Football singularity-Chapter 480 Never In Doubt

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[Present]

The stadium held its collective breath. It was the type of silence that thudded against your ears louder than any noise could. Even the buzzing lights above seemed dimmer, the world narrowing into a tunnel with only Rakim, the ball, and the goal at the end of it.

"He's stepping up…" Garner's voice lowered to a reverent murmur. Even Eddie Hall forgot to do his job and merely held his tongue, not wanting to miss a single moment.

Rakim began his run, each step measured and powerful. His golden boots dug into the worn turf as he approached the ball, his entire body coiled like a spring. And then, like a cannon unleashing its fury, his right foot connected with the ball with a loud (*THWACK!*).

The sound echoed—sharp, violent, like a gunshot in a chapel, prompting the players in the wall to jump into the air. However, the ball hugged the turf as it rocketed toward the goal, like a blurring missile as it slipped underneath their feet's before gaining some air. Dean Henderson, already anticipating a shot over or around the wall, was caught wrong-footed.

His weight had shifted slightly to his left, ready to spring into the top corner — but Rakim's ball zipped under the flying wall, darting low and vicious. Eyes wide, Henderson threw himself desperately back across his body, his gloves stretching out for the ball. For a fleeting second, it seemed he might just reach it. Fingers brushed the spinning leather—but not enough.

The ball kissed the inside of the post due to his redirect, but the metallic clang was unforgiving as it ricocheted into the goal, followed by the rustle of the net. "Goal," someone whispered, or maybe they shouted, but with how hoarse their voice was, it might as well have been a whisper. However, that was all that was needed to detonate the crowd that had been on tenterhooks since Saka scored the equaliser.

The stadium erupted into chaos. The German bench exploded off their seats, arms raised, players sprinting onto the field in celebration. Meanwhile, Rakim stood frozen for a heartbeat, needing a second to believe it had gone in.

A roar ripped from Rakim's lungs, raw and fierce, as he sprinted toward the corner flag, arms outstretched like a man taking flight. His teammates stormed after him, colliding into him in a heap of bodies, laughter, and victorious cries. Shirts were tugged, arms flung around shoulders, and tears weren't far behind.

Above in the VIP box, Ben let out a strangled shout of joy, lifting Lisa clean off her feet before setting her down and kissing the top of her head. Anne-Marie was bouncing so high that she nearly knocked over Emma and May, who were smiling in joy. The speakers above crackled alive with Paul Garner's voice, barely holding back his own emotions: "Rakim Rex putting the finishing touches to an incredible run with an almost equally impressive free kick."

"What a free kick indeed, I'm being told that the ball travelled at 110kmh." Eddie Hall commented as the celebrations unfolded in full swing on the pitch, all the German players and some of the trainers joined in the huddle. Whilst the Germans could be seen celebrating close to the corner flag, the English contingent were on the ground defeated.

They were all gasping for breath, having worked for 90+ minutes, but they still lost in the end. Now they barely had seconds left in which they couldn't do much, even if they wanted to. Dean Henderson slammed his gloves against the turf in frustration before pushing himself back up, but the fire was gone from his movements.

Declan Rice stood with his hands on his hips, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow as he stared at the midfield circle, waiting for a restart that everyone knew was little more than a formality. The referee jogged toward the centre spot, glancing at his watch. He placed the whistle between his lips as the English players dragged themselves back into position, shoulders slumped, their faces telling the story of dreams slipping through their fingers.

With a tired tap, England restarted the match with Musiala driving the ball forward immediately. He barely managed to cross the halfway line before the piercing shriek of the whistle cut through the noise. "There you have it, folks, after 38 years, Germany are once again your U-20 World Champions! And at the heart of it is none other than Rakim Rex." Paul Gartner's voice resounded throughout the stadium and the live broadcast as the German players flooded the pitch once more, this time with no need for restraint.

Shirts were ripped off and waved overhead, flags were thrown from the stands, and trainers sprinted to join the mass of Green and white euphoria that had erupted near the centre circle. Rakim plopped down on the turf with a tired exhale, lying on his back as the toll his body had been through called to collect.

He let his arms fall wide, lungs drawing ragged, cooling breaths while the uproar swirled above him like distant surf. For the first time in ninety-plus chaotic minutes, grass smelled simply of earth and made him feel at peace as he closed his eyes. Taking in the moment as he listened to the celebrations around him, his eyes shot open a second later.

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[Ding mission Future Great's progress:]

#Don't lose a match: L7/D1/W0

#Beat Javier Saviola's all-time Goal scoring record of 11 set in 2001: 13/11

#Win the Golden Boot: 1/1 (13, Goals) {Congratulations}

#Lead your team to win the Mini World Cup: 1/1 {Congratulations}

#Win the MVP award: 0/1 {TBD}

Rewards: Calculated based on Performance and achievements: Loading...

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"Yo, bro, get up, we are champions," Wirtz's voice resounded from his front, dressed in the team's tracksuit as he stretched out a hand for Rakim to grasp. Rakim squinted up at Florian Wirtz, the stadium lights haloing his friend's rumpled hair. He grasped the outstretched hand; Wirtz hauled him to his feet and immediately draped an arm around his shoulders.

"We did it, bro, we broke an almost 40-year trophy drought," Rakim stated with an excited smile as they jogged to the sidelines, each picking up a German flag and draping it over their shoulders.

Wirtz thumped his fist to Rakim's chest, right over the embroidered eagle. "Flags on, medals next—Coach is losing his voice trying to line us up." Sure enough, Coach Baum was by his coaching bench, drenched in whatever sports drink the nearby players were able to find.

Jogging over to the side, they were quickly given a white shirt with WORLD CHAMPIONS 2019 in bold gold letters written on it. Rakim slipped the fresh white tee over his damp kit, the fabric clinging to his abs. The gold lettering shimmered beneath the floodlights, and for a second, he just stared at the word CHAMPIONS stretched across his chest, letting the reality sink in.

"Congratulations, boy's you did it, we are the champions, soak in the moment." Coach Baum said in a jovial tone, smiling from ear to ear. "This is what we have shed so much sweat for, pat yourself on the back and make intelligent choices as we celebrate.

"Yes, sir," the players shouted in joy as they broke off the gathering to celebrate with each other and some of the fans. Parents weren't yet allowed on the pitch until the medal ceremony was complete, but that did not stop the players from going around to thank the fans.

Rakim went to his bag quickly, fishing out his smartphone and donning his Titan-Hood as he took a couple of pictures and videos for his social media. The fans at the side of the stadium eagerly joined in as he got roped into a shadowboxing game by a group of teen boys. Signing a few kits, balls, and even someone's forehead, he quickly left that corner before things could get wilder.

"Your Bukayo, right?" He asked after coming across the English number 7, who had matched him for goal contributions.

"Last time that I checked, I am, and you're the Rakim Rex," Saka responded with a bitter smile as he shook Rakim's outstretched hand. "Well played mate, that last run was the most gangster shit I've seen someone do,"

"Thank you wouldn't have had to go through all that battering if you guys hadn't decided to spin back in the second half." Rakim retorted with a tight-lipped smile. "It felt like we were playing a completely different team halfway through the second half, and your goals were insane too."

"I don't want to hear that from you after so ruthlessly finishing us off. Don't worry, though, I plan on paying you back the next time we play, I'll be taking the W," Saka said with a forced smile, probably still reeling from the brutal loss, but the confidence in his voice was undeniable.

"Doubt that, but I'll be ready," Rakim responded, a confident smile appearing on his face. "Let's swap kits for now before you continue dreaming."

"Anyone ever told you're annoying?" He questioned with mock annoyance, but still moved to take off his top as Rakim did the same, removing his champion shirt first.

"Quite a lot, actually, but why would a dragon care about what mortals think of it?" Rakim responded with a light smirk, trying his best to channel his inner Zlatan as he slung Saka's top over his shoulder after once again donning the championship shirt.

"This boy crazy," Saka muttered before moving to walk away as quickly as he could, acting as if he was avoiding the plague.

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To Be Continued...