The moment Elian stepped forward, the air around him shifted.
It was subtle at first—just a change in tempo, a small ripple in the rhythm of the game. But then, in the next breath, it was a tidal wave.
A force.
A presence.
Something no one on the pitch could ignore.
Spain's players, who had been pressing relentlessly just seconds ago, hesitated.
It wasn't fear.
No—it was something deeper.
A primal instinct.
A warning.
Something told them—this was different.
Elian moved—and the world moved with him.
The moment the ball touched his foot, he didn't just control it—he commanded it.
With a slight flick of his ankle, he sent the ball spinning into the space ahead, accelerating like a bullet out of a chamber.
The Spanish midfielders reacted instantly, closing in, bodies colliding like crashing waves.