Chapter 122: Scoring Goal in a Muddy Rainy Night! The Williams brothers were completely enraged

Jude Bellingham did not control the ball.

No adjustments.

He rubbed the outside of his right foot and delivered a long ball close to the ground with incredible speed.

Skimming along the grass, he flew toward a large area behind the left lane.

At the same moment.

Cristiano Ronaldo’s body was activated.

The muddy lawn was wet, and fine rain fell on my face.

That half step is everything.

De Marcos finally snapped out of it. The Spanish veteran’s face instantly turned pale, and he desperately turned to run back.

But my legs felt heavy.

Cristiano Ronaldo had already received the ball.

With a gentle flick of his left foot, the ball rolled forward two meters along the slippery turf.

Then he switched to the highest S gear.

Full speed.

Muddy water splashed from under his shoe spikes, leaving two streaks behind him.

Startled, De Marcos threw his body up, his shoulder hitting Cristiano Ronaldo’s ribs.

The force was meant to push the person straight out of the sideline, that collision.

Because he knew he had lost the conditions to advance side by side.

Cristiano Ronaldo felt the impact, a dull pain shooting through his ribs.

But he didn’t fall, he didn’t even slow down.

Lower your left shoulder, lower your center of gravity, and tighten your waist and core.

Then they counterattacked.

Bang.

DeMarcos’s body bounced back when it collided.

At 187 cm tall and weighing 83 kilograms, the strength he unleashed at full speed is not something a 34-year-old full-back with exhausted stamina can withstand.

The Spaniard staggered a couple of steps, slipped, and knelt on one knee in the mud.

After Cristiano Ronaldo passed by him, he could only see his back in despair.

At the new Saint-Mamès stadium, the boos suddenly dropped sharply.

It wasn’t that it stopped; there was a moment when everyone forgot to boo.

Because they saw that the kind of explosive power that shouldn’t have appeared in a thirty-nine-year-old.

Cristiano Ronaldo attacked the danger zone along the left flank.

Bilba came to fill in as center-back.

Vivienne Cameroon is 1.92 meters tall and weighs 90 kilograms.

He stood right in front of Cristiano Ronaldo, blocking the path for the cut.

The usual choice is crossing from the bottom line.

But with Cristiano Ronaldo, there is no routine.

His speed didn’t slow down, and the ball kept rolling forward.

Vivian’s center of gravity has already begun shifting toward the sidelines.

He bet Cristiano Ronaldo would go to the bottom.

In this situation, everyone would bet on Cristiano Ronaldo going underground.

Because at this angle and speed, the inward cut requires a sudden stop.

On slippery turf, coming to a full stop at full speed means your knees bear three times the usual pressure.

No thirty-nine-year-old player would perform this move on such turf.

But not having it doesn’t mean it exists.

Except for him.

Cristiano Ronaldo’s right foot suddenly stomped on the ball.

Emergency stop.

The shoe spikes were deeply embedded in the mud, and the turf was torn open.

A sharp protest came from his knees.

But the body had already completed the change of direction.

A ball on the inside of his left foot passed through Vivien’s groin.

The Cameroonian is still moving toward the sidelines.

His brain told him to turn around, but his legs wouldn’t obey.

His weight combined with the slippery turf turned his turn into a clumsy, meaningless struggle.

Cristiano Ronaldo had already passed by his side.

A slight shooting angle appeared ahead.

The penalty area is on the perimeter, about 22 meters from the goal, so the angle isn’t considered straight.

There was no time to adjust; behind him, Vivian had already risen like a tiger.

On the left, Bilba midfielder was also recovering.

It only takes one second for this passage to close.

Cristiano Ronaldo did not hesitate.

Right foot.

This time it wasn’t a finely crafted curved shot, nor a clever shot with well-calculated angles.

It was pure violence.

All the power is transmitted from the waist and hips to the thighs, from the thighs to the calves, and from the calves to the top of the foot.

One kick, swinging it in a round.

Bang.

The moment the ball left the top of his foot, it left behind a mist.

The ball flew along the grass, and the curve created by its spin caused its trajectory to bend slightly inward.

The speed was so fast that the naked eye could barely keep up; the data measured during the later replay of the broadcast footage was:

The speed is 117 kilometers per hour.

Bibba’s goalkeeper Unai Simon was thrown out.

His judgment was correct.

But the speed is insufficient.

The ball slipped into the lower left corner of the goal.

The net was smashed violently, and rainwater was shaken off the ropes.

New Saint-Mamès Stadium.

Forty-seven thousand people.

It was quiet.

The deafening shouts, curses, and whistles that had just been deafening vanished.

Only the rustling sound of rain hitting the ceiling remained.

And the sound of Cristiano Ronaldo’s shoe spikes stepping on the turf.

1-0.

Real Madrid leads away.

Cristiano Ronaldo turned around.

He didn’t look at his teammates or the coach’s bench; he looked toward the corner flag area.

Then he walked over slowly.

There is no sprint; it is a calm, domineering run.

Arriving at the corner flag area.

Kneel on your right knee, extend your left leg forward, and spread your arms wide.

Slip and kneel.

Muddy water splashed from under his knees, soaking his pants.

“SIUUUUUUU.”

That shout rang out especially loudly in the deathly silent arena.

And deep in Cristiano Ronaldo’s mind.

The system panel lit up.

It’s the flickering of the screen when it can’t handle the data load.

Satire and ridicule surged into the midst of it.

Source: Athletic Bilbao fans live +1.2 million

Source: Liverpool fans watching live matches +5.6 million

Source: Cristiano Ronaldo has been an old topic participant across the entire web +4.1 million

The numbers are jumping, jumping like crazy.

Current total satire value: 1.98 billion.

20 million remaining to the awakening threshold of Manchester Sorrow.

Just 200 million yuan away.

Cristiano Ronaldo stood up from the ground.

He brushed the mud off his knees.

Liverpool’s match hasn’t even started yet, and when the time comes, the mouths of those Anfield players will help him fill in the last few numbers.

Cristiano Ronaldo began to turn and run back to his position.

Halfway through, he felt something.

A kind of gaze.

That gaze wasn’t on a teammate, not on a coach.

It was the Williams brothers on the opposite side.

The two of them were now standing near the center circle.

Iñaki’s gaze—Cristiano Ronaldo had seen that kind of look before.

He had seen bulls in the bullring at the bullring when angered by the red cloth, with the same look in their eyes before launching their final charge.

That is not anger.

It’s bloodthirsty.

Nico Williams stood next to his brother, clearly angry as a young man.

His lips kept moving.

Cristiano Ronaldo understood his lip movements.

“I’m going to tear this old man apart.”

Kickoff from the center circle.

Bibba’s rhythm began to change.

If the previous fifteen minutes were a storm, now it was a tsunami.

They no longer have any patience or tactical discipline.

It all comes down to one word

Smash.

Smash into the Real Madrid penalty area.

By any means necessary.

Long passes, aerial balls, crosses from the wings, and even the goalkeeper’s long kick into the attacking third.

Every ball was sent to Iñaki and Nico’s heads.

In the 25th minute, a high ball was played; Nacho was knocked back three steps by Iñaki’s shoulder while contesting the header, and the ball fell into the penalty area.

Nico volleyed the shot, but Courtois made a flying save.

In the 28th minute, from a corner kick, Iñaki headed the ball at the far post, but the ball grazed the top of the crossbar and flew out.

During the struggle, Militão’s ankle was stepped on, and the pain made his face twist, but he gritted his teeth and didn’t fall.

In the 31st minute, another aerial goal—this time Nacho misjudged and missed a man.

Iñaki earned an unmarked header opportunity inside the penalty area.

Courtois.

The Belgian’s reaction was almost inhuman; the moment the ball left Iñaki’s forehead, he jumped up.

His whole body was lying across the air, and his right hand struck the ball off the crossbar at an incredible angle.

Bang.

The ball bounced off the crossbar.

As Courtois landed, his shoulder slammed hard against the doorpost, and he let out a muffled groan.

But he immediately got up, slapped his gloves, and roared at the defense.

“Focus, all of you, just focus on me.”

Real Madrid’s penalty area has been repeatedly slapped.

Each wave is fiercer than the last.

Vulnerabilities are also increasing.

But it hasn’t broken yet; everyone is still holding on.

Cristiano Ronaldo stood up front, looking back at his own defense.

His teammates were desperately defending the line.

Then he turned his head and looked toward Bilba in the direction of the goal.

The hunger in his eyes grew even heavier.

One is simply not enough; it must completely kill the game.

Then, he looked at the Williams brothers.

Two enraged beasts were launching even more frenzied charges.

The rain kept pouring heavier.

The turf is getting slipperier and smoother.