Chapter 32
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: La Decimoquinta -6
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After the match against Real Betis wrapped up and we finished our light recovery training, we hopped straight onto a flight to London and touched down there.
The squad grabbed a quick meal at the London hotel the club had booked.
"Man, nothing beats Spanish food."
"Oh. No amount of money could make me live in England."
"That's why Hazard packed on the pounds after coming to Spain."
After a solid night's sleep,
"Booooooooooooooo! What the hell, reverse-run diner? Jesus you bastard, don't you dare play tomorrow!!!"
"If you cross my path, I'll kill you!!!!"
"Arsenal! Arsenal! Arsenal!"
We headed to the Emirates Stadium. The Arsenal home fans erupted in wild cheers—or boos—as the Los Blancos showed up at the ground.
I waved to them in thanks.
"Booooooo! Dirty monkey bastard, eat this!"
Bananas and beer cans came flying my way.
Grateful Arsenal fans. Perfect timing—I was feeling a bit empty.
I flashed them a thumbs-up, picked up the banana and beer, and downed them.
"Oh. Alcohol. Soak my veins FUCK YEAH!!"
Maybe my vibe pissed them off.
This time, empty bottles started raining down.
Fuck. Throw something edible next time.
After chugging the beer, my energy spiked weirdly.
Warming up lightly before kickoff, I matched the vibe by humming a tune.
"Red red all dyed~"
Sergio Pepe approached cautiously.
"Jesus, you drunk?"
"No way! Think ten beers can take me down?"
Pepe's face turned dead serious at my reply. He huddled with Manager Valverde.
After their chat, Pepe came back and let out a sigh.
"Puta! Who knew you were such an alcohol lightweight, Jesus! Manager's orders. Forget defending—just score goals."
"Yes! Sir! Heh heh heh. Heh heh, heh heh heh."
By the way, Sergio, your hairline's receding more every day.
Heh heh heh. Shiny shiny. Grow, hair, grow!
Huh? That was just in my head—why's Sergio's face stiffening?
Weird.
Champions League semifinal, first leg.
Arsenal 0 : 0 Real Madrid
Luka Savić eyed Jesus Joo worriedly from the center circle, waiting for the ref's starting whistle.
"Jesus, you good?"
Luis García snapped back gruffly at Luka Savić's question.
"Does he look good to you? Told Pepe his shiny bald head needs to grow some fucking hair."
"Then why's the manager not subbing him?"
"Sub him and we lose? He'd eat shit for it. Anyway, no passes to Jesus if we can help it."
That resolve of theirs?
Vanished without a trace at the 10th minute of the first half.
Real Madrid corner kick. Jesus Joo latched onto the second ball and rifled a non-stop volley into Arsenal's net.
"Luka."
"Yeah?"
"Personally? Drunk Jesus might be better. At least no water-rocket worries."
Luka just went quiet, picturing Jesus who once skyed Luis García's pass straight up, hands raised yelling it was a mistake.
"Gahhh—! Baldy! Don't block my ceremony!"
The silence stretched between them until Luka spotted Sergio Pepe blocking Jesus Joo's attempt at a reverse-run celebration toward the Arsenal fans. He muttered quietly.
"...Pepe's in for a rough one today."
Arsenal, down by my opener, showed their home pride—no way they're losing here. They pushed the line up high and hammered Real Madrid's goal nonstop.
Then a ball Vlad intercepted rolled my way. I twisted like a corkscrew into enemy lines, threading a pass into space ahead of Iker Bravo slicing through.
Incredibly, the weird pass hit the spot perfectly. Iker Bravo faked out the keeper in the 1v1 and slotted home.
Iker Bravo sprinted over, pointing right at me the second it went in.
"Vamos!!! Jesus, that pass was insane!!!"
"Heh heh heh, I know! I'm a genius! God of soccer!"
Iker Bravo's goal from my freak pass stunned the Emirates into silence. In that hush, my faint chant from the away end hit different—felt good.
"Dios del Madrid Jesus!!"
"God, grant Madrid the glory of La Decimoquinta!"
I gazed at them and whispered.
"Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo!"
Your wish is my command!
Oh my gosh, an utterly unbelievable pass!
Jesus Joo's unexpected ball freezes every Arsenal defender. And Iker Bravo doesn't miss a 1v1 like that. Clean finish into the net.
The broadcast cam locks on the assist man, Jesus Joo, not the scorer.
He's grinning, celebrating with teammates—his chant echoes through the stunned Emirates.
Jesus Joo mutters something to the away fans. What was that?
Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo? Haven't heard that in ages. "I'll grant Real Madrid fans' wish." That's the vibe.
Real Madrid charging toward La Decimoquinta, just like their fans dream. Not even 25 minutes in, and they're up 2-0 in a flash!
Must be the booze in my blood.
The game felt weirdly easy.
Straight-line dribble? Defenders couldn't touch me—penalty area, no sweat.
Slotted through the tense keeper's legs. 3-0.
Right back Rafael Obrador intercepted and fed me. No clue why, but I sensed Bruno's spot. One-touch pass there—boom, Bruno was right on it, calmly poked it home.
First half ends 4-0. As Real Madrid loosens up, the booze turns Jesus Joo into me, cracking the whip.
"Vamos!!! Don't slack!! Kill these bastards! Crush 'em so they never dare look at the Real Madrid badge again!!!"
My words lit a fire.
Lifelong Madridista Sergio Pepe teared up and roared.
"Vamos!! Hala Madrid!!!"
Awakened Pepe bulldozes Arsenal's No. 9, lofts a long ball my way.
Tofu-touch control. Arsenal center back King Hugo tenses up.
Every twitch as my foot moved? Had me cracking up.
"Heh heh heh."
He took my laugh as a taunt—face hardened.
Thud-thud.
I flipped past stone-faced King Hugo with a flip-flap, light as air. But pissed-off Hugo yanked my arm from behind, dumping me on the turf.
Tweet—
Main ref from the royal box flashed yellow at King Hugo.
Ref hands yellow to King Hugo. Red wouldn't have been harsh.
Jesus Joo looks utterly baffled.
Taker? Gotta be Jesus Joo.
Real Madrid's got kickers galore—Luis García, Luka Savić, Iker Bravo, Bruno Iglesias. Even Sergio Pepe sometimes. But teammates say Jesus Joo's got the best shot power.
Yes, Jesus Joo stepping up for the free kick. Whistle blows—he unleashes!
The shot bends ooooh! The ball curves right iiiiiiinto the net, grazing the keeper's gloves!!!
Jesus Joo's 9th Champions League goal! Who can demand more proof of his class? He's proving it on this stage!
Free kick sails in. Ref signals goal. Jumbotron shows a crying Arsenal woman fan.
For the celebration, I jogged to the corner flag cam by the Madrid fans, shoved my hand in my mouth for a Joker grin, and said:
"Why so serious? It's a fun soccer match—smile! Heh heh."
Grinning, my back to the roaring Madrid away chant.
"Dios del Madrid Jesus!!"
"God, grant Madrid the glory of La Decimoquinta!"
"Madrid, Madrid, Madrid, ¡Hala Madrid!"
"Y nada más, y nada más, ¡Hala Madrid!"
Why does Real Madrid look like the Evil Empire and Jesus Joo like the Devil to me?
I'm a Madridista, but rooting for Arsenal right now. Normal?
He's not God, he's Satan..
5-0 at halftime. Please stop thrashing us already
Why's Jesus Joo so pissed? Running like a madman—5km in the first half;;
? That's average for most players?
Info: Jesus Joo runs 4-5km per game.
Your local Arsenal fans threw beer and bananas while hurling racist shit.
Why provoke the mad dog!
Damn, Jesus in serious mode is OP.
He's been Jesus all along—this was Joo-sus