Chapter 46 : Final(4)

The extra time unfolded with the kind of intensity you only see in finals—the kind that leaves every player drained, yet somehow, still pushing, still fighting for that one defining moment. Espanyol and Barcelona both threw everything they had into the next 30 minutes. Each pass was precise, each tackle harder than the last. The atmosphere was electric, with the crowd on the edge of their seats.

Barcelona pressed, looking to land a knockout blow. In the 104th minute, a powerful shot from Luis Suárez deflected off Héctor Moreno's boot, forcing Kiko Casilla to dive full stretch to his left, fingertips grazing the ball just enough to send it wide. The Espanyol goalkeeper's heart raced, but the fans behind the goal erupted in a collective sigh of relief.

Moments later, Messi—the magician—darted into the box, weaving through defenders like a shadow. With Casilla out of position, he attempted a quick strike from an impossible angle. The ball skimmed past the far post, inches away from sending Barcelona back into the lead. Messi sank to his knees in disbelief. The Espanyol defense had weathered yet another storm.

Sergio Busquets, calm as ever, tried his luck from outside the box in the 112th minute, his shot soaring toward the top corner, but Casilla was there again, leaping and palming it away with a fingertip save that had the crowd chanting his name.

Despite all these near-misses, Espanyol fought back with their own counter-attacks, but the Barcelona defense remained resolute. Nico Cruyff, having been the hero of the game so far, tried to push forward in the dying seconds, but Mascherano and Piqué swarmed him, refusing to give an inch.

The final whistle of extra time blew, and with it, the stadium let out an audible exhale. The players were spent—sweat-soaked, exhausted, but full of hope. 3-3 after 120 minutes. It would all come down to penalties.

The teams shuffled to their respective ends. The field was alive with energy, but also with the weight of the moment. Players walked slowly to their spots on the penalty spot, the tension thick in the air.

Espanyol's coach, Sergio González, pulled his players into a final huddle. Their focus was absolute—no room for nerves now.

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In the Espanyol huddle, the players were kneeling, heads down, shoulders heaving from the exhaustion of 120 intense minutes. Sergio González walked to the center, his eyes scanning the group. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, but he spoke with a calm resolve, the kind of voice that steadied hearts in the storm.

Sergio González (speaking with authority):

"Alright, listen up. We've made it this far. Now, it's all about belief. We're going to take this one kick at a time. You can decide among yourselves who will step up, but once you volunteer, you own it. No hesitation."

A few players exchanged glances, then one by one, they nodded.

Víctor Sánchez:

"I'll take the first."

Sergio García:

"Second."

José Cañas:

"Third."

Héctor Moreno:

"Fourth."

The coach's gaze turned to Nico Cruyff, standing apart from the group. The 14-year-old's face was unreadable, his usual calm now laced with the weight of responsibility.

Sergio González:

"Nico?"

Nico's eyes met his coach's, and for a moment, everything went silent. The crowd's deafening roar from the stands felt like a distant echo. The young playmaker looked out across the field—his body tired but his mind sharp, the adrenaline coursing through him.

Nico Cruyff (firmly):

"I'll take the fifth."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no uncertainty. Just calm determination. He knew the gravity of the situation. A missed penalty here, and Espanyol's dream would be shattered. But he also knew this was his moment—the moment he had trained for, the moment he had dreamed about, and now it was in his hands.

The players nodded, understanding the weight of his decision, and trusted him with the final kick. Sergio González gave a slight smile, his eyes reflecting admiration.

Sergio González (softly):

"Alright, let's bring this home."

With one last huddle, the players stood, ready to face their destiny.

The referee raised his arm, signaling for the players to take their positions. The tension inside Mestalla was suffocating. The players from both teams stood shoulder to shoulder on the halfway line, their gazes fixed on the penalty spot. Some had their hands on their knees, others with arms crossed, but all of them wore the weight of the moment on their faces.

The Barcelona players exchanged glances before their first taker stepped forward. The crowd roared in anticipation.

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First Penalty – Barcelona

Lionel Messi stepped up first. The Barcelona captain placed the ball on the spot, taking a deep breath as he stepped back. His eyes locked onto Kiko Casilla, who stood tall on the goal line, bouncing lightly on his toes.

The referee blew the whistle.

Messi took a short run-up, striking the ball with his left foot. Casilla guessed correctly, diving to his right, but the shot was too precise, nestling into the bottom corner.

Goal! Barcelona 1-0 Espanyol

Messi turned and walked back calmly, nodding at his teammates. Now, it was Espanyol's turn.

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First Penalty – Espanyol

Sergio García stepped up, Espanyol's captain and most experienced player. He picked up the ball, placed it on the spot, and took three steps back. His expression was calm, but his fingers twitched slightly—a sign of the pressure.

Across from him, Marc-André ter Stegen stood motionless, his sharp eyes locked onto Sergio's every movement. The German keeper spread his arms wide, bouncing lightly, trying to make the goal feel smaller.

The referee blew the whistle.

Sergio took a deep breath and struck the ball low and hard to the left. Ter Stegen reacted fast, diving in the right direction, but the shot had too much pace—the ball smacked the inside of the post and ricocheted into the net!

Goal! Barcelona 1-1 Espanyol

The Espanyol fans erupted, chanting his name as Sergio turned and pumped his fist, before jogging back to his teammates.

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Second Penalty – Barcelona

Ivan Rakitić stepped up next. The Croatian midfielder had ice in his veins, known for his composure in high-pressure moments. He placed the ball down, took a short run-up, and struck it cleanly into the top right corner. No chance for Kiko Casilla.

 Goal! Barcelona 2-1 Espanyol

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Second Penalty – Espanyol

Espanyol's Lucas Vázquez followed. A La Fabrica graduate playing against his former club, he was determined to make his mark. He sent Ter Stegen the wrong way, rolling the ball coolly into the bottom right corner.

Goal! Barcelona 2-2 Espanyol

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Third Penalty – Barcelona

Andrés Iniesta walked up. The Barcelona captain, a legend of the game, rarely missed. He approached the ball with his signature finesse and calmly slotted it into the bottom left, sending Casilla the wrong way.

 Goal! Barcelona 3-2 Espanyol

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Third Penalty – Espanyol

Espanyol's Felipe Caicedo took his turn. The powerful Ecuadorian forward blasted the ball straight down the middle as Ter Stegen dived to his left.

Goal! Barcelona 3-3 Espanyol

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Fourth Penalty – Barcelona

Pedro Rodríguez stepped forward. The Mestalla was electric, both sets of fans holding their breath. Pedro took his run-up and aimed for the bottom left corner, but Kiko Casilla guessed correctly!

The Espanyol keeper dived full stretch, his fingertips pushing the ball onto the post!

Miss! Barcelona 3-3 Espanyol

The Espanyol fans exploded in celebration. Their players clenched their fists, knowing they now had the advantage.

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Fourth Penalty – Espanyol

Espanyol's Víctor Sánchez stepped up, knowing that a goal here would put immense pressure on Barcelona. He took a deep breath, locked his eyes on the ball, and fired a powerful shot into the top left corner.

Goal! Barcelona 3-4 Espanyol

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Fifth Penalty – Barcelona

With Barcelona needing to stay alive, Gerard Piqué stepped up for their fifth penalty. The tension in the air was unbearable as he placed the ball on the spot.

Piqué took a deep breath, his eyes locked on Kiko Casilla. He started his run-up and struck the ball hard toward the left corner.

 Goal! Barcelona 4-4 Espanyol

Now, all eyes turned to Nico Cruyff. The final penalty. The decisive moment.

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As Nico Cruyff stepped up to take the penalty, the entire Mestalla was draped in silence. Even the Espanyol fans, who had roared his name just minutes ago, were frozen in anticipation. The weight of the moment settled over the stadium like a thick fog.

In the Barcelona stands, the tension was unbearable.

A young boy clutched his mother's hand tightly. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Mama… he's from La Masia, right? Why does it feel like he's against us?"

His mother sighed, her eyes never leaving the pitch. "Because tonight, he is."

Nearby, a group of college students, draped in Barcelona scarves, couldn't believe what they were witnessing.

"I swear, if we lose to our own player, I'm gonna lose my mind."

"He's 14, man. Fourteen! And he's standing there like it's just another training drill."

"We used to celebrate his goals… now I don't know whether to love him or hate him."

A father had his arm around his teenage daughter, both of them staring at the pitch.

"Papa… he was supposed to be ours."

The father exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "He still is. That's what makes this so painful."

Back on the pitch, Nico placed the ball on the spot. His emerald-green eyes flickered up at Ter Stegen, then down at the ball. This was it. One kick. One moment.

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In the Espanyol stands, the tension was suffocating. Fans gripped their scarves, their hearts hammering in their chests.

A middle-aged man, his voice hoarse from shouting all night, turned to his friend. "This is our moment. If anyone can do it, it's him."

His friend, eyes locked on the pitch, exhaled shakily. "It's funny, isn't it? Barcelona raised him, but tonight, he belongs to us."

A teenager, barely able to sit still, clenched his fists. "I swear, if he scores this, I'm getting his name tattooed on my arm."

Beside him, his older brother smirked. "You don't even have money for a tattoo."

"I'll sell my PlayStation, I don't care!"

A group of lifelong Espanyol supporters, men who had watched the club struggle for years, sat with their arms crossed, their gazes unblinking.

"Fourteen years old. And he's carrying all of us on his back."

"He's not carrying us. He is us."

A mother had her hands over her mouth, watching her son, no older than eight, stare at the pitch in awe.

"Mamá… if Nico scores, can I get his jersey?"

Her voice trembled. "If Nico scores… I'll buy you every jersey with his name on it."

The Espanyol section was silent. The entire stadium was silent.

On the pitch, Nico took three steps back, exhaled, and waited for the referee's whistle.

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