Chapter 30: Happy Birthday

"Samuel! Go for it! Samuel! Go for it!"

Even Kristanval, no matter how silly he could be, knew that the fans cheering weren't doing so for him. So, the loud noise must have meant…

As he charged forward, Kristanval glanced back with a small shift of his body—and he nearly had his soul scared out of him. A red-and-black figure (the red being Mallorca's home jersey and the black being Eto'o's skin) was rapidly closing in on him from behind with unbelievable speed!

Although Kristanval wasn't very old, he wasn't lacking in experience. Just that brief glance told him that if this continued, the opponent might get to the ball before him…

But there was no time to think anymore. That one glance had slowed him down, and as he tried to speed up again, it was already too late…

Eto'o, visibly gaining speed with every step, was closing the gap between them. As the cheers from the stands grew louder, the Cameroonian picked up pace, finally overtaking Kristanval!

Seeing that he was about to be left behind by Eto'o, Kristanval immediately tried to shoulder-check him, attempting to foul and block Eto'o's possession, but Eto'o swiftly ducked, nimbly avoiding the collision, before extending his leg to take the ball that had started to slow down.

At that moment, there were less than two meters from the top of the penalty arc!

After catching the ball, Eto'o accelerated again, taking the ball forward and charging into the penalty box!

"Go, Samuel! Score it!" Jose shouted from the sidelines.

Charging into the box, Eto'o caught up to the ball, facing the rapidly advancing Barthez, and swung his right foot!

The bald goalkeeper spread his arms wide, shining under the sunlight, trying to block Eto'o's shot. The contrast between the black forward and the white goalkeeper was stark, and at that moment, there was an odd sense of harmony...

Seeing Barthez rush out, Eto'o had already determined his shooting angle. However, just as his foot was about to strike the ball, a huge force collided with his shoulder from the side, knocking the Cameroon player off balance and sending him flying a meter away!

The crowd went silent for a second, and then a massive chorus of boos erupted from all directions!

"Get that bastard! That was a deliberate foul!"

The Mallorca fans roared in fury. If insults and glares could kill, Kristanval might have died a dozen times over…

Luckily, there were no racists among the Mallorca fans. Most of the team's players were Black, such as captain N'Gonga and Eto'o, who had just been fouled. Otherwise, French Black center-back Kristanval might have been mercilessly called "n****r" or "monkey" a thousand times over…

Amid the thunderous boos and shouts, Jose's voice still cut through: "Bastard! Is this football? Even rugby players aren't as brutal as that son of a b****! Red card! He must get a red card! Send that jerk off!"

His shouts were loud enough for even Puel on the other side to hear. Fuming with anger from the foul in the box, Puel's face darkened even further as he glared at the cursing young man, thinking, "This guy is really lacking manners…"

The fourth official had no choice but to come over and warn Jose: "Mr. Jose Alemany, please do not attempt to influence the referee's decisions…"

"I'm not trying to influence anything!" Jose shook his hand. "But that bastard's actions were excessive… it's beyond football!"

"The referee will make the right decision. Now…"

The fourth official's sentence was cut short as Jose quickly nodded, "No problem, Mr. Fourth Official. I was just too furious… I absolutely agree with the referee's decision. Without you guys, the game wouldn't be fair…"

As he spoke, Jose spread his arms wide and took a few steps back, leaving the fourth official a little confused. The guy was raging just a second ago, but now he was all polite…

Clearly, the referee, Aissar, wasn't swayed by the others. After Kristanval knocked Eto'o off course, Aissar immediately blew the whistle and ran into the box, pointing to the penalty spot, then waving for Kristanval to come over.

"I didn't foul! I just lightly bumped him…" Kristanval protested as he walked over.

Aissar shook his head, put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out a yellow card, showing it to Kristanval: "Foul by the last defender. No dispute on the penalty. Watch your actions, next time it'll be another yellow card."

Puel on the sidelines sighed in relief. The penalty was fine, the foul was unquestionable, and the yellow card was almost lenient. If Kristanval had been sent off, there would have been no arguing; it would have been nearly impossible to turn the game around from there…

"You're still hoping to turn it around? How naive."

Jose, watching Puel carefully, smirked. "Maybe he hasn't noticed, but all four defenders and the defensive midfielder now have yellow cards. There's at least forty minutes left, let's see how his players defend…"

Eto'o got up from the ground and high-fived his teammates.

Even though the foul had stopped his shot, Eto'o's mood didn't change. At least he'd earned a penalty, and to be honest, he didn't have much faith in that shot anyway. Barthez's timely rush and angle cover had been nearly perfect…

The Mallorca players were celebrating, but then they realized something awkward—who would take the penalty?

The previous penalty taker was Tristan, but his last penalty had been missed. The score was now tied, and this penalty was crucial. What if they missed again…?

Tristan seemed unsure. He shook his head. "My luck's not great with penalties today. Let the captain take it."

The captain he referred to was, of course, N'Gonga.

N'Gonga hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sideline, where he saw Jose repeatedly waving his hand and pointing at Stankovic.

"Let Yuvan take it! Yes, Yuvan!" Jose shouted.

Mallorca had a problem with set pieces—they didn't have a good penalty taker. Captain N'Gonga didn't usually take shots, and although he had been the penalty taker before, he didn't instill much confidence. Jose had previously used Tristan for penalties in the league to boost his goal tally, but after missing the last one, Jose didn't want to risk wasting such a precious opportunity in the UEFA Cup…

Penalty takers need strong mentality and skill. A player with a rough touch won't have the best penalty record. Jose didn't have many options for penalty takers, but Stankovic's successful free kick in the first half proved that his footwork was on point, and his technique made him a suitable choice for this crucial penalty…

Hearing that the coach had selected him to take the penalty, Stankovic, usually a man of few words, didn't say anything dramatic. He just nodded, "No problem, I've got it."

He took the ball from Captain N'Gonga, walked into the box, and placed it on the penalty spot. Standing tall, he was calm.

Looking at the bald goalkeeper before him, Stankovic felt a sense of peace. He wasn't like the other Stankovic—the one who was a young prodigy, captain of Yugoslavia at eighteen, who joined Lazio after the World Cup. No, he hadn't even played for his national team yet. And the goalkeeper in front of him had been a part of the winning team in the World Cup!

But once on the field, status and glory didn't matter. What mattered was kicking the ball into the net and turning to celebrate.

The referee's whistle blew, and Stankovic started his slow run-up before striking the ball with his right foot!

Barthez dived the wrong way, heading left, while Stankovic powered the ball into the right side of the net—2-1, Mallorca took the lead with a sharp counterattack!

"GOOOOOOOAL! Yuvan Stankovic! The Yugoslav calmly puts the ball into the right side of the goal as Barthez dives the wrong way! Stankovic has scored twice in this match… This is his fifth season at Mallorca, and despite not scoring many goals each season, this is his first time getting a brace in a game. Looks like Jose's luck is really on point today…"

Jose punched the air in triumph. Finally ahead—things would be easier now…

In the midst of his teammates' celebrations, Stankovic ran over to the coach's area and, arms wide, embraced Jose: "I scored, boss!"

"Nice job, Yuvan!" Jose grinned, patting Stankovic's shoulder. When Stankovic released him, Jose added, "By the way, Yuvan, happy early birthday!"

Hearing this, several Mallorca players nearby suddenly realized. Ibagaça nodded, "Yeah, tomorrow's Yuvan's birthday… Yuvan, you're so quiet, you didn't even tell us. If it wasn't for the boss, we'd have forgotten."

Stankovic gave Jose a grateful look. His birthday was March 4th—tomorrow. He was a quiet person, never one to make a fuss. But Jose had only been coaching the team for a little over a month and had already remembered his birthday… What did that mean? It meant Jose valued him!

"Let's get back to the game, guys! One goal up isn't enough… Of course, we can counterattack a bit, lure them to attack. And if we get another penalty, let Yuvan take it… A hat-trick for your birthday—oh, what a great birthday gift!" Jose laughed.

"Alright, no problem!" Mallorca players cheered in unison.