Stadio Olimpico.Second Half. Minute 60.Score: Inter 1 - 0 Bologna.
"Operation Ghost" began in silence. Rio stopped dropping deep to collect the ball. He stopped wrestling with Francesco Acerbi, refusing to engage in the physical battle the veteran defender craved. Instead, Rio stood on the offside line, hanging right on the shoulder of Alessandro Bastoni. He stood perfectly still. He waited.
To the audience, Rio looked lazy, almost disinterested. The commentator's voice rose in frustration, screaming that Bologna was playing with ten men and their striker wasn't even tracking back. But down on the pitch, Francesco Acerbi felt a creeping sense of unease. When Rio was in front of him, Acerbi could touch him, feel his movement, and predict his turns. Now that Rio was behind him, Acerbi had to constantly turn his head, scanning the space over his shoulder. Where was he? Left? Right? Rio had ceased to be a player and had become a phantom.
Minute 75.The Breaking Point.
Time was running out. Inter Milan still dominated possession, their grip on the game suffocating. Nicolo Barella and Hakan Calhanoglu were playing keep-away in the midfield, popping short passes that made Bologna chase shadows until their lungs burned.
Kenjiro Tanaka stood in the center circle. His knee wasn't hurting anymore. It was numb. His nervous system was screaming danger signals, sending phantom jolts up his spine, but the Adrenaline Shot administered by the medic at halftime was masking the structural collapse happening inside his joint. He looked up. Rio wasn't looking at the ball. Rio was looking at Kenjiro. Eye contact locked across forty meters of green grass. Now.
Kenjiro didn't wait for the ball to come to him. He committed to a Suicide Interception. As Barella prepared a pass to Calhanoglu, Kenjiro forced his legs to explode one last time. He slid into the passing lane, disregarding his own safety.
CRACK.
It wasn't the sound of the ball. It was the sickening sound of a ligament snapping under extreme tension.
Nicolo Barella, unable to brake in time, kicked through Kenjiro's extended leg. But Kenjiro had won the touch. It wasn't just a desperate block. It was a measured volley pass, born from agony. The ball lofted high over Inter's defensive high line, spinning perfectly into space. It was the perfect pass. Kenjiro collapsed on the grass, a silent scream etched on his face as his body finally registered the damage.
A system alert flashed violently in Rio's mind: Symbiotic Partner Critical Damage. Pain Transfer: BLOCKED by Host Willpower.
Rio felt the echo of the pain, a phantom throb like a hot nail driven into his own knee. The referee raised his whistle to stop the play for the foul on Kenjiro. But then he saw Rio. Rio was through. Advantage! The referee waved his hands, allowing the play to continue.
Minute 76.The Phantom.
The ball hung in the night sky, a white sphere against the dark backdrop. Acerbi and Bastoni turned around, but they were one step too late. Rio Valdes was already past them. His Grade S Agility meant his acceleration from a standing start was terrifying.
Rio controlled the ball with his chest while sprinting at full speed, cushioning it into his stride without breaking rhythm. He was alone. Forty meters from goal. Yann Sommer, the Inter goalkeeper, saw the danger and rushed out of his box to narrow the angle.
Behind Rio, Acerbi chased desperately. The veteran defender's mind flashed back to the data analysis session earlier in the week: "He likes to rotate his hips to the right and shoot across goal with the Golden Arc."
Rio entered the penalty box. Sommer spread his arms, making himself look massive. Acerbi slid from behind to block Rio's right side, covering the expected shooting lane.
Rio saw Acerbi's shadow stretching across the grass. You watched my tapes? Good.
Rio opened his hips to the right, shaping his body perfectly for the Golden Arc curler. Acerbi and Sommer bought the fake instantly. They shifted their weight to the right.
[Skill Active: Elastic Hips]
Rio didn't shoot. He snapped his ankle inward violently, defying the momentum of his run. He dragged the ball to the left.
The deception was absolute. He didn't shoot; he rounded the keeper. Sommer was left grasping at empty air, his gloves clutching nothing but grass. Acerbi slid harmlessly into empty space, his tackle missing by a meter. Rio breezed past them both, the goal gaping wide before him.
Rio jogged the last few steps and tapped the ball into the empty net.
GOAL.Inter 1 - 1 Bologna.
The Aftermath.
The stadium exploded. Red and Blue flags waved wildly in the away section, a sea of color in the grey expanse of the Olimpico. But Rio didn't celebrate. He didn't run to the fans. He turned and sprinted back to the center circle, to where Kenjiro was lying motionless.
The medical team was already there. The stretcher was out. Kenjiro had his arm thrown over his eyes to hide his face. Rio fell to his knees beside him, ignoring the chaos around them.
"You're crazy," Rio whispered, his voice trembling.
Kenjiro opened his eyes. He smiled, though tears streamed down his face, mixing with the sweat and dirt. "Was... was the pass good?"
"Perfect," Rio said, his throat tight. "Best pass of the season."
Kenjiro grabbed Rio's hand, his grip surprisingly strong for someone in so much pain. "Finish it, Rio. Don't let my leg break for nothing. Win the damn cup."
Rio nodded, unable to speak. He squeezed his friend's hand one last time. Kenjiro was lifted onto the stretcher and carried off. The entire stadium—including the Inter fans—stood up and applauded. They recognized a warrior who had fallen with honor.
System Notification: Symbiotic Contract SEVERED (Temporary). Reason: Partner Incapacitated. Status: Solo Mode Active.
Rio stood up. He was truly alone now. No brain in the midfield. No supplier. Just Rio and the final fifteen minutes of hell.
Minute 88.The Siege.
The score remained 1-1. Inter Milan was angry. They felt robbed, their dominance undone by a single moment of brilliance. They besieged Bologna's goal with furious intensity. Federico Dimarco unleashed a thunderbolt from the edge of the box.
CLANG.
The crossbar rattled, vibrating with the force of the strike. Lautaro Martinez headed the rebound from point-blank range, but Skorupski made a miracle fingertip save, clawing the ball away from the line. Bologna was defending with their lives, parking the bus so deep they were almost in the net.
Rio was isolated upfront. Every time he touched the ball, three Inter players swarmed him, kicking at his ankles, pulling his shirt. Rio's energy was fading fast. His stamina was down to 12%. His remaining lifespan was 304 days.
The Fourth Official raised the board: 5 Minutes Added Time.
If the score remained tied, they would go to Extra Time—two halves of fifteen minutes. Rio knew he wouldn't survive Extra Time. His heart would overheat; his body would fail. He had to win now. Or die trying.
Minute 90+4.The Final Gamble.
Inter won a corner kick. Everyone pushed forward. Even the giant defenders Acerbi and Bastoni went up. The ball was whipped in with venom. Sam Beukema rose highest and headed it clear, launching the ball out of the box.
The ball fell loose in the center of the pitch. There were no Bologna players there. Kenjiro was gone. But Hakan Calhanoglu was standing there as the last man for Inter. Calhanoglu controlled the ball calmly, preparing to recycle the attack and send it back into the danger zone.
Rio saw him. The distance between Rio and Calhanoglu was fifteen meters. Calhanoglu was a technician, a passer, not a sprinter. Rio activated his last reserve of power.
[Skill Active: The Cannon (Recoil Mode)]
Rio didn't use it to shoot. He utilized the explosive contraction of his fast-twitch muscle fibers—usually reserved for striking the ball—to launch a Sprint Start.
BOOM.
Rio shot forward like a bullet leaving a chamber. The sudden burst of speed was unnatural. Calhanoglu panicked. He tried to pass back to his keeper, but Rio was too fast. Rio stole the ball from Calhanoglu's toe with a sliding interception that turned instantly into a run.
Now, there was only fifty meters of green grass. And Goalkeeper Yann Sommer at the other end. But Rio was exhausted. His legs felt like lead weights filled with acid.
Behind him, Denzel Dumfries—Inter's speedster wingback—was chasing. Dumfries was fresh, having been subbed on ten minutes ago. Rio had played ninety-four minutes of high-intensity football.
The gap shrank. Forty meters... Dumfries closed in, his strides long and powerful. Thirty meters... Dumfries was breathing down his neck, the sound of his boots tearing up the turf getting louder. Twenty meters... Dumfries prepared to tackle, reaching out to grab Rio's shoulder.
Rio couldn't run anymore. He couldn't shoot from distance because Sommer was positioned well on his line. He had to do something irrational.
Rio slammed on the brakes. Deceleration. He didn't stop completely, which would have sent him flying forward. He slowed down rapidly and planted his feet wide to brace for impact. Dumfries, running at full speed and expecting a chase to the end, couldn't stop.
He crashed into Rio's back.
[Skill Active: Balance (Grade A)]
Rio braced his core muscles. He didn't fall. He used Dumfries' momentum like a revolving door. As Dumfries crashed and stumbled past him, unable to control his own inertia, Rio spun around the impact, using the kinetic energy to shield the ball and roll away.
The collision bought him one second of space. But he had lost all his forward momentum. The ball was rolling slowly. Sommer was charging out to smother it, diving at Rio's feet.
Rio didn't have the power to drive it. He saw Sommer charging, spreading his body to block everything. Rio slipped his toe under the ball.
The Chip Shot.
The ball floated up... slowly... painfully slowly... arching over the fingertips of the leaping Sommer. It looked like a falling leaf suspended in the autumn breeze.
Time seemed to stop. Rio collapsed to the ground, his lungs burning as if he had swallowed fire. Dumfries fell beside him, tangled in his own limbs. All eyes in the Colosseum were fixed on the white ball floating in the night air.
Will it drop in? Or will it hit the bar?