If you’re enjoying the story, consider voting to show your support. Feel free to join me on Discord to chat and share your thoughts: https://discord.gg/hTQJtj2K9U.

#More than 10 Chapters ahead on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/TrikoRex. If you have a moment, leaving a review would mean a lot to me and help me see who’s interested in the story’s future.

~~~

[15-06-2021 | Allianz Arena, Germany | 21:30 CET]

[France 2-1 Germany]

[80’]

Claps could be heard coming from the stands as the fourth official raised the board, signalling a red 25 and a green 22. Rakim, standing next to him, could be seen adjusting the waistband as he tucked in his shirt before tying his locs back in a messy bun. He bounced one or twice as he waited for Müller to make his exit, his APEX: SINGULARITY T1 glistening when the floodlights struck it.

True to its variant name, venom strike, the midnight-black base made the green accents glitter like viper scales, ready to pounce. Excited to try his signature shoes in a match, he barely waited for the veteran to reach the line before jogging on with an excited bounce. All thoughts of tactics had gone out the window, as he knew that, given how tense this match was, it would be up to the players to make it happen.

"And here he is, Rex enters the Allianz Arena," Mowbray announced as the camera lingered on the seventeen-year-old jogging into position. "The treble winner, the Champions League hero, finally gets his moment on the international stage. And what a situation to walk into—three-two down, with ten minutes to find an equaliser against the world champions."

He still remembered to pass on the basic instructions he had received before taking a deep breath, the cool air sending a shiver through his nerves, demanding the ball. Taking his spot on the right flank, a side he hadn’t played in a while, he stood across from Mbappé, waiting for Griezmann to kick things back off.

"Look at those kicks he will be wanting to cristen them with a win, Guy," Jenas said, his tone shifting. "Let’s see if the boy can live up to the marketing."

(Fweeet)

Griezmann tapped it back to Tolisso, and the French immediately began moving it in their ranks, looking to slow the tempo. They knew that every minute that ticked down was a minute closer to a famous opening result and were banking on keeping it. The Allianz didn’t like it one bit; their voices drowned the bowl in boos and whistles of dissatisfaction.

Just because the Pariasians wanted to slow it down, that mentality did not extend to the home side, who pressed high from the restart. Werner, Sané, and Rakim pressed the back line, moving in formation, trying to force a mistake. Hernández, under pressure from Rakim’s energetic press, hesitated a fraction too long with the ball at his feet.

Turning frantically to shield it, he sent it back to Lloris, who was forced to boot it long under the charge from Werner. The ball sailed high and long, dropping just around the halfway line, where Pogba and Kross leapt into the air trying to get a head to it. The German managed to outjump his man, nudging it sideways, looking to make the connection with Kross.

The German veteran moved to bring it under control, but Tolisso also wanted a piece of it, bumping into him from the side, lunging at the ball. The ball bounced loose to the right byline, where Kimmich managed to beat Mbappé to it and send a first-time pass inside to Gündogan. The city man held off Kanté and sent it into Rakim’s feet, who had just dropped inside, getting separation from Hernández.

Feeling the Parriasian full back at his heels, he jumped forward, flicking the ball up along his path. Hernández, who had been expecting a sudden stop, reacted a beat too late and tried to make up for it by closing the distance. Just as he placed a hand on his back, Rakim flicked the airborne ball back over his own head and turned past him in one smooth motion.

"Rex with the Sombrero!" Mowbray exclaimed as Rakim trapped the dropping ball into his path before sending it inwards to Werner, who lost Kimpembe’s marking for a second. "And there he goes through on the flank,"

Werner flicked the ball wide, sending Rakim chasing after, managing to trap it before it could spill out for a throw. Before the nearby defenders could regroup and try to shut him down, he floated in a teasing cross. The ball curled with malicious intent toward the back post, dipping late right into Sané and Pavard’s path.

The Bayern winger met it with a leaping header, snapping his neck through the contact, as he absorbed Pavard’s challenge. In goal, Lloris reacted on instinct, palming the ball away, and luckily for the visitors, Varane read the rebound quickly enough. The Madrid centre-back came across at full stretch, booting it out of the box, sending it flying out for a throw.

[88’]

Rakim was fully put on notice by the world champs following his first few glimpses as Kanté and Tolisso made sure to cut off any balls in his direction. Still, he managed to get on the end of a rebound that spilt to the edge of the box following a failed Werner Attack. Varane had slid forward, placing his foot before the striker shot to make the interception.

Flicking the ball slightly to his left, he immediately struck, not even looking for a pass, as he bent it around Hernández’s outstretched boot. The ball curved viciously as it cut through the air, flying to the top left corner with speed bound for the back of the net. The figure of a man dressed in yellow had other ideas as he flew through the air like a dolphin, arms fully outstretched.

His right hand caught the leather flush, the impact sending a sharp crack across the box as he palmed it up and over the bar. Lloris crashed down onto the turf, immediately springing back to his feet, fists pumping toward his back four, telling them to wake up. The French captain wasn’t about to let his team’s lead slip in the final stretch.

"LLORIS!" Mowbray’s voice cracked with disbelief. "He’s denied Rakim a debut goal! What a save from the Tottenham keeper, full extension, and somehow keeps that out of the top corner!"

"That was destined for the net, Guy," Jenas added, shaking his head. "The technique, the placement, the dip on it, he practically whispered it into the back of the net. Only a world-class save keeps it out, and that’s exactly what we just saw. Lloris is reminding everyone why he wears that captain’s armband."

The corner was worked short, Kroos to Kimmich, who whipped in a low delivery toward the near post. Werner attacked it with venom, getting a glancing touch, but his connection sent the ball skidding the wrong side of the post. The Allianz let out a collective groan as the French defence sprinted upfield, looking to release Mbappé on the counter.

[90’]

The fourth official raised the board on the touchline, the numbers flashing red against the Munich night: +3

"Three minutes of added time," Mowbray noted as the camera caught Löw shouting instructions, hand cupped around his mouth. "Three minutes for Germany to find an equaliser, or this opening night ends in defeat."

Around the 92nd minute, Germany seemed to wake up and increase the tempo, showing an urgency that hadn’t been there for most of the match. Kroos drove the ball wide to Klostermann, demanding speed, before charging up the middle himself. The full-back surged up the left flank, with Sané drifting inwards to provide an option.

Every German body that could be was now in the French half, pressuring their opponents as even Rüdiger and Hummels had pushed up beyond the centre circle. Klostermann tried to dink the ball back across into Werner’s path, but the Chelsea striker was crowded out by Varane and Kimpembe, collapsing on him. The ball broke loose, spinning back toward Kanté, who never seemed to be anywhere else but exactly where his team needed him. The little Frenchman didn’t hesitate, sweeping the ball forward with a single touch, releasing Dembélé into acres of green ahead.

"Dembélé is away!" Mowbray’s voice climbed sharply. "And Germany has left itself wide open!"

The Barcelona winger had a head start that Can couldn’t close, his legs eating up the turf as he surged into the German half. Rüdiger sprinted back desperately, trying to angle Dembélé toward the touchline, but the Frenchman dropped his shoulder, chopped inside onto his right, and skipped past the lunging German with a neat piece of footwork.

"Oh, he’s gone past Rüdiger like he isn’t even there!" Jenas exclaimed. "This is the matador with the cape!"

.

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...