Show me what you've got

"I'll take that bet."

When Rohan answered so decisively, everyone present was stunned.

They thought to themselves, are Indians really that concerned about saving face these days?

Knowing full well he'd lose but still agreeing to it—it was totally irrational.

Nuno frowned slightly, his tone serious: "This could affect a soccer player's career, you know. Think it through, it's not too late to back out."

Rohan just smiled slightly, looking completely relaxed. "I'm perfectly clear-headed right now."

"If that's the case, then let's get started."

Nuno was the first to head towards the goal.

He had been worried that Rohan's situation might cause a rift with the chairman, but once Rohan had willingly taken up the bet, all those worries disappeared.

It was a case of reaping what you sow.

The group stopped at the edge of the penalty area.

Alves pointed to the top of the penalty arc, his face full of defiance: "Hey, Indian, you can pick your spot now."

Rohan looked around, then placed the ball where Alves was pointing. "As you wish, right here."

"The same spot won't always bring you luck."

Alves shook his head as if in pity, then slowly walked towards the goal, directing his teammates to form a wall.

He had seen videos on the official website of Rohan scoring two free kicks from the arc.

But so what?

South American players are notoriously proud and defiant, naturally not superstitious.

At that moment, Rodrigo, wearing the number 17 jersey, came up beside Rohan, his expression solemn. "Rohan, if I were you, I wouldn't have taken this bet."

Before Rohan could ask why, he continued, "A one in five success rate for free kicks— even soccer greats like Ronaldo and Messi wouldn't guarantee that, let alone anyone else."

Rohan shrugged, laughing at himself. "Can't help it, the bet's been taken, too late to back out now."

Rodrigo paused for a moment, seemingly struggling to speak. "You could back out now, because this bet itself isn't fair."

"Thanks for your concern."

Rohan genuinely expressed his gratitude, then looked towards the goal. "But backing out now would be too embarrassing for me."

And he added to himself, "Besides, I'm not going to lose."

"That's true."

Rodrigo nodded, sighing. "Well, all I can do is wish you luck."

While they were talking, the Valencia players, under Alves' direction, had formed the wall.

Alves looked at Rohan, confident of victory. "Hey, Indian, you can start now. Enjoy your last five shots at Valencia."

"Ha, Alves, your mouth is as cheap as ever. Can't you ever sugarcoat it?"

"I've never known the meaning of sugarcoating since I was born."

Saying this, Alves clapped his hands with gusto, shouting, "Come on, Indian, show me what you've got."

Ignoring the jeers, Rohan silently placed the ball at the designated spot and stepped back three feet from the ball.

He took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

After repeating this three times, Rohan moved.

Following a short run-up, Rohan's right foot fiercely kicked the ball towards the goal.

The ball traced a beautiful arc in mid-air and, to everyone's disbelief, nestled into the top right corner of the net.

The field fell silent as they watched the ball slowly drop to the ground, all thinking the same thing.

"Holy crap, did that just go in?"

Standing not far behind Rohan, Nuno clenched his fists, his eyes shining.

His body trembled with excitement.

He had struck gold.

Because of his position, he had seen the trajectory of Rohan's free kick perfectly.

The angle, the line—it was nearly flawless.

Even the top free kick masters couldn't do much better.

What's more crucial was that the player was only 20 years old, with plenty of room for improvement.

With serious training and avoiding major injuries, his future achievements could easily rank in the world's top ten.

Yet such a talented player was sold by Real Madrid for a mere one million euros.

It just confirmed the old soccer saying: Real Madrid products are always top quality.

Compared to Nuno's excitement, Alves was not in a good mood.

His expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and finally to anger.

"That sneaky Indian, taking a shot when I wasn't ready, that goal doesn't count. I demand a redo."

Soccer is a brutal sport, and competition for positions is fierce.

Though he was the undisputed starting goalkeeper at Valencia, it might not be the same story if he switched teams.

So leaving the team was out of the question.

Valencia, a team of humble origins, had managed to finish fourth in the league last year, and unity was essential.

As Alves questioned the validity of the goal, several teammates quickly agreed.

"I also think that goal shouldn't count. We weren't ready, and that Indian just took a sneaky shot. You can't do that in a real match."

"Exactly, in official games, play starts with the referee's whistle. There was no whistle, so it's a foul."

Fine, have it your way.

Rohan rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed, and waved his hand dismissively, "Alright, set up your wall again, I'll retake the shot."

"Hmph, at least you have some shame."

Alves snorted coldly, putting on an air as if that was the least Rohan could do.

After witnessing Rohan's free-kick skills, he dropped his earlier arrogance, his expression turning serious.

Though he hated to admit it, that free kick could pose a huge threat even to world-class goalkeepers.

Let alone to him.

So this time, the wall was increased from five to ten players, all tall.

What was even more ridiculous to Rohan was that two players actually lay down behind the wall, blocking any chance of a low shot.

Seriously, a 12-man wall, do they even do that in official games...

Rohan's mouth twitched in disbelief, scoffing, "Since when did La Liga change the rules to allow 13 players on the field?"

Alves's face turned red, and he stuttered after a long pause, "This isn't an official match, and you didn't say anything about not allowing extra players."

So, they use official game rules to back out, and non-official game excuses to add more players.

Truly shameless.

Rohan didn't even know what to say for a moment and just nodded in agreement.

"Alright, just let me know when you're ready."

After much deliberation and adjustment, Alves finally nodded, satisfied with his setup.

This wall, this number of players.

Even a free-kick master like Juninho Pernambucano would just shake his head.

He clapped his hands, "Indian, you can start now."

Rohan placed the ball back in its original position, pondering his strategy.

The wall was too high,to get the ball over it, it would need enough lift.

But that also meant there was a high chance the ball would go over the goal.

Unless he took the kick from further back, opting for a powerful, swerving knuckleball might be the best choice.

Thinking this, Rohan picked up the ball and stepped back.

Alves immediately objected, "If you change the kicking spot, we have to reset the wall, and that's not allowed. We have a Champions League match in two days, let's not waste everyone's precious time."

Fine, the shameless have the final say.

Rohan rolled his eyes, placed the ball back in its original spot, and his expression turned solemn, "Are we good now?"

"Yes."

Alves slowly nodded, his expression intensely focused.

It was as if he was in a crucial match where not a single detail could be overlooked.