Iker hated sitting on the bench. No, let me rephrase that. Iker hated sitting on the bench when his team was losing.
And guess what was happening…
It was strange how quickly everything turned in the match. Heading into the second leg, Real Madrid was leading 1-0 on aggregate; then, all of a sudden, it all unravelled faster than anyone expected.
Madrid weren't dominating as they had been 3 days ago. That should have been the first warning sign.
Despite this, Iker noted both sides had their chances. Only one seemed to be taking them.
Leganes scored first to equalize through what Iker labeled an absolute banger. A bad touch from Nacho led to Eraso hitting quickly on the break and banging it in the top left from just outside the D.
Then, just 15 minutes later, Benzema scored an outstanding goal, chipping the keeper with a deft touch and putting it into the back of the net. The lead was restored, fans were singing. It didn't last longer than 8 minutes.
Reality sank back in at the seventieth minute. Nothing seemed to work, and it appeared as though Madrid was going to lose to Leganes, of all clubs. Just a day before, city rivals Atlético had lost to Sevilla, and Real Madrid fans were joyous.
Were they going to fall in the quarterfinals as well?
Iker didn't even finish his thought.
"Iker, start warming up."
Looking up, he saw David Bettoni, the assistant coach.
Iker nodded as he jogged to the sidelines. His warmups were always silent, and today seemed fitting. He analyzed things, as usual, when coming off the bench.
He noticed the Leganes defenders' tired legs and their right backs' booking from a poor challenge earlier on. And worst of all, he realized they had shifted to a back 5.
Time passed in silence until he realized the boss waved him over. Taking off the training bib and placing it on the bench seat, he jogged over next to Zidane on the touchline.
"Use your legs, use your creativity. Understand? Tell everyone we are shifting to a 4-2-3-1. We attack, we win. Luka and Mateo stay behind; you push up. Create chances. I trust you."
Iker nodded in response to the boss's instruction. It was probably a bad time to think this, but man, was he inspired by his idol's words.
He stared up into the sky, saying a small prayer before he entered the pitch. Clasping hands with Isco, he offered a small and awkward smile.
"4-2-3-1! I'm the ten!"
He tried his hardest to shout over the noise from the supporters. He looked around to see the nods from various players, signalling he was heard. He took his place ahead of Kovačić and Modrić, placing a hand over his mouth before he spoke again, a little quieter this time.
"Boss says, Mateo, you stay in position. Luka, you drop deep, collect the ball to progress. We need to speed up the tempo."
Their nods were collective, and Iker was quiet after that. He'd waited long enough on the bench. Now it was his turn.
The ball moved quickly now. Zidane wanted pace, Madrid obliged. Every touch now sharper, more urgent - desperate maybe.
Iker stayed between the lines, always watching, always checking his shoulders. He waited for the mistake to come.
Then Benzema dropped deep.
He watched as Benzema took a perfect touch, and the ball lay straight into Iker's stride. There was space, Iker realized. Not a lot, but enough.
He turned and pushed forward.
One touch. Then another. The pitch was opened quicker than expected.
Tito, their right back, tried to step across only to connect with nothing. Iker blew past him before the right back could even consider making a foul.
Now, Leganes were scrambling in panic. One center back dropped to mark Benzema's continued run, the other shouting in fear.
Too late.
He kept running forward despite the slight burn he felt in his lungs, the lightness of his feet.
Iker glanced up once, just once. The keeper was off his line, and that was all he needed. He got his toe under the ball, and it was just enough.
With dilated eyes, he watched as the ball looped in the air agonizingly before it fell straight into the net.
He froze.
He didn't run to the corner flag as others would; for a moment, he just stood there, drinking in the atmosphere and the cheers. He glanced upwards once before white shirts swallowed him whole.
"That's you!"
"Fuck yeah!"
His idols, no, his teammates. They laughed with him as they all stood up one after another. He turned to the supporters and gave a fist pump before he returned to his position for kick off.
***
The whistle blew quicker than he had expected, just a few minutes after Iker's goal. But the atmosphere, the chants of his name that filled the Bernabeu, were intoxicating.
Lord, he loved this club.
He walked around the supporters section, waving to the fans in thanks. His smile never left his face.
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
He turned to see Luka smiling at him. His own response was shallow; the joy he had left him overstimulated, almost dizzy.
"Yeah, it feels amazing."
Luka nodded in turn, gazing at the fans across the stadium before offering his own wave and guiding Iker back to the changing room.
"Never forget it."
***
A/N:
Yes, I know this is cliché. Do I care? Not really. It took me a little bit of time to watch this game and reinvision it to match the story. Also, Madrid did actually lose this game right after a 7-1 victory. Mad, isn't it?
I'm not really sure if I want to add any romance aspect to this. Mainly because it'll probably be left unfinished, and I'll hate myself for that. But if I do get on to it, drop some suggestions. Iker is only 18, and I want him to get with someone who is of a similar age.
I was thinking people like Madison Beer (19 at the time), Sabrina Carpenter, etc. Just mainstream people, where it would be easy to write their personalities and stuff.
Sorry if this chapter wasn't amazing. I suck at writing sports, so hopefully I will be improving as I go.
Cheers for reading.