Chapter 257: [257] "PINTO TO THE MOTHERFUCKING RESCUE"

The only players remaining in the C?te d’Azur defensive structure were the two veteran center-backs standing a few yards away from Luc.

Luc did not wait to see the outcome of the aerial duel.

He did not linger to watch if Pinto’s bravery would result in a catch or a catastrophic fumble. His instincts, sharpened by years of exploiting microscopic vulnerabilities, screamed at him to make the gamble.

Luc turned his back on his own penalty area and initiated a full, explosive sprint toward the opposing goal.

The two C?te d’Azur center-backs reacted with confusion.

They were standing near the halfway line, their attention fully directed toward the Valois penalty box, anticipating the equalizer. When they saw the Valois captain suddenly turn and sprint away from the play, running toward them, they hesitated.

The veteran defender wearing the number five jersey frowned, shifting his weight awkwardly. He did not immediately brace for Luc’s run. In his mind, the defensive sequence on the other side of the pitch was not resolved.

Why was the striker running towards them? Was he anticipating a long clearance? Was he simply abandoning the defensive effort out of frustration?

That single second of cognitive delay, that momentary hesitation to analyze Luc’s bizarre decision, cost the center-backs the only advantage they possessed...an opportunity to begin sprinting back before he got to them.

Luc was already at full speed, his long strides eating up the grass, putting five yards of distance before reaching the defenders. They took there sweet time before even decided to turn their hips and track back now that they knew he was coming.

Back inside the Valois penalty area, Pinto arrived at the point of impact.

The ball dipped sharply as it reached the penalty spot. The C?te d’Azur striker, having successfully leveraged Amadou Fall slightly off balance, planted his feet and launched his heavy frame into the air. He snapped his neck back, preparing to drive his forehead through the ball.

Pinto did not try to jump early to contest the height. He utilized the distinct advantage granted solely to his position.

The goalkeeper launched himself upward, driving his knee lightly toward the chest of the opposing striker. He extended both of his arms high above his head, reaching into the airspace that Amadou and the attacker were fighting over.

The striker’s forehead was merely inches away from connecting with the cross.

Pinto’s gloves clamped down.

He snatched the ball cleanly out of the air, intercepting it at its highest point.

The momentum of the striker carried him forward, resulting in a brutal, mid-air collision. The forward’s shoulder slammed heavily into Pinto’s ribs. The impact was severe enough to knock the breath out of the goalkeeper, sending him crashing awkwardly toward the grass.

The stadium noise faltered, a collective gasp of disbelief rippling through the home supporters. They had expected the net to bulge. Instead, they watched the Valois backup keeper absorb a heavy hit and maintain possession of the ball.

Amadou Fall turned around, his eyes filled with shock as he saw Pinto falling toward the turf with the ball secured tightly against his chest.

Standard goalkeeping protocol in this specific situation dictated caution. Having survived a massive scare and absorbed a physical foul, a keeper would typically land, curl into a fetal position around the ball, and stay down.

They would wait for the referee to blow the whistle for the foul, bleeding valuable seconds off the clock and allowing their exhausted defensive line to catch their breath and reorganize.

Pinto hit the ground hard. His shoulder bounced against the turf, sending a sharp spike of pain radiating down his arm.

He curled his body inward automatically, preparing to wait for the whistle.

But as he tucked his chin toward his chest, his line of sight caught movement far up the pitch. Through the tangled legs of the players crowding the penalty area, Pinto saw the back of his captain’s black and gold jersey.

Luc was not jogging back to help defend. He was in a sprint across the halfway line, reducing the massive gap between himself and the confused C?te d’Azur center-backs watching him come.

Pinto realized the opportunity. The gamble Luc had made.

The goalkeeper ignored the pain in his ribs. He ignored the referee, who was just bringing the whistle to his lips to call the foul.

Pinto scrambled to his feet with frantic energy.

He did not pause to set his stance or wait for his teammates to clear the area. He took three rapid, elongated strides toward the edge of the eighteen-yard box, gripping the ball tightly in his right hand.

"Run!" Pinto screamed, his voice cracking from the effort.

He dropped the ball in front of him. He did not attempt a side-volley or a controlled distribution to the fullbacks. He stepped into the drop, swinging his right leg with every ounce of power he could generate from his hips.

His boot connected perfectly with the underside of the ball just milliseconds after it bounced off the turf.

The punt was monstrous.

The ball rocketed upward, launching into the evening sky with a booming thud that sounded all across the pitch. It cleared the heads of the retreating C?te d’Azur midfielders, sailing high, carrying immense distance and velocity.

The trajectory was angled perfectly down the central channel.

Luc tracked the flight of the ball over his right shoulder without breaking his stride. He had already crossed well into the C?te d’Azur half.

The two veteran center-backs finally realized the catastrophic error of their hesitation. Panic seized them. They broke into a desperate backward sprint, their arms pumping furiously as they tried to match Luc’s speed and make sure they’d reach the ball first.

But they were heavy defenders, built for grappling in the box, not for open-field footraces. They could not match the top speed of the Valois captain, who was already operating at maximum capacity.

The entire C?te d’Azur defensive structure was about to be cut open by a single, massive punt from a backup goalkeeper.

Luc looked forward, his eyes locking onto the back sprinting defenders and the FC C?te d’Azur net.

He sprinted past the defence with ease as they couldn’t match his pace, nullifying any doubts of offside.

The home goalkeeper, a seasoned veteran of Ligue Alpha, recognized the danger unfolding in front of him. He saw his center-backs now trailing helplessly behind the play. He saw the ball dropping rapidly toward the edge of his penalty area.

If he stayed on his goal line, Luc would easily trap the ball, enter the box unchallenged, and pick his corner.

The keeper made the only viable decision available to him. He abandoned his penalty area.

He charged off his line, sprinting aggressively toward the top of the eighteen-yard box, intending to act as a sweeper. His objective was to reach the dropping ball before Luc could establish control, and head it safely out of bounds to kill the transition.

Luc analyzed the impending collision.

He was approaching the twenty-yard mark. The ball was descending rapidly, tracing a steep arc directly into his path. The opposing goalkeeper had crossed the penalty spot and was closing the distance with terrifying speed.