The winter air carried a sharp chill over Lombardia that Sunday. The floodlights had begun to hum hours before kickoff, painting streaks of gold over the green pitch. It was the kind of evening that felt heavier than others — not because of the weather, but because everyone inside the Virtus stadium knew what this meant.
First versus fourth.
The league leaders against the miracle team.
Mantova Calcio versus Virtus Lombardia.
Every local newspaper headline had carried the same question all week:
> "Can the boy who revived Virtus bring down the champions?"
And now, as Jaeven Moretti Han tightened his laces in the locker room, the noise outside was deafening.
He could hear the chants already — his name blending with the crowd's rhythm like a heartbeat.
"Han! Han! Han!"
Across the room, Coach Rossi stood before the team, calm but electric.
"Look at me," he said, voice cutting through the air. "You've earned this. You've clawed your way from the bottom to the top four. But tonight isn't about rankings. It's about proving we belong here."
He turned to Jaeven.
"You've faced fear, pressure, and expectation. Tonight — play with joy. Play your football."
Jaeven nodded, his expression focused. He wasn't thinking about scouts or the media. Just the ball, the goal, and the feeling of creation.
---
Kickoff — Mantova's Iron Wall
From the opening whistle, Mantova showed why they were top of the table. Their pressing was relentless, their midfield crisp and organized. Every touch Virtus made was contested.
Mantova's captain, Lorenzo Ferri, a seasoned center-back, shadowed Jaeven ruthlessly. Every time he turned, Ferri was there — nudging, blocking, trying to shepherd him into traps.
By the tenth minute, Virtus had barely seen the ball. Then Mantova struck first — a right-wing cross met with a clever flicked header that beat the keeper. 1–0 Mantova.
The stadium fell silent except for the visiting fans who erupted in song.
On the sidelines, Rossi clapped firmly. "Stay calm! It's early!"
Jaeven clenched his fists. He didn't like losing, not even for a moment. He could feel the eyes of the fans, the cameras, the scouts. But most of all, he felt something stirring inside — that mix of fire and control that came every time he was tested.
---
The Adjustment
At the twenty-minute mark Jaeven began to drop deeper, linking with Cattaneo, the team's playmaker. He stopped trying to dribble through two defenders and started pulling them out of shape.
A one-two with Cattaneo down the flank. A clever flick to switch play. Slowly, the rhythm of the match began to change.
By the thirty-fifth minute Virtus had steadied the game. And then, the spark ignited.
Jaeven received a low pass near the left touchline. Two defenders closed him down immediately. He stopped the ball dead. Shifted weight to his right. And then — a blur.
The Elastico.
The ball snapped from outside to inside so fast both defenders froze; one lost balance completely. The crowd gasped — that collective intake of breath that always came before chaos.
Jaeven darted through, cut inside, and rifled a low shot toward the far post. The keeper reached but only brushed air.
Goal. 1–1.
The stadium exploded.
"He's done it again!" the commentator roared. "Another move from Han — what do we call this? He's inventing in front of us!"
Flags waved. Fans leapt. Shouts of "Han! Han!" and "The Han Effect!" rose in a single wave. Others yelled variations — "Maker!" "Creator!" — as if they were watching something being made for the first time.
From the sideline Rossi simply smiled. "Finally," he murmured. "He's learning when to use it."
---
Halftime — The Fire Within
Inside the locker room, sweat and steam rose under the fluorescent lights. Rossi paced in front of the whiteboard.
"Mantova are strong, but they're not untouchable. You saw it yourselves. Keep the pressure. Keep the movement."
He turned to Jaeven. "You've got them worried now. Don't get greedy. Let the game come to you."
Jaeven drank slowly, legs jittering with the need to run. The goal wasn't enough — he wanted to create again, to push the boundaries of what his team could do together.
As they walked out for the second half, Cattaneo grinned at him. "If you try that on them again, I'll never complain about your theatrics." Jaeven smirked. "Then keep your ears open."
---
Second Half — Breaking the Giants
Mantova tried to reassert control, but their rhythm was fractured. Every time Jaeven touched the ball, two or three defenders collapsed on him. He used it; he invited them, then moved the ball with tiny, perfect pulses that created spaces where there had been none.
He wasn't merely dribbling — he was conducting. Short passes, feints, dummy runs. The Elastico had done more than score; it had seeded doubt.
In the sixty-fifth minute Virtus won a corner. The cross came low, a scramble, then a clearance half-way up the pitch. Jaeven pounced — chest control, a precise step-over, a right-foot strike that was blocked.
The rebound spilled to Morelli, who smashed a volley into the net. 2–1 Virtus.
The stadium roared. Rossi punched the air. "That's it! Keep it like this!"
---
Mantova Fights Back
But Mantova were champions for a reason. They hit the post in the seventy-fourth minute; two minutes later their striker forced a save that sent the stands into a hush.
Tension mounted. Each tackle felt monumental.
In the eighty-third minute Virtus launched a swift counter. Morelli to Cattaneo, Cattaneo laid it off, and Jaeven turned, sprinting down the left flank with two defenders glued behind him. He feinted left, dropped his shoulder, and slipped inside the box.
He could have finished himself, but he saw Cattaneo's angled run from the edge of the area. A calm sideways touch — and Cattaneo hammered it into the top corner.
3–1 Virtus Lombardia.
That goal was the dagger. The stadium erupted — scarves fly, voices crack, people on their feet shouting the name they'd chanted all season.
---
After the Whistle
When the referee blew for full time the players fell to their knees and then to each other. Virtus Lombardia 3 — 1 Mantova Calcio.
The champions had been defeated.
Rossi hugged his staff, laughing in disbelief. "From fourteenth to this…" he said softly. "Unbelievable."
On the pitch Jaeven stood, chest heaving, breath steaming in the cold air. Cattaneo slipped an arm around his shoulders. "You keep making us dream," he said. Jaeven only smiled. "Then let's keep dreaming," he answered.
The fans did not stop chanting. Children held up hand-drawn signs, one reading in thick marker: THE HAN EFFECT IS REAL. Others: VIRTUS RISES. NEW MOVE, NEW LEGEND.
---
Post-Match Media Frenzy
By nightfall the story had spread beyond the stadium and across regional media.
Sky Calcio:
> "The Fall of Mantova: Virtus Lombardia Shock the League."
La Gazzetta dello Sport:
> "From Relegation to Revolution — Rossi's Boys Are Dreaming of Serie C."
Football Italia:
> "Han's New Move Sends a Message to the Country."
Tuttosport:
> "Sixteen and Creating — Jaeven Han Plays with a New Language of Football."
Clips of the Elastico, replayed from every angle, drew commentators and fans into endless debate. The consistent note in every feed was the same: the move hadn't been seen before here. It felt original, as if the match had birthed something. People started naming the sequence and looking for words — for now they simply called it "Elastico" because that was what Jaeven had started doing, but the chatter always circled back to a simpler claim: he keeps inventing new ways to play.
A dozen fan edits, slow-motion breakdowns, and amateur tutorials appeared within hours — children on concrete pitches mimicking the footwork, failing and laughing, then trying again.
---
Virtus Lombardia — League Table
Position Team Points
1 Mantova Calcio 39
2 Virtus Lombardia 39
3 Crema FC 37
4 Pavia 36
5 Fanfulla 31
6 Vigevano 28
---
Epilogue — A New Horizon
After the match Jaeven walked home alone through quiet streets. The phone in his pocket buzzed with messages, requests, and congratulations, but for the first time since the season had turned he let it ring.
The stars were cold and steady overhead. He thought of the first empty pitches, the nights of practice, the small, private errors that had taught him more than any praise. He thought of the team that had believed, the coach who had trusted, and the crowd that now sang for them.
Rossi's words came back, clear and simple: "Play with joy. Play your football."
He had. Tonight they had toppled leaders, earned belief, and given a small city a reason to dream again.
Virtus was no longer surviving. They were believing. And belief, Jaeven understood as he walked beneath that clear sky, was how legends began.