn't reconcile the player who'd just broken through his team's defense with the one described in the assistant coach's data. It completely shattered his worldview.
The referee stepped forward to stop the Oviedo players' celebration. André threw an arm around Saúl's neck, looking like a father holding his son. The sight created by the nearly twenty-centimeter height difference made many Oviedo fans in the stands let out friendly laughter.
"Bloody hell, André, let go! Let go of me, quick!"
"Did you do that on purpose just now?"
"What do you mean 'on purpose'?"
"Bollocks, you're still acting innocent."
"Hey, hey, André, don't be like this. The match is still going on! Look, look—why is that guy over there looking at you like that?"
André looked in the direction Saúl was pointing. It was Oier, who'd been marking him the whole time.
"What did you do to him? I feel like he wants to eat you alive. You didn't play any dirty tricks on him, did you?"
"How is that possible? Would an honest person like me do such a thing?"
Moving a few steps away from André, Saúl turned his back and gagged twice. When it came to being "honest," all the Oviedo players knew that the word had absolutely nothing to do with André. The Oviedo defensive line felt this especially deeply. Almost everyone who'd faced off against André in training hated him with a passion. His ability to learn football was very strong, and he also picked up various dirty tricks extremely quickly.
The match continued. In the final minutes of the first half, neither side could find another good opportunity to score. Oviedo went into the dressing room with a one-goal lead.
As they walked off the pitch, Hierro also gave André a hug with a smile.
"Kid, you did well, but use those kinds of moves less often."
"Yeah, that guy was too dirty."
"Alright, take a rest for a while, and keep putting enough pressure on them later."
Back in the dressing room, Hierro praised everyone's performance in the first half and then explained some of the problems that had occurred.
"Everyone, a one-goal lead doesn't guarantee anything. The opponent will definitely not give up just like this. In the second half, they'll surely counterattack frantically. So in the second half, we'll pull our formation back a bit. If you want a punch to be powerful, the best way is to pull it back before striking out. We'll contract our formation to lure them out and then hit them on the counter. As long as we score one more goal, the victory in this match will be ours."
"Understood, Boss!"
"André, you have twenty minutes left."
"Roger that."
Soon, the halftime break was over, and both sides returned to the pitch for the second half.
Neither Hierro nor Arrasate made any changes to their lineups.
Oier marked André even more tightly. It seemed he'd been lectured by Arrasate during the break. His face was gloomy, looking as if he had a deep-seated grudge against André.
"Hey, mate, why are you following me so closely? How bored are you?"
"Bloody hell, shut up! You're so damn dirty. If you've got the guts, stop using sneaky tricks."
Christ. Hearing this, André really felt that, by comparison, he was actually quite innocent. This bastard was acting as if he were a saint. It was like the pot calling the kettle black. You're dirty yourself, yet you're calling out others.
André suddenly sprinted forward and then turned to run back. As he turned, his right hand "accidentally" brushed against Oier's stomach. However, this time Oier wasn't so passive. He immediately collapsed and started rolling on the ground.
Bloody hell. André realized he'd underestimated the other guy's shamelessness. But he wasn't someone to be trifled with either. If it's acting, who doesn't know how? André immediately started shouting toward the referee.
"Ref! Ref!"
The referee noticed the commotion. However, because neither of them had the ball and the referee's attention wasn't originally on them, he stopped the match. Seeing this, André immediately trotted over to Oier, leaned down, and spoke to the wailing Oier.
"Hey, mate, how are you? Are you okay?"
The look of concern on his face was so convincing that if they weren't wearing different jerseys, anyone would've thought it was a teammate's concern.
"Sir, I didn't even touch him. I don't know what happened to him. Could it be some sudden illness?" André kept saying to the approaching referee. With that innocent expression, not only the referee but even the Osasuna players who'd originally wanted to settle the score with André hesitated.
Most importantly, no one saw what had actually happened. Even the pitch-side cameras, due to the angle and not being focused on them, didn't capture anything useful. All that could be seen was Oier suddenly falling after André's counter-run.
None of the Oviedo players gathered around. Saúl was even chatting with Hernández.
"Do you think King Kong played a dirty trick?"
"Saúl, aren't you afraid he'll kill you? You're actually calling him King Kong to his face now."
"What's there to be afraid of? He can't hear me. I bet it's definitely him. The boss has taught him everything, and he's learned quite a bit from you and Cortuno as well."
"Get lost! That's because he's dirty himself. What does it have to do with me? Why the hell are you even guessing? It's definitely his usual trick."
"Do you think he'll get beaten up?"
"Saúl, do you have a brain? Beaten up? It'll be a miracle if those Osasuna lads don't get conned themselves."
While the "teammates" were chatting, André's acting reached its climax.
The Osasuna physio came onto the pitch to treat Oier, and André kept offering his regards nearby.
"Is he okay? I really didn't touch him. Does he have some health issues? Oh God, please let him get better. You have to believe me—I really didn't touch him, and I don't know what happened to him. Sigh, I'll definitely pray for him tonight."
"Forget it, André. It's not your fault. Thank you." Oier, lying on the ground, could only grit his teeth and keep lying there. André's acting certainly couldn't move him, but it moved others. Roberto Torres, the Osasuna captain, stepped forward and patted André on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, lad. These things happen. It's not your fault."
André nodded solemnly, his face the picture of genuine concern.
Inside, he was grinning like a madman.
I should get an Oscar for this, he thought.
On the touchline, Sánchez turned to Hierro.
"Did you teach him that?"
"Absolutely not."
"Liar."
Hierro smiled.
"Miguel, some things... you're just born with."
And on the pitch, André helped Oier to his feet, looking every bit the concerned opponent.
The referee bought it completely.
The Osasuna players bought it.
Even the commentators bought it.
Only Oier knew the truth.
And he could do absolutely nothing about it.
Welcome to professional football, where acting is half the game.
And André Cristiano? He was a natural.
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