Football singularity
Chapter 507 507 Chilly

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[Home Deluxe Arena, Paderborn | 19/01/2020 | Game week 18 | Minute: 84]

Michel tore down the left touchline like a man possessed, the floodlights bouncing off the sweat on his brow. Srbeny galloped in support, and Antwi-Adjei, who'd somehow summoned the energy for one more sprint, surged into the opposite channel. It was a classic three-on-three counter with the rest of the 3 Leverkusen players hustling back.

Sinkgraven backpedalled, using a mix of sidesteps, trying to show Michel wide doing everything he could to delay him. Tah and Bender uniformly retreated with Tah acting as the anchor man, forming a temporary triangle, but Michel was relentless. In a matter of moments, they had crossed the halfway line, and the winger didn't show any hints of slowing down.

They both battled with their arms, but Michles' momentum gave him the upper hand quickly, allowing him to break past Sinkgraven. "Gym is that way, sir." Derek Rea exclaimed in excitement as Sinkgraven struggled to recover, but given that Michle was dribbling the ball, it made things easier.

Michle quickly cut across him, making things harder for him as they neared the box. Almost immediately, the moment he nudged the ball across the retreating Sinkgraven and cut towards the middle, Tah moved into action. He had been hanging back, acting like a libero, but in that moment, he exploded forward, angling his body slightly to face the winger.

Michel saw the shift in posture too late. Before he could react, Tah was already stepping in, and the Leverkusen defender timed his tackle with terrifying precision, lunging in with his right foot. The strike was clean and decisive. A swoosh of grass and boot later, Michel was airborne, and the ball was stopped at the end of his boot.

A second later, the Paderborn winger thudded into the turf, clutching his thigh in pain and frustration, trying to sell a foul. "That's a captain's tackle if I have ever seen one," Stewart Robson bellowed as Sinkgraven collected the loose ball before the referee could get any ideas.

"And with the game hanging in the balance, too, Stewart. That's what you call nerves of steel," Derek Rae added.

[86]

Sinkgraven light dribbled the ball forward, taking a moment to scan the field ahead. The players who had moments ago been storming down the pitch now came to a sudden stop, with only a few continuing to retreat. He thought about playing it safe to Havertz or up the flank to the retreating Diaby, but at the corner of his vision caught a raised arm.

Almost immediately, he understood the assignment and started dribbling forward at pace. Before the nearby Pröger could close him down at the edge of the middle third, he raised his arms and drew his leg back. (Boom) A second later, his right foot connected with the ball, catapulting it forward as it diagonally flew to the other flank.

The pass was magnificent, arching over the midfield traffic like a cruise missile falling a couple of yards into the final third. All eyes were trained towards the landing point where a red blur was rapidly approaching, followed by Holtmann. Schonlau was also trying to gauge the landing point, but with the floodlights, he was having a hard time getting a read.

The ball descended like a gift from the heavens, and Rakim had reached its landing point first. Just as Holtmann was about to catch up to him, ready to pounce on the second ball, he let the ball strike his upper back, cushioning it with stunning delicacy. The bounce off his shoulder blades caused the ball to loop over Schonlau, falling to the feet of Volland.

The striker who had made a diagonal run across Kilian's blind side took a heavy touch and immediately exploded after it. "Oh, my word! He laid it off… with his back!" Derek Rae shouted, barely containing his disbelief.

"And what a way to do it, and now Volland is through on goal." Stewart echoed as Volland didn't break stride. His second touch steadied his run as he used his left shoulder to bodycheck Dräger, who was coming at an angle.

Now in the box with only the on-rushing keeper to beat, Volland opened his body, shaping for the far post. Zingerle rushed out, arms spread wide, lowering his stance, trying to make himself as big as possible. The roar of the crowd turned to a buzz of anticipation with no one daring to blink.

But the Leverkusen striker remained ice-cold. Instead of smashing it across the goal, he slipped the ball cheekily under Zingerle's legs, nutmegging the keeper. "GOAL! "KEVIN VOLLAND! Calm as you like! And just like that—Leverkusen complete the comeback! It's 2–2 in Paderborn!" Derek Rae howled over the sound of thousands erupting."

The net bulged a second later, causing the away section to detonate. Arms flung into the air, banners and scarves waving in the chilly wind in the Leverkusen corner, and the roar of satisfaction echoed around the Home Deluxe Arena like a war cry. "And that assist from Rakim Rex... Off the back? That's outrageous! Stewart, for a moment, I thought I was watching the Brasileiro Série A."

"That's the sort of thing you do on a futsal court, not in a Bundesliga scrap. It's confidence, instinct, and absolute class. Keep in mind he's still sixteen, Derek Sixteen!" Robson added, laughing in disbelief. "Though I bet Peter Bosz felt his heart drop at that moment, now he can brag and say it's part of the plan."

True to his words, Bosz could be seen in his technical area calling for someone to hand him water. None of this mattered to the players, though, as they followed Volland in celebrations. The striker stopped before their fans' corner and shrugged his shoulders before proceeding to run his biceps, acting as if he felt chilly.

[Paderborn 2:2 Leverkusen]

[89]

Paderborn, visibly rattled, took their time with the restart. Srbeny stood with hands on hips at the halfway line, glaring toward the Leverkusen side, wondering if he was dreaming. Baumgart had both hands on his head, pacing like a man walking through fire. His assistant, Tim, didn't even bother whispering any suggestions, knowing that no amount of tactics could salvage the game.

The referee's whistle pierced the evening air, and Paderborn trudged back to the centre circle like condemned men. Michel, still nursing his pride from Tah's earlier tackle, exchanged a few heated words with Gjasula before taking his position. Moments later, the game was back underway as Srbeny rolled the ball to Antwi-Adjei, who immediately knocked it back to Schonlau.

The centre-back, desperate to inject some urgency into his team's play, clipped a long ball toward Pröger on the right wing. But Sinkgraven was there, reading the pass like an open book, and headed it clear with authority. "Time's running out for the visiting side. Now it's a question of whether they are content with nearly a draw."

[90]

The fourth official raised his board: +4 minutes. Four minutes to decide who would take the victory in today's match. Leverkusen showed no signs of settling for a draw. As soon as Sinkgraven's header was cleared into midfield, Demirbay sprinted to collect the second ball and zipped a one-touch pass to Amiri, who turned sharply and sliced through the first line of Paderborn pressure like a scalpel through gauze. He threaded it forward to Havertz, who dropped deep to receive between opposing midfielders.

"They smell blood," Stewart Robson noted as Havertz sent a chipped-through ball down the right flank. Rakim was already streaking down the right flank again, full throttle, as if he hadn't played a single minute all match. The pass from Havertz was perfectly weighted, dropping just ahead of him and staying low enough to invite a first-time delivery.

Rakim didn't break stride as he whipped in a cross on the half-volley, lashing it low and fast across the face of goal like a tracer round. Volland was arriving again, crashing into the box with Kilian on his heels and Zingerle anticipating another one-on-one. But this time, the cross was just behind the striker—he attempted a backheel flick, but the ball clattered awkwardly off his ankle and dribbled away toward the far side.

Diaby retrieved it on the left edge of the box, feinted twice, then squared it back to Amiri at the edge of the D. Amiri went for power—his strike lashed straight at the defender, striking Schonlau square in the chest and dropping to the turf like a cannonball. Schonlau grimaced, winded, but managed to hack it clear as the entire Paderborn back line swarmed.

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To Be Continued...