The choice caught everyone by surprise. No one in the stadium, least of all the Real Madrid defense expected Lorenzo to unleash a cannon shot from such a distance.
Barcelona's corner ploy had completely disrupted the defensive assignments in the penalty area. The entire Bernabéu fell into a sudden, vacuum-like silence as eighty thousand fans instinctively stood up from their seats. All eyes were fixed on the figure at the edge of the area.
Lorenzo swung his leg with the ferocity of a predator. It was a thunderous, earth-shattering "Batigol" long shot. The ball carried no arc; it was a straight, white blur of kinetic energy hurtling toward the goal guarded by Iker Casillas.
"Oh God!"
On the sidelines, Tata Martino and Carlo Ancelotti simultaneously clutched their heads. The power of the strike far exceeded anything they had seen in a youth prospect.
In front of the goal, a chill shot up Casillas's spine. Although his vision was momentarily obscured by the retreating defenders, the legend trusted his instincts. He sprang from the goal line, his body stretching to its absolute physical limit in mid-air. His golden gloves reached for the ball with everything he had left.
Swish!!
The crisp sound of the net snapping back was followed by the violent friction of the ball against the side netting. The light in Casillas's eyes dimmed as he landed hard on the turf.
"No miracle! Casillas didn't perform a miracle this time!" Santiago's voice roared through the ESPN Sur broadcast. "A world-class strike from thirty yards out! The seventeen-year-old has completed a brace in the house of the King!"
Inés Valdes was nearly shouting into her microphone. "Proud Madridistas, remember this name! Remember this night! Lorenzo has breached the fortress twice in his debut!"
The Bernabéu was frozen. The big screen repeatedly replayed the goal: Xavi's unorthodox corner, the ball dropping to the edge of the box, Lorenzo chesting it down and striking it in one fluid, violent motion. The replay ended on Casillas's helpless gaze, a sight that broke the hearts of the Madrid faithful.
Then, something unprecedented happened. From the South Stand, the small patch of Barcelona fans began a rhythmic chant that spread like wildfire.
"LO-REN-ZO! LO-REN-ZO!"
Lorenzo rushed toward the sidelines, feeling the raw, aesthetic thrill of the Batistuta template. He finally understood why the world loved "Batigol." It wasn't just a goal; it was an act of dominance. This was his second goal in La Liga, both coming in the world's most famous derby.
"You're the best number nine we've had in years!" Xavi shouted, sprinting over to embrace the boy. "That corner routine was perfect! You're a genius, Lorenzo!"
Iniesta and Busquets joined the huddle, their faces lit with pure adrenaline. "Not just a goal machine, but a tactician," Iniesta laughed.
Dani Alves held his head in disbelief. "If only you were Brazilian, kid! We need a monster like you for the World Cup!"
Messi and Mascherano quickly pulled Alves away, grinning. "Don't poison his mind, Dani! He's the future of the Albiceleste!"
On the touchline, Ancelotti stood like a statue. The chewing gum in his mouth had long since lost its flavor. This was only his second league game with Madrid, and he had intended to cement his authority with a victory. Instead, he felt helpless.
Then, a faint sound reached his ears. Clap. Clap. Clap.
Ancelotti looked up at the stands in shock. Some Real Madrid fans were actually applauding. The applause was fragmented and met with angry glares from others, but it was undeniable.
"They're applauding a Barça player?" Ancelotti whispered.
Zidane sighed, his eyes reflecting the setting sun. "Maradona and Ronaldinho earned that honor here. It seems the Bernabéu recognizes a King when they see one."
Zidane looked at the young striker and then back at Ancelotti. "Carlo, if we had listened to the reports a month ago and brought him to Castilla... today would be very different."
Ancelotti frowned. "There is no 'if' in football, Zizou. We missed him. Now we have to figure out how to stop him for the next ten years."
The final minutes of the match were a desperate, frantic struggle. Carles Puyol fought valiantly until the 86th minute before being replaced by Mascherano, the old lion receiving a respectful nod from the traveling fans.
Real Madrid's "BBC" trio launched wave after wave of attacks, but the cohesion was gone. Cristiano Ronaldo's eyes shifted from resolute to frustrated as he realized a seventeen-year-old had tied his goal tally for the season in a single afternoon.
Fweet! Fweet! Fweeeeet!
The final whistle shrieked through the Madrid air. The dream was over for the home side.
Final Score: Real Madrid 1 - 2 Barcelona.
Lorenzo stood in the center of the pitch, looking up at the towering stands of the Bernabéu. He had arrived as a "problem child" blacklisted by his own country. He was leaving as the conqueror of Madrid.
[Status: El Clásico Victory Secured.]
[System Note: Side Mission "King of the Bernabéu" Complete.]
[Rewards: Gold Treasure Chest, Real Madrid Star Chest, and Main Mission Difficulty Reduction (-20%).]
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