From Reject to Legend

** No chapter tomorrow. I'll get some rest . So I uploaded this earlier. If the story get more than 600 powerstones weekly , I'll upload bonus chapters per 200 stones. I guess that's pretty fair. Also if we are in top 100 or above. But please don't go crazy lol I am human after all. Now enjoy!!**

The second half began with a palpable shift in our mindset. In the dressing room, after the heavy silence of the first half, Coach Santos' words had ignited a spark in each one of us—a call to fight back and reclaim the rhythm that had so far eluded us.

As we stepped out of the tunnel for the restart, there was a new determination in our eyes. Every touch, every pass, every movement was fueled by a stubborn refusal to give up.

I felt that same resolve surge inside me as I took my position in midfield, acutely aware of the countless eyes watching us from the stands and the millions of hearts back home.

The stadium, still echoing with the passionate cheers of the fans, now had a different cadence. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation and the desire for redemption. I could sense the energy in the air—a volatile mix of hope and desperation that had transformed the arena into a living, breathing entity.

Our supporters, draped in red and green, were louder than ever, their chants a relentless roar that urged us forward. Even though we had fallen behind by two goals, every fan's cry was a reminder that the battle was not over.

As play resumed, I found myself determined to break free of the suffocating German press. I made a conscious decision to move more dynamically off the ball, seeking pockets of space where the relentless barrage of opponents could not reach me.

Ronaldo, our beacon and captain, had dropped deeper into the field to orchestrate our attacks—his mind always on the next move. His calm composure was infectious; even in the face of adversity, he exuded an unyielding confidence that bolstered the rest of us.

Slowly, our game began to change. It was as if the storm of the first half had subsided just enough to let us breathe, to let us find our rhythm. Our passes became crisper, our movements more purposeful. I could see the glimmer of hope in my teammates' eyes as we started building possession with a bit more precision.

The German players still pressed relentlessly, but we were beginning to adapt. In the 58th minute, an opportunity presented itself that could switch the tempo.

I found myself momentarily unmarked near the center of the pitch. Recognizing the space, I quickly shifted my position to the right wing, testing the limits of my pace and agility.

My body moved with a graceful urgency as I evaded one marker after another. Suddenly, I found myself face-to-face with Philipp Lahm—an experienced, methodical player whose defensive awareness was second to none.

For a heartbeat, I felt the weight of his intent on closing me down. Yet, I remembered the countless hours of practice that had taught me to trust my instincts. I feinted a pass, leaving Lahm momentarily off-balance, and then accelerated down the flank.

Every eye in the stadium was fixed on that run. My teammates, aware of the possibility of a counter, held their breath as I surged forward. The rhythmic thud of my boots on the turf mingled with the increasing intensity of the crowd's chants.

I advanced further, weaving my way past another defender, until I reached a dangerous position near the edge of the penalty area. I sensed the defenders closing in—Hummels, poised like a silent sentinel, was beginning to edge towards me.

In that split second of clarity, I knew I had to make a decision. I glanced back, ensuring that Ronaldo had found space in the pocket I was leaving behind.

Time seemed to slow. The German pressure was relentless, yet I felt a momentary clarity as I made my move. I turned gracefully, letting the defenders' momentum carry them forward just enough so that I could slip past their grasp.

With precision born of countless rehearsals, I whipped in a cross—aimed perfectly over the head of Hummels—directly into Ronaldo's path. The ball sailed through the air like a guided missile, finding its mark with breathtaking accuracy.

In that electrifying moment, as Ronaldo unleashed a powerful volley that soared past Manuel Neuer, the roar of the crowd exploded.

Goooooaallll ! Germany 2-1 Portugal !!!

Cristiano Ronaldo also opens his scoring book in this world cup in style with a thunderous volley , and we can finally witness the Adriano magic that had entranced Spain this season. A perfect team effort to signal that this match isn't over yet!

The scoreline read 2-1, and in an instant, the Portuguese fans erupted in a chorus of jubilation. I watched as Ronaldo sprinted towards the corner flag, his iconic celebration unfolding as he jumped and yelled ' Siuuuu!' , it was a blend of raw emotion and sheer joy.

As I got near him, he pulled me into a quick embrace, ruffling my hair and thanking me in his own understated way. My heart swelled with pride as my teammates clapped me on the back, their voices rising in praise of the vision and timing that had created that moment of brilliance.

The tide of the match seemed to shift as our goal injected a burst of energy into our collective spirit. The game restarted, and suddenly, Portugal began to find a second wind. I felt reinvigorated, my movements growing bolder and more assured as I began to dictate play from midfield.

I could sense that my presence was starting to erode the influence of the German midfield maestros—Kroos and Özil—whose control had been a major obstacle in the first half. Each dangerous pass I threaded was a small act of defiance against the oppressive press, even though Neuer's acrobatic saves reminded us why he was considered the best goalkeeper in the world.

As the minutes ticked by, the match became an intricate battle of strategy and endurance. I found myself drifting deeper into the rhythm of the game, interchanging passes with Moutinho and Carvalho, as we attempted to build up sustained attacks.

Every move was calculated, every touch imbued with the determination to overturn the deficit. The German defense was still a formidable force, their pressing a constant reminder of the challenge we faced. But with each passing minute, our coordinated efforts began to chip away at their confidence.

Then, around the 74th minute, a moment of audacity presented itself—one that would define the narrative of the second half. Moutinho lofted a long, precise pass from deep within our half, and I sensed immediately that this was my chance.

As the ball arced towards me, I positioned myself perfectly—anticipating the moment it would reach my feet. The stadium seemed to hold its breath as I received the pass, my mind instantly locking onto the target: the gap between Germany's midfield and defense.

I set off on a surging run, my body coiled with energy and purpose. Sami Khedira, one of Germany's most tenacious midfielders, spotted me early and shouted at his teammates to converge. In that moment, I felt the intensity of the moment—this was more than just a match; it was a test of everything I had worked for. And I must prevail.

I faked a step to one side, causing Khedira to lurch in that direction, then quickly accelerated past him with a burst of speed that left him trailing. The roar of the crowd swelled as I advanced into a more dangerous position, my eyes scanning for an opening.

Out of nowhere, Mertesacker, with his usual imposing presence, stepped in to try and wrestle the ball away. But I had prepared for this. With a quick, deft touch, I nutmegged him—sending a ripple of disbelief through his expression—and continued my run, as if his challenge had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The stadium erupted in cheers as I pushed forward, and I could see Lahm and Hummels converging from either side, their intent to halt my progress unmistakable.

For a split second, I slowed my pace—just enough to make them think they had finally stopped my movement , to lure them into a false sense of security. Then, in one fluid, audacious motion, I grabbed the ball firmly with both feet and leaped forward, threading it between the outstretched bodies of the defenders.

Neuer reacted swiftly and stepped forward to close my shooting angle. The crowd gasped in unison as I executed a half turn—a move of sublime ingenuity that left Neuer momentarily frozen in time.

As I got past him, I turned around and moved the ball to my back heel, unleashing a shot of arrogance that blasted into the empty net with the kind of style that could only be described as poetic. The Helpless German players watched as the ball rolled into their net in an act of sheer skill.

Gooooaallllll!! Germany 2-2 Portugal!!!

What did we just witness folks!!! A majestic , perfect display from the Portuguese maestro Adriano who has stunned us all !

This is not just a goal, this is a masterpiece of football artistry!!! And that back heel to score the goal as he stares down the German team, That will be classic moment in the history of football!! Take a bow! The game is on !

The moment the ball hit the back of the net, the stadium erupted into pandemonium. The roar was deafening—fans of every stripe, from the rowdiest supporters to the quiet loyalists, leaped to their feet, their cheers shaking the very foundations of the arena.

Teammates swarmed around me, their faces alight with joy and disbelief. Ronaldo's exuberance was infectious as he pulled me into a celebratory embrace, his gratitude and admiration shining through in every word and gesture.

In that instant, time seemed to stand still—every heartbeat, every cheer, every tear of joy converged into a single, unforgettable moment. German players just watched in stunned silence as we celebrated wildly. Kroos shook his head in disbelief as he stared at the goal.

German coach Lowe stood at the sidelines, his face etched with disbelief and frustration as he watched the unfolding drama. Even the German fans, whose cheers had been a constant drumbeat of support for their team, paused and joined in a stunned applause at the sheer brilliance of the goal.

On the Portuguese side, Coach Santos leapt to his feet, his eyes glistening with tears of pride and joy. He punched the air in triumph and exchanged heartfelt embraces with the staff, their elation palpable and contagious.

In the stands, I could see my parents clapping and cheering, their faces beaming with pride at the sight of their son creating magic on the grand stage. I smiled and punched my chest, and pointed towards them, this goal was to honor them. Who else could deserve this but them.

With the score now level, the match restarted with an intensity that was nearly tangible. Both teams launched themselves at the ball, each possession a battle, every pass and tackle charged with the weight of destiny.

I returned to my role in midfield, determined to continue threading dangerous passes despite the watchful eyes of Neuer and the shifting formations of the German side.

Every touch of the ball, every sprint, carried the weight of expectation. I could feel the fatigue creeping into my limbs, a reminder of the relentless pace of international football. Yet, the drive to succeed—fueled by the cheers of the fans and the camaraderie of my teammates—pushed me onward.

I engaged in intricate exchanges with Kroos and Özil, challenging them for control and attempting to disrupt the flow of their play. My passes and shots , sometimes precise and sometimes born out of desperation, were met with Neuer's heroic saves that underscored his reputation as the best goalkeeper in the world. But the physical intensity was getting to me with every minute.

Coach Santos, ever the vigilant strategist, had been monitoring my performance and the collisions closely. After the joyous outburst of celebrations and as the clock inched towards the 82nd minute, he signaled for a substitution. With a heavy heart, I realized that my role for this match was coming to an end.

I exchanged a glance with Ronaldo—both of us understanding the sacrifice, both knowing that sometimes even heroes must yield for fresh legs. I was replaced by Bruno Fernandes—a player whose energy and creativity promised to keep our momentum alive.

Minutes later, Ronaldo too was substituted in the 84th minute with Cancello, a decision that signaled a tactical shift by Coach Santos. Their departures left a void that the German side was quick to exploit, and it became apparent that the dynamics of the match were shifting once again. Coach Santos believed a draw would be enough and decided to defend, which was not the right decision.

As the match approached its final phase, the German team pressed with the ruthless efficiency that had become their trademark. The crowd, a sea of conflicting emotions, grew increasingly tense as Germany looked poised to reclaim control.

In the 88th minute, amidst the ebb and flow of desperate plays and last-ditch tackles, a moment of brilliance emerged from the German camp. Toni Kroos, ever the maestro, was awarded a free kick from about 25 yards out.

In the silence that followed, he took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing in focus. With the composure of a seasoned veteran , he struck the ball—a perfectly weighted shot that sailed over the wall and dipped gracefully into the net, sealing the score at 3-2 in favor of Germany.

Goooaalllllll!!!! Germany 3- 2 Portugal. Toni Kroos has bagged his team the winning goal!

This match has been an absolute thriller. Despite the hard fought battle by Portugal, the German machine has prevailed once again! No matter who wins, we have seen a beautiful game of football.

The impact of Kroos's goal was immediate and profound. German fans erupted into jubilant cheers that echoed throughout the stadium, while the Portuguese supporters, though disheartened, continued to chant in support of their team—a testament to their undying faith even in the face of defeat.

Amidst the chaos , I could feel the weight of the moment—an overwhelming sense of responsibility and the bitter realization that our valiant efforts had come up just short.

As the referee blew the final whistle, the reality of the loss sank in. We had fought valiantly, had transformed the game with moments of brilliance, yet the fatigue and tactical substitutions had ultimately taken their toll.

The scoreline read 3-2, a narrow victory for Germany that left us with a heavy mix of regret and pride.

I slumped onto the bench, exhausted both physically and emotionally, knowing that the departure of both Ronaldo and myself had made it nearly impossible to maintain our momentum against a powerhouse like Germany.

In the post-match atmosphere, Coach Santos gathered us in the dressing room. His face, though etched with disappointment, radiated a sense of unwavering pride.

"You have all done well," he said, his voice firm yet empathetic. "We may not have secured the win today, but the second half showed what we are capable of. We fought until the very end. Learn from this, and let it fuel your determination for the next two group matches."

His words, though gentle, were a call to arms. We were reminded that one match did not define our journey; it was merely a stepping stone on a long road to redemption.

I could see the resolve in my teammates' eyes—a silent promise to come back stronger, to harness the lessons of today and transform them into future victories.