Chapter 13 : Hat-Trick

After the kickoff, Mallorca immediately dropped deep, knowing that Betis had gained momentum. Every red and black shirt was behind the ball, forming a compact defensive block, trying to suffocate any space in the final third.

Betis, however, were relentless.

The ball was moving quickly between their midfielders, switching flanks, stretching the defense, looking for that one opening. Nico, now on the right wing, was a constant menace. Every time he received the ball, the Mallorca defenders looked hesitant, unsure whether to press him or hold their ground.

The Betis fans were roaring, willing their team forward. There was an urgency in the air, a belief that the equalizer was coming.

Then, in the 79th minute, the entire stadium exploded into noise.

Nico received the ball just inside the attacking half. With a single touch, he flicked it past one defender and accelerated into space. The second defender tried to close in, but Nico shifted his body and glided past him with ease.

A third Mallorca player lunged in recklessly, trying to stop him before he got closer.

BANG!

Nico's legs were swiped from under him.

He hit the ground hard, rolling once before coming to a stop.

The referee's whistle shrieked through the stadium.

Free kick.

32 meters out.

The Betis fans roared, sensing the danger for Mallorca.

"Oh, we KNOW what this kid can do from here!" one commentator exclaimed, his voice rising in excitement.

"We've seen it before. This is his territory!" the other added.

The Mallorca players looked nervous, their goalkeeper immediately barking instructions, setting up his wall, adjusting his position.

But the focus was entirely on one player.

Nico Cruyff.

He stood over the ball, calm, composed, fearless.

He slowly took four steps back, eyes locked on the goal, reading the distance, calculating the strike.

A deep breath.

The entire stadium held its breath.

The referee blew his whistle.

Nico took off—his approach smooth, his stride measured.

Then—BANG!

He struck the ball with immaculate precision.

It rocketed off his foot, rising sharply. At first, it seemed like a standard free kick. But then—the magic happened.

The ball swayed violently in the air, first left, then right, then left again, moving as if guided by some invisible force.

"OH MY WORD, LOOK AT THAT BALL MOVE!" the commentator shouted in disbelief.

The goalkeeper, frozen in place, barely reacted. His eyes widened as the ball twisted in mid-air, completely unpredictable.

Then—DIP.

It curled at the last second, sinking fast and smashing into the bottom left corner of the net.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!

The stadium erupted.

The Betis players rushed toward Nico, but he barely reacted.

No celebration.

No wild running.

He simply high-fived his teammates, picked up the ball, and sprinted straight back to the center circle.

His face was focused, locked in, determined.

The message was clear.

He wasn't done yet.

________

For the last few minutes, Mallorca defended like warriors, throwing their bodies in front of every pass, every shot, every cross. It was pure desperation—they were holding on for dear life.

Betis, on the other hand, were like hunters smelling blood. They attacked in waves, pressing high, pinning Mallorca inside their own box. Long shots rained in from outside the area, forcing the goalkeeper into frantic saves. Every clearance from Mallorca was met with immediate pressure—Betis weren't letting them breathe.

The tension was suffocating.

Then, in the 92nd minute, the breaking point arrived.

Betis were in full attack mode, moving the ball side to side, probing for that final chance. Ranella received a pass inside the D and tried to turn, but before he could, a Mallorca defender clattered into him.

BANG!

Ranella went down.

The referee's whistle shrieked through the night air.

Free kick. 23 meters out.

The Betis fans erupted, knowing exactly what this meant.

The Mallorca players looked exhausted, their faces drained of color. They knew what was coming.

The goalkeeper immediately went to work, barking at his defenders, frantically arranging the wall. He pointed, he waved, he adjusted his position. He had to be ready.

But across from him, standing over the ball with ice-cold focus, was Nico Cruyff.

His emerald-green eyes were locked on.

The noise of the stadium faded into nothing.

There was only the ball, the goal, and the moment.

He took a deep breath.

Four steps back.

The referee blew his whistle.

Nico charged forward.

He swung his foot with precision, but the strike was different—it was low, fast, and sneaky.

The Mallorca wall jumped high, expecting another dipping rocket.

But the ball never rose.

It darted UNDER the wall, rolling cleanly on the grass, slicing through like a blade.

The goalkeeper didn't see it.

From his perspective, the ball had vanished—one second it was at Nico's feet, the next, the Betis fans were roaring.

His head snapped around.

The net was bulging.

GOOOOOOOAL!

"OH MY WORD, HE WENT UNDER THE WALL!" one commentator screamed.

"UNBELIEVABLE! THIS KID HAS ICE IN HIS VEINS!" the other shouted.

Nico didn't hold back.

He sprinted straight toward the Betis fans, his heart pounding.

Then—he ripped off his jersey.

He turned to face the crowd, lifting his shirt high, showing the name on the back.

NICO CRUYFF.

The Betis supporters went absolutely wild.

The stadium was electric. The commentators couldn't stop talking about it.

"History has been made tonight! Nico Cruyff, at just 14 years old, is now the youngest player ever to score a hat trick in professional football!"

"Fourteen. Years. Old. Let that sink in! We are watching something truly special unfold before our eyes!"

The camera focused on Nico, standing near the corner flag, his jersey clenched in his fist. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling as he soaked in the moment.

Then, the lens zoomed in on his body.

The world saw it.

His 8-pack abs were sculpted like they had been carved from stone, each muscle defined and prominent, a result of his dedication and training. His porcelain-white skin shimmered under the bright stadium lights, giving him an almost otherworldly presence.

Then, there were his sharp emerald-green eyes—piercing, intense, filled with the fire of victory. They shone under his jet-black hair, slightly damp from sweat, making him look even more untouchable.

The broadcast didn't miss a second of it.

The camera panned to the stands—female fans were in absolute awe.

"He's only 14?! He looks like a superstar already!"

"Forget football, he could be a model!"

"Nico Cruyff… I'm officially obsessed!"

Some were blushing, others were screaming his name, while some just sat there, stunned in silence.

Social media exploded instantly, flooded with posts about Nico. His performance, his looks, his aura—everything about him screamed greatness.

This wasn't just another football match.

This was the night the world met its next superstar.

___________

The referee blew the final whistle, and the Estadio Benito Villamarín erupted.

Full-time: Real Betis 3-2 Mallorca.

The Betis players rushed to Nico, embracing him, patting his back, ruffling his hair. Some still couldn't believe what they had just witnessed. A 14-year-old had single-handedly flipped the match on its head.

Nico calmly walked off the pitch, his face showing little emotion. He wasn't one to get lost in the moment—he had bigger goals in mind.

Post-Match Press Conference

Betis manager Pepe Mel sat at the podium, facing a room filled with eager journalists. The buzz in the air was undeniable.

"Pepe, what are your thoughts on today's game?"

Pepe leaned forward, rubbing his chin.

"It was a difficult match. Mallorca played well, especially in the first half. We knew we had to adjust, and in the second half, we showed our resilience. The boys fought hard, and we got the result we wanted."

A reporter from Marca was the first to go for the real question.

"We have to ask about Nico. He was incredible today. A hat trick at 14 years old. He now has 22 goals and 9 assists in 18 matches. That's 31 goal contributions… from a teenager. What do you even say about that?"

Pepe Mel chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

"What do you want me to say? I've run out of words to describe him."

The room laughed.

"We are watching something that's not normal. A 14-year-old shouldn't be able to do what he does. His mentality, his ability, his confidence—he plays like someone who has been at the top level for years."

Another reporter from AS jumped in.

"How do you manage a talent like this? He's only 14, but he's already playing like a star."

Pepe Mel exhaled.

"That's the challenge, isn't it? We have to protect him. He's still a kid, no matter how extraordinary he looks on the pitch. But one thing is for sure—this is just the beginning."

The room buzzed. Everyone in football knew it now.

Nico Cruyff wasn't just a young talent anymore.

He was a phenomenon.

_________________

Back at home, the atmosphere was warm and comforting. The soft glow of the chandelier illuminated the dining room as Nico sat at the table with his grandparents, enjoying a well-deserved meal after the intense match.

His grandmother, Danny Coster, had prepared a hearty dinner—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and a side of mashed potatoes. The aroma filled the room, but Nico was still lost in the game, his mind replaying every moment.

Johan Cruyff, his grandfather, took a sip of his wine and smirked. "So… a hat trick, huh?"

Nico, cutting a piece of chicken, shrugged casually. "It just happened."

Danny chuckled, shaking her head. "'It just happened'—listen to him, Johan! My grandson just broke a record, and he talks like it's nothing!"

Johan leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes watching Nico. "That last free kick... under the wall. That was smart. Did you plan it, or was it instinct?"

Nico swallowed his bite, thinking for a moment. "A bit of both. I saw the wall jumping early on a previous free kick, so I knew they'd do it again. When I got the chance, I just went for it."

Johan nodded approvingly. "Good. Football isn't just about talent, Nico. It's about reading the game, seeing things others don't. That's what separates the greats from the legends."

Danny reached over and ruffled Nico's hair. "And let's not forget that my grandson is the most handsome young man in Spain!"

Nico groaned, "Grandmaaa, not again."

She laughed. "Oh, come on! Did you see how the cameras zoomed in on you? The female fans were losing their minds!"

Nico nearly choked on his water, while Johan chuckled. "Well, that's part of football too. Just make sure you focus on the game, not the attention."

Nico smirked. "Don't worry, Grandpa. Football comes first."

The three of them continued their dinner, talking about the game, football in general, and life. For all the fame and records, this was what mattered most—family, good food, and the love of the game.

As they continued eating, Johan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes held a hint of curiosity as he looked at Nico.

"Tell me something, Nico. Even when I was training you as a kid, you always wanted to practice free kicks. Why?"

Nico paused, setting down his fork. A small smile formed on his lips. "Well, I've always been a huge fan of Juninho. For me, he's the greatest free-kick taker of all time. The way he could strike the ball from any distance and make it dance in the air—it was like magic."

Johan nodded, listening intently as Nico continued. "But more than that, I always believed that having a reliable free-kick taker is a huge asset to the team. A well-placed free kick can win games, and in tight matches, set-pieces can be the difference between a draw and a win."

Danny, amused, raised an eyebrow. "And what was that thing you said earlier? About your locker room?"

Nico grinned. "Oh, yeah. In our locker room, there's a saying—'In the last ten minutes, drop like flies.' If we're struggling to score, we don't force it. Instead, we draw fouls in good positions. Then, it's my job to put it in the net."

Johan and Danny burst into laughter at that, shaking their heads.

Nico, still smirking, added, "But you know, it's not just about scoring goals. Because I'm so good at free kicks, opponents hesitate to go in for rough tackles on my teammates. They know that if they foul us near the box, it's basically a penalty for me."

Johan stroked his chin, clearly impressed. "So, you're not just scoring goals—you're shaping how teams defend against us. That's smart, Nico."

Nico simply smiled. "Football is a game of small details, Grandpa. I just use every advantage I can get."

Danny, who had been listening quietly, suddenly leaned forward with a curious expression. "Nico, tell me—will you play for Barcelona next season?"

Johan, just as interested, looked at his grandson, waiting for an answer.

Nico took a sip of his apple juice, thinking for a moment before replying. "Honestly, I want to start for Barça. That's my goal. But the reality is, I don't know if I'm good enough to start for them yet. And more importantly, I don't know if I fit into the coach's plans."

Johan nodded, understanding the difficulty of breaking into a team like Barcelona. Danny, however, pressed further. "So, what will you do?"

Nico leaned back in his chair. "After this season, I'll talk with the coach. If he's willing to let me start, I'll play for Barça next season. But if I'm just going to sit on the bench, then I'll look for a loan move—maybe back to Betis or even to another league where I can develop more."

Johan smiled, proud of Nico's maturity. "That's a smart approach. You need to play regularly at your age."

Nico grinned and then added, "By the way, if we win the next game, we'll officially win the Segunda División. I want you both to be there."

Danny clapped her hands together excitedly. "Of course, we'll be there! We wouldn't miss it for the world."

Johan chuckled. "I'll be in the stands watching closely. Let's see if you can win your first league title, Nico."

Nico smirked. "I don't plan on losing, Grandpa."