The fourth official glanced at Baraja, who gave a curt nod. The substitution proceeded as planned, but the energy in the stadium had shifted.
Izan jogged onto the pitch, greeted by applause from the fans desperate for a miracle, but the weight on his young shoulders had just doubled.
The scoreboard now read Valencia 0 - 2 Mallorca, and with less than 30 minutes to play, the task ahead seed monuntal.
Izan looked to the heavens as he took his position, exhaling deeply, before clapping his hands to rally his teammates.
If there was a way back, it would take every ounce of his talent and resolve.
...
"It’s the 74th minute now and Valencia are witnessing a change of personnel with Izan coming on for Fran Pérez who, today on the pitch, looked like he had never played a ga of football before.
Izan usually playing on the left or in the middle will have to play on the right today. May I remind you if you are just coming in, it is Valencia 0, Mallorca 2"
After getting into position, the Valencia fans wanted Izan to at least give them sothing to be hopeful for but it was easier said than done.
Mallorca’s Coach, seeing Izan enter the fray, put two players on him and it seed to be working after a few attempts at creating space by Izan proved effective.
The Valencia crowd were a bit down about Izan’s slow start to the ga but they weren’t fazed.
After a while, Izan seed to be settling and getting more involved in the ga.
After a sharp interception from the midfield sent the ball bouncing into his path near the sideline, Izan controlled it with a deft touch, his eyes scanning the pitch.
A Mallorca defender closed in, but Izan feinted to the right before slipping the ball left, leaving the man flat-footed.
The crowd cheered, their belief, now returning with every flick of his boots.
For the next few minutes, Izan moved like a catalyst through the chaos. His energy was infectious, his passes crisp and deliberate.
He tracked back to intercept a dangerous through ball, earning a roar of approval from the stands.
Then he darted forward, linking up with Valencia’s midfielders, his movents smooth and purposeful.
A one-two with Alida sent him darting down the right flank, where he whipped in a cross that just missed Hugo Duro’s outstretched leg.
The clock ticked past the 79th minute. Izan could feel the urgency growing. Mallorca had begun to sit deeper, content to defend their large but slim lead.
Valencia probed, pushing forward in waves, but the final ball always seed to evade them. Izan took up a position near the corner of the box, waiting for his mont.
And that mont ca in the 82nd minute. A misplaced clearance from a Mallorca defender fell to Izan just outside the penalty area.
He controlled it with one touch and imdiately drove forward, weaving between two defenders.
A third ca sliding in, but Izan danced over the challenge, the ball glued to his feet.
After getting to the edge of the box, the crowd roared as he cut inside and unleashed a shot toward the top corner however the keeper dived, parrying it out for a corner.
The Valencia fans were not happy with the result but a corner was also good for them.
Izan jogged toward the corner flag, his face calm despite the noise around him.
The stalla rose to its feet, sensing the importance of the mont. He placed the ball carefully, taking a deep breath as he glanced into the box.
Players jostled for position, shirts were tugged, and the referee’s whistle blew sharply to warn against pushing.
[Pinpoint Accuracy LV 2 activated], the system sounded after a short word from Izan.
With a short run-up, Izan struck the ball cleanly. It sailed into the box, spinning with precision, dipping dangerously into the crowded six-yard area.
Chaos ensued. A Mallorca defender leaped to clear it, but the ball ricocheted off his teammate’s shoulder and dropped awkwardly.
Hugo Duro reacted first, his body twisting as he unleashed a volley that smashed into the roof of the net.
The stalla exploded in celebration, a sea of arms and scarves rising as one. Izan raised his fists, his teammates rushing to surround him and Duro.
The scoreboard flashed: 1-2. Valencia were back within one, and the teenager who had ignited the spark stood at the center of it all, ready for more.
As the players rushed towards him, Izan evaded them gesturing for them to follow back as he grabbed the ball, running towards the halfway line.
The stalla was a cauldron of noise, Valencia’s supporters roaring their team forward, unwilling to accept defeat.
But with the clock ticking past the 85th minute, the scoreboard still read: Valencia 1–2 Mallorca. Despite pulling a goal back, the ho side had yet to find the equalizer they desperately craved.
In the center of it all was Izan. The 16-year-old’s presence belied his age—he was the calm in the storm, yet the storm itself.
Every Valencia attack seed to flow through him. His touch was impeccable, his vision extraordinary, and his determination contagious.
Mallorca, sensing the threat, had parked nearly all their players behind the ball, defending in a compact block.
But even their stoic resistance struggled to contain Izan. In the 87th minute, he received the ball just outside the box.
A defender lunged in to dispossess him, but with a quick shift of his weight, Izan nutgged the opponent, slipping past another challenge to a chorus of cheers from the stands.
He didn’t shoot, though. Instead, he lifted his head and threaded a pass into the feet of Hugo Duro, who spun and fired a low shot.
The Mallorca goalkeeper, Pedrag Rajkovic was sharp, diving low to parry the effort away, the rebound hacked clear by a scrambling defender.
B
On the touchline, Ruben Baraja was a picture of controlled chaos. He gestured wildly, urging his players to maintain their intensity.
Beside him, Mallorca’s coach barked orders, his voice hoarse, as he demanded his players keep their discipline.
"Valencia are throwing everything at Mallorca! And Izan—what a player"
"He’s been phenonal," his colleague agreed. "But ti is running out. Mallorca are clinging to this lead, and it’s becoming a question of whether Valencia can break them down before the clock runs out."
The 88th minute brought another heart-stopping mont. Izan received the ball from a quick throw-in, turning sharply to evade his marker.
The crowd held its breath as he carried the ball into the box, skipping past one defender, then another.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a Mallorca defender slid in with a last-ditch tackle, sending the ball out for a corner.
The fans erupted in frustrated cheers, willing their team to make this corner count. Izan jogged over to take it, his face a mask of focus.
The Mallorca fans felt nervous, after all, Valencia’s early goal was from a corner so they had every right to be.
He raised his arm, signaling his intent, Izan whipped in a precise, curling ball toward the near post.
Cenk Ozkacar rose highest, eting it with a powerful header that looked destined for the back of the net, but the Mallorca keeper was there again, tipping it over the bar.
The stalla groaned, but the fans refused to let their energy waver. "Valencia! Valencia!" they chanted, their voices growing louder with each passing second.
The comntators rambled on in awe:
"This is relentless from Valencia! They’re pounding on the door, but Mallorca just won’t break!"
"And Izan—my goodness—he’s been sensational. This young man is carrying the hopes of an entire stadium."
The clock struck 90, and the fourth official raised the board: 5 minutes of added ti.
The crowd erupted in renewed hope, the chants growing louder as Valencia pushed everything forward.
Izan clapped his hands, urging his teammates to stay focused.
Mallorca, however, continued to frustrate them, blocking every cross, clearing every loose ball.
"Max, Can I get the optimum route for a dangerous chance," Izan said with a thought after the ball went out for a throw.
After a mont, the system ca through.
Ding, [That will be 10000 LP points]
"Expensive" Izan uttered before permitting the system to deduct the points.
[This is to discourage you from relying too much on the system]
As Izan glanced at the Mallorca goal, a barrage of information hit him causing him to wince slightly.
"What the fuc-[ Hey, Hey, hey PG. Sorry guys, Author’s intervention ]
Ruben Baraja who had been watching Izan caught the expression and thought Izan might be injured so he even called Assistant Coach Moreno to prepare a substitute.
"Who’s coming off?" Moreno asked in confusion after Baraja pointed to Izan but before they could continue, the crowd roared.
Baraja and Moreno both turned to look at the field and saw Izan running towards, Marmadashivil.
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