Scoring against a god is dangerous. Not because they get angry, but because they stop holding back.
The scoreboard froze at 0-1. The Indonesian bench erupted in cheers. Even Coach Guntur punched the air, a rare display of emotion from the stoic man. But on the pitch, Rio Valdes felt a chill that had nothing to do with the stadium's air conditioning.
He looked at Jean-Luc Pierre.
The French captain didn't scream at his teammates. He didn't throw a tantrum. He simply walked into the net, picked up the ball, and walked back to the center circle.
His face was terrifyingly calm. The bored expression was gone. In its place was the cold, focused gaze of an executioner sharpening his axe.
[SYSTEM ALERT!][Target: Jean-Luc Pierre][Status Change: SERIOUS][All Stats: +20%][Skill Activated: KING'S AURA]
"Formation Shell!" Rio screamed, his voice cracking. "Drop back! Don't let him breathe!"
The whistle blew. Restart.
Jean-Luc didn't pass the ball back to his defenders this time. He tapped it forward to himself.
"Stop him!" Bambang roared, charging like a rabid dog.
Bambang threw his entire body weight into a slide tackle. It was reckless. It was violent. It was meant to break momentum or break a leg.
THUD.
Bambang bounced off.
It defied physics. Jean-Luc didn't even stumble. His thighs were like tree trunks rooted in the earth. Bambang, the "Mad Dog", rolled away clutching his shoulder, grimacing in pain as if he had tackled a concrete pillar.
Jean-Luc glanced down at Bambang as he dribbled past.
"Is that all?" Jean-Luc asked in English.
He accelerated.
[SPEED: 95/100][STRENGTH: 98/100]
It wasn't a dribble. It was a stampede. Two Indonesian midfielders tried to close the gap. Jean-Luc dropped his shoulder and barged between them. The impact sent one of them sprawling onto the grass, gasping for air.
"Foul!" Coach Guntur screamed from the sideline.
"Play on!" The referee waved. It wasn't a foul. It was just pure, unadulterated strength.
Adrian Vance, the tactician, stood in Jean-Luc's path. Adrian looked tiny in comparison, a child trying to stop a tank.
"Delay him!" Rio shouted.
Adrian didn't try to tackle. He tried to use [False Signal], feinting left to make Jean-Luc hesitate.
But Jean-Luc didn't look at Adrian's body language. He looked at the goal. He didn't care about the obstacle. He simply ran through Adrian.
A stiff arm shove sent Adrian flying. His glasses skidded across the turf.
Rio was the last line of defense before the center-backs.
Thump-thump-thump. Rio's heart hammered against his ribs. The warning lights in his vision turned flashing red.
[CRITICAL WARNING][Impact Risk: FATAL][Advice: Do Not Engage]
Move, Rio told his legs. Intercept him.
But his survival instinct—the primal fear programmed into every living creature—froze him. Even with the System, his body knew: If you step in front of that train, you die.
Rio hesitated for a fraction of a second.
That was all Jean-Luc needed.
The Titan took another touch, setting the ball up perfectly twenty-five yards out.
He swung his leg. The motion was violent, like a trebuchet releasing a boulder.
BOOM!
The sound of the impact was louder than the crowd.
The ball didn't curve. It didn't spin. It flew in a straight line, tearing through the air with such velocity that it blurred.
The Indonesian goalkeeper, who had been heroic until now, didn't even see it. He heard the sound, flinched, and then heard the net explode behind him.
GOAL.
INDONESIA 1 - 1 FRANCE
34th Minute.
The silence returned. But this time, it was the silence of fear.
Jean-Luc didn't celebrate. He turned around and pointed a finger directly at Rio.
"One," Jean-Luc mouthed.
Rio swallowed hard. One? He plans to score more?
"Get up!" Rio shouted at his stunned teammates, though his own hands were trembling. "Reset! Stick to the plan! We knew they would score! It doesn't change anything!"
But it changed everything.
The "Magic" of the first goal had evaporated. The reality of the power gap had set in.
For the next ten minutes, it was a massacre. Not of goals, but of bodies.
"Protocol Chaos" turned into "Protocol Desperation".
Minute 38: Bambang took a yellow card for pulling Mbappe Jr.'s shirt because he couldn't keep up with his speed. Minute 41: An Indonesian defender was carried off on a stretcher with a cramp—pure exhaustion from chasing shadows. Minute 44: Adrian was limping, his ankle swollen from the earlier collision with Jean-Luc.
France was relentless. They smelled blood. Every pass was sharper. Every tackle was harder. They weren't playing football anymore; they were punishing Indonesia for the insolence of scoring first.
[User Stamina: 30%][Heart Stress: 85%]
Rio was gasping. His vision was starting to blur at the edges. The suffocating heat of the stadium, combined with the insane pace of the French attack, was draining his battery faster than calculated.
Just hold until halftime, Rio prayed. Just give us fifteen minutes to breathe.
The Fourth Official raised the board: +3 Minutes of Added Time.
"Three minutes!" Rio yelled. "Everyone behind the ball! Build the wall!"
France had a corner kick.
The French giants—Jean-Luc and their two central defenders—marched into the box. They looked like skyscrapers surrounded by village huts.
The ball whipped in. High and dangerous.
Rio jumped. He used every ounce of strength in his bionic legs to reach the highest point.
[SKILL: VULTURE'S EYE][Trajectory Predicted]
He saw where the ball would land. He got there first. Rio's head met the ball.
THWACK.
He cleared it! The ball soared away from the danger zone.
But in the air, his temple collided with the shoulder of a charging French defender.
Lights out.
Rio hit the ground hard. Darkness swarmed his vision. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears.
[SYSTEM ALERT][Concussion Detected: Mild][System Override: Pain Suppression Activated][Motor Functions: Auto-Pilot Engaged]
"Rio!" Adrian's voice sounded miles away, underwater.
Rio forced his eyes open. The world was spinning. He saw the referee blowing the whistle.
HALFTIME.
INDONESIA 1 - 1 FRANCE
He tried to stand up, but his legs felt like jelly.
"Captain!"
Bambang and Ole were there. The "Mad Dog" and the "Ghost" grabbed Rio by the arms, hauling him up.
"Did we...?" Rio mumbled, blood trickling from his nose again.
"It's halftime," Ole whispered, his voice unusually tense. "We survived the half."
Rio looked at the scoreboard through his blurry vision. 1-1.
They had held the Titan to a draw for 45 minutes. It was a miracle. But looking at his battered squad—limping, bleeding, gasping for air—Rio knew the truth.
Miracles run out.
As they walked toward the tunnel, Rio saw Jean-Luc walking off. The Frenchman wasn't even sweating. He looked like he had just finished a light warm-up.
This isn't a match, Rio thought, wiping the blood from his face as the System forced his legs to move. This is an execution. And we are only halfway through.