Erick broke into the box.

Murilo rushed out desperately to close the angle, arms wide like a wall. Erick approached, still silent, and...

A soft touch.

A chip shot.

The ball rose slowly.

Murilo, already on the ground, stretched out his arm in a late reflex.

The ball passed just beyond his fingers.

And gently dropped into the goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

The stadium erupted.

The roar of Héra's supporters mixed with screams, horns, drums, euphoric voices, a wave of madness swept through the stands.

But Erick?

He simply walked toward the center circle, head down, calm steps, as if nothing had happened.

Kelvin, still crouched, watched the ball in the net. His eyes burned with frustration.

Erick glanced at Júlia, high up in the bleachers. And for the first time, raised his hand... and pointed straight at the sky.

Then looked at Kelvin.

"Now... it's your turn"

The ball returned to the center of the field.

The screams of Héra's crowd still echoed, thundering through the air — but to Kelvin, the world had become a muffled blur. The only clear thing was Erick's footsteps walking away. His words echoed in Kelvin's mind.

Now... it's your turn.

Kelvin took a deep breath.

Rodrigo looked at him, concerned.

"Take it easy... we're still ahead"

Kelvin didn't answer.

The ball was played back, then sent to him on the left.

He controlled it with class.

Lifted his gaze.

Erick was already waiting.

Alone, still, facing him.

It was as if the entire field had emptied around just the two of them.

"Come on, then", Kelvin whispered to himself.

[Instinctive Dribble]

And he went.

With the ball glued to his feet, he charged toward Erick at full speed, shoulders tense, eyes determined. It was as if all the weight of responsibility ran down his spine — but at the same time, this was the moment he longed for.

The chance to prove he wouldn't be left behind.

Erick remained still until the last second.

When Kelvin made the first move, cutting with his right foot, Erick responded with a subtle step to the side, just enough. Kelvin tried to fake and pull left — a quick movement, worthy of the best.

But Erick predicted it.

Anticipated.

Intercepted with a single sharp touch.

Clean.

The ball left Kelvin's feet like it had been sliced off with a scalpel.

"No...", he growled, trying to spin back to recover.

But Erick was already off, ball at his feet.

And in that instant, the whole pitch seemed to tilt in his favor.

He accelerated.

First passed Rodrigo with a nutmeg.

Then spun past Dante, elegant, almost dancing.

Ian lunged for a slide tackle — but Erick simply lifted his foot at the perfect time, skipping over the extended leg without breaking stride.

Márcio and Victor came in together, desperate, ready to box him in.

Erick stopped.

Then did the unthinkable.

Killed the momentum for just a second... and squeezed between both defenders with a sequence of tiny touches, as if he were playing in a five-inch gap.

"WHAT IS THIS?!", Kazana screamed from midfield.

Danilo was retreating again, his face in panic. It was happening again.

"NO! I'M NOT GETTING BEAT AGAIN!"

But he did.

A sharp cut left, another right, a fake dribble, a body feint.

And Danilo became just a shadow, falling to his knees on the grass.

Murilo came out again.

This time, screaming.

"I'M NOT FALLING FOR THAT AGAIN!"

But Erick didn't need to repeat the same move.

This time, he simply cut to his left foot and shot across goal, a low, precise strike. The ball rolled just inside the post and kissed the net with a crisp thud.

GOOOOOAL.

Explosion again.

The equalizer.

2-2.

Héra's crowd now sounded like an earthquake. The stands trembled with so much energy, so many screams, so many hands raised. Even neutral fans stood to applaud.

Júlia let out a short laugh, like she knew it was coming.

"Two", she whispered.

Erick, on the pitch, just walked again, like none of it was extraordinary. He didn't celebrate. Just looked at Kelvin as he passed.

"Still not enough", he said, almost casually. "I want to see you... at your best"

Kelvin stood frozen, breathless.

Sweat rolled down his face, hot as liquid fire. He clenched his fists, still stuck at the spot where he'd lost the ball. His gaze fixed on Erick, a mix of frustration and fascination.

That guy... was he real?

Takumi, up in the stands, narrowed his eyes, watching in silence. His gaze sharp, studying every movement, every detail, as if analyzing an unknown creature.

"He plays like the world's in slow motion...", he murmured.

The match resumed.

Kazana kicked off, but Sanu looked shaken. The control they once held had shifted. Héra now surged forward with fury, like they'd found their soul on the field — and that soul had a name: Erick.

Kelvin dropped back a little to help on defense, trying to catch his breath. Rodrigo appeared beside him.

"He's insane...", the midfielder panted. "We need to change our game"

"I know...", Kelvin replied, eyes still blazing, "But I'm going to get past him. Even if it's the last thing I do this match"

The ball rolled dangerously again in midfield.

Ian intercepted a pass and quickly launched it to the left wing.

Kelvin controlled it. The sound of the ball sticking to his foot echoed like a war drum. And Erick was already there, in front of him again. As if drawn to Kelvin's presence.

Kelvin didn't hesitate. He went.

This time, he tried something different.

Used his body.

A fake spin move, then accelerated down the sideline, hinting at a cross.

Erick fell for it — for a split second.

That was all Kelvin needed.

He pulled the ball back, cutting inside with a sharp elastico.

[Instinctive Dribble: Activated]

The crowd stood up.

"THIS IS IT!", someone yelled.

But Erick reacted.

With the cold precision of a predator, he slid his foot behind the ball and took it the next second, as if Kelvin had let it go willingly, a clean steal, surgical.

"NOT AGAIN!", Felipe yelled from behind.

Erick surged forward for the counterattack, but this time Sanu responded faster. Rodrigo cut off his lane, forcing him to spin away. Dante lunged with a bold tackle and poked the ball out at the last second — sending it out for a throw-in.

No goal.

Sanu's bench erupted.

"NICE ONE, DANTE!"

Murilo, back at the goal, raised his arms in relief.

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