Empoli's manager was a man of logic. He believed that if you packed the box with enough blue shirts, you could stop any player in the world. He was wrong. Logic doesn't apply to a player who can see the pitch through the back of his head.
The match had become a grinding war of attrition until the 38th minute. Empoli's defensive midfielder was practically wearing Renzo's jersey, sticking to him like a shadow. But this wasn't the Premier League; this was Renzo's house.
Badelj, the "Bull," intercepted a stray pass and immediately looked for his partner. Renzo received the ball with his back to the goal, the defender's breath hot on his neck.
Two weeks ago, Renzo might have lost the ball here. But with 84 Dribbling, his feet were now a blur of precision. He dragged the ball with his left sole, feinting a turn to the left. The defender committed, shifting his weight. In a heartbeat, Renzo's left heel flicked the ball behind his standing leg.
A Reverse Elastico from a stationary position.
Renzo spun like a ballet dancer, leaving the Empoli midfielder stumbling toward the grass. The stadium roared—but the real magic was just beginning.
Renzo hadn't even looked forward yet. His back was still partially turned to the attacking third. To any other player, the "Iron Curtain" of Empoli's defense was a solid wall.
Thump.
Without a single glance at the target, Renzo unleashed a half-volley lob. The ball traveled in a majestic, high arc, slicing through the air like a surgeon's scalpel.
Between Renzo and his target stood five defenders. They all turned their heads in sync, watching the ball fly over them. They didn't see the runner. They didn't see the danger. But Renzo had seen it five seconds ago with his 99 Vision.
Mohamed Salah was already at full tilt. The ball dropped perfectly into his path, killing its own momentum upon impact. Salah didn't even have to break stride. He burst past the last defender, drew the keeper out, and slotted a clinical finish into the bottom corner.
1-0.
The Stadio Artemio Franchi exploded into a cacophony of purple pride. Salah sprinted to Renzo, nearly tackling him in a hug. "Ren! I didn't even wave! How did you know I was there?"
Renzo just tapped his temple and smiled. "I didn't need to see you, Mo. I knew where you had to be."
On the sidelines, Montella was applauding so hard his palms were red. He had seen legends like Totti and Pirlo make passes like that—passes that defied the physics of the human eye.
For Empoli, the nightmare had just begun. Their "Bus" hadn't just been parked; it had been dismantled and sold for scrap. If a compact defense couldn't stop Renzo, what happened when they had to push forward to find an equalizer?
The answer was simple: Carnage.
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