NOVEL NEXT Chapter 23: Chapter 23 — Shadows Close Fast: Passing to Survive
"That's a red!"
Chris Morales practically shouted into the mic, voice tight with disbelief.
In the booth beside him, Ryan Blake sat forward, lips a thin line, eyes locked on the screen.
"He's lucky he's still standing. That was a cleat-first slide. And the ref… gives a yellow?"
The camera feed cut to Romeo on the grass, rising slowly. His right thigh throbbed where the studs had caught him—he hadn't seen the defender coming until the last second. The crunch still echoed in his ears.
Romeo stood, expression calm, but his hands curled involuntarily. The Chilean midfielder, Charles, didn't even look his way as he jogged back.
The stadium buzzed with tension, a sound between anger and unease.
> "No red for that?"
"Is this football or street fighting?"
"Protect Romeo! This isn't the UFC!"
"Messi is furious. Look at him yelling at the ref!"
Messi had indeed stormed toward the official, jaw clenched, one hand pointing back at the spot of the foul.
Romeo didn't need to hear the words. He could feel the message: That should've been protected.
A touch on his shoulder.
Carlos Teixeira—Argentina's assistant coach and one of the few staff members Romeo trusted—gestured him toward the sideline.
"You okay?"
Romeo nodded, brushing the grass off his shorts. "It's not deep. Just pressure."
Team medic was already beside him, fingers probing gently. "Bruise forming. No tear. But if you get caught again…"
Romeo exhaled. "Won't happen again."
Carlos frowned. "We can sub you at the half. Let you recover."
"No," Romeo said immediately. "I need to adapt. If I can't handle this now, they'll come harder next time."
The older man held his gaze for a moment. Romeo didn't blink.
Finally, Carlos nodded. "Ten more minutes. We're watching you."
Romeo jogged back to the pitch.
The referee blew the whistle. Di María tapped the restart into motion.
---
From the moment the ball returned to play, Chile's intentions were obvious. Their midfielders pressed higher, tighter. Two men shadowed Romeo. A third lingered just behind.
Romeo could feel the noose tightening.
They're not trying to mark me. They're trying to break me.
He adjusted.
He stopped dribbling. He stopped holding the ball for even a second too long.
And he started passing.
One-touch. Left foot. Inside curve.
Ball out to Messi.
Messi returned. Another one-touch to Pastore.
Back to Romeo.
Another pass—side-footed with surgical precision—to Mascherano. Diagonal run. Recovery. Back again.
> No touch longer than two seconds. No time for fouls. No invitations.
It wasn't artistry. It was survival through tempo. It was control by geometry.
Charles charged again, full tilt.
Romeo didn't turn. He let the ball roll to his back heel—tap.
Mascherano was already there.
Again. Again. Again.
It started looking like something else. Something familiar.
In the stands, whispers began.
"Wait… is that…"
"Barcelona? That's Barcelona football!"
They were right.
The passing carousel had started. Fast, low, grounded passes. No time to intercept. No breath to foul. It was suffocating to chase, maddening to watch.
Charles got caught flat-footed, again. Marcelo overran his angle. Medel missed the timing to step up.
The ball was always gone just before they arrived.
And in the middle of it, Romeo pulsed like a conductor at the center of a storm.
He didn't need the system flashing predictions anymore—it was deeper now. Reflex. Flow. Pattern recognition unfolding like instinct.
He wasn't just avoiding contact.
He was weaponizing evasion.
---
From the sidelines, Coach Sampaoli was losing it.
"Get tighter! Don't let them rotate!"
He could scream all he wanted. His players were drowning.
Messi received the ball on the right. Shifted inside. Drew two.
Romeo darted behind him on the blind side—received again.
One touch. Slide pass to Di María, already curling in from the left.
Then again—Romeo reappeared near the top of the arc. A give-and-go with Pastore.
This time, he paused.
Just long enough for Charles to dive in—
Tap.
Ball gone. Back to Mascherano. Right between Charles' feet.
The Chilean midfielder stumbled.
Behind him, the Argentine bench roared.
"That's it!" Carlos Teixeira shouted, pumping his fist.
Up in the broadcast booth, Ryan Blake could barely breathe.
"This isn't football anymore," he murmured. "This is… domination. Possession used like a scalpel."
Chris Morales was grinning. "Romeo cracked them. He's playing inside the foul lines now. They can't even reach him."
---
From Romeo's point of view, time slowed.
There were no more red zones in his vision. The system had gone quiet, satisfied. He didn't need flashing alerts anymore.
He could see the map now. Not as lines or probabilities. As momentum. Space. Vectors.
Chile wasn't playing against eleven men.
They were playing against an organism.
> Mascherano was the shield.
Messi was the spark.
Di María the chaos.
Aguero the blade.
And Romeo?
He was the metronome.
He didn't think. He felt.
A flick here. A reversal there. Timing the next pass before the current one left his foot.
It wasn't showboating.
It was systemic disassembly.
And Chile had no answer.
---
In the 42nd minute, a culmination.
Pastore played Romeo into space just inside the final third.
Charles sprinted at him—again.
This time, Romeo didn't wait. He pivoted away before Charles even committed, flicked the ball down the right lane—
Messi burst into it like a missile.
Chile's back line scrambled.
Messi cut back inside. Aguero darted to the near post.
Messi squared.
Romeo arrived late, just on the edge of the box.
Messi laid it off.
Romeo side-footed.
Not a shot.
A pass. Through the entire defense.
Di María, ghosting in from the far side, tapped it in at the back post.
3–0.
---
The stadium lost its mind.
Commentary crackled from every booth:
> "You cannot teach this. This is football as engineering." – Ray Hudson, beIN Sports
"That's how you answer aggression. Not with fouls. With elegance." – Gary Lineker, BBC
"Romeo Teixeira just built a cathedral out of short passes." – ESPN's Julie Foudy
On the pitch, Di María jogged to the corner flag, arms raised.
Messi grinned, jogging toward Romeo.
Aguero, still rubbing the bump on his forehead from earlier, just shook his head in disbelief.
"That's how you stay alive," Romeo muttered to himself.
The foul had almost knocked him out.
But instead of shrinking…
He'd responded with a lesson.
---