Chapter 177

The commentator’s voice boomed: "And here we go! Izan and Pietro are coming on. These two could change the game for Valencia. Can the youngster deliver under this kind of pressure again?"

On the bench, teammates clapped and shouted encouragement. "Let’s go, Izan! Show them what you’ve got!" one called out, while another ruffled Pietro’s hair as he jogged toward the touchline.

As Izan jogged onto the field, the weight of the occasion pressed heavily on his shoulders, yet he didn’t feel it.

"Oh, what do we have here," the commentator said as Izan trapped the ball.

Immediately after coming on, Izan trapped a throw from Pietro who had just launched the ball.

The ball nestled at Izan’s feet as the Real Sociedad players tried to take it off him but in a swift movement, Izan kicked the ball with his heel, sending it through a multitude of players.

The crowd, particularly the home side watched in anticipation as the ball travelled to Hugo Duro who had just broken in behind.

The Real Sociedad fans who were not expecting this, raised their hands, hoping that their action would somehow distract Hugo Duro while bringing the referee’s attention to any offside play.

Bringing his left leg behind, Hugo Duro dragged the ball to his right leg before chipping it with the outside of his right boot, over Alex Remiro who had come out of his goal, all while the flag stayed down.

"Izannn, Lovely little flick too..... oh my god, Hugo Duro gets it. The real Sociedad players raise their hands but the flag stays down. Duuroo!!!!!!!!!

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!

Izannnnn!, you naughty little magical. What a beautiful pass "

The commentator went about his job as Duro skidded on his knees in front of the fans and his teammates from the bench.

The Real Sociedad players went to the referee to complain about a possible offside but the referee shooed them away.

The Mestalla was in chaos as the Valencia players celebrated wildly near the corner flag, Hugo Duro punching the air after his audacious chip had nestled into the net.

Izan stood a few steps back, his arms stretched out wide in triumph, having delivered the perfect flick to set up the chance.

But their joy was interrupted by the shrill whistle of the referee, who raised his hand to signal an offside check.

The Valencia players froze, their celebrations cut short as the familiar hum of VAR deliberations loomed.

On the other side, Real Sociedad’s players swarmed the referee again, their captain Mikel Merino leading the charge.

"He was off, ref! You saw it!" Merino shouted, pointing toward the assistant referee on the far side.

Robin Le Normand, their defensive stalwart, nodded emphatically. "It’s clear as day. Duro was ahead when Izan flicked it!"

Around them, the Valencia players who were celebrating quickly came back to help the referee from being pressured into his decision while the Sociedad players gestured animatedly, their voices a cacophony of protests.

Hugo Duro clutched his head, slightly in disbelief, while Sociedad’s Zubeldia furiously gestured toward the big screen showing the replay.

The Mestalla crowd, however, was having none of it. Valencia fans erupted with a mix of chants and boos, their frustration at Sociedad’s protests palpable.

"¡Es gol! ¡Es gol!" they chanted rhythmically, waving their scarves in unison.

"Listen to the Mestalla faithful—they’re convinced this goal should stand!" the commentator’s voice cut through the noise.

"But Sociedad’s players aren’t letting this go without a fight. VAR has a big call to make here."

On the Valencia bench, Ruben Baraja stood with his arms crossed, his expression tense but unyielding.

Pietro leaned toward Izan, who was catching his breath near the touchline. "What do you think?" Pietro asked, trying to hide his nervousness.

"It’s tight," Izan admitted, his eyes fixed on the referee, who stood motionless with a hand on his earpiece.

"But I’m sure he was on when I flicked it. Hugo timed it perfectly."

The referee stepped back, raising his arm to signal the completion of the check.

Time seemed to slow as he turned toward the centre circle. His arm stretched forward.

Goal!

The Mestalla exploded into deafening cheers once more, fans leaping from their seats as if they’d scored the goal themselves.

Hugo Duro sprinted toward Izan, grabbing the youngster by the shoulders and shaking him with excitement. "Izan! That was genius, man!"

In the commentary box, the announcer’s voice rose with excitement. "The goal stands! Valencia are back in it! What a moment from the teenager Izan, whose deft flick carved open Sociedad’s defence, and what composure from Hugo Duro to finish with that chip. This is why the Copa del Rey delivers magic!"

On the pitch, Sociedad’s players surrounded the referee again, their protests growing more desperate. Merino threw his arms up, shouting, "What about the replay? It looked offside!"

But the referee waved them off, his decision final. Le Normand shook his head in disbelief as he jogged back to position, muttering under his breath, while Kubo kicked the ground in frustration.

Meanwhile, the Mestalla roared louder. The fans chanted Izan’s name, their faith in the young star growing with every passing moment.

On the sideline, Baraja allowed himself a brief smile, clapping his hands once to signal focus. "Let’s go! Back to work!" he barked.

The scoreline now read Valencia 1-1 Real Sociedad, and the momentum was firmly with the home side. The stage was set for an electrifying finish.

The match had become a powder keg in the final fifteen minutes, both sides throwing everything into attack.

Valencia, buoyed by their equalizer, pressed high, while Sociedad relied on swift counters, exploiting every gap as Izan and his guys threw everything at the opponents.

The Mestalla crowd roared with every Valencia surge, their collective belief a tangible force pushing the team forward.

Then came the hammer blow in the 87th minute.

Real Sociedad broke swiftly down the right through Takefusa Kubo, who was having an inspired game.

The winger danced past Pietro with a clever flick, leaving the midfielder in his wake before being forced out wide by Gaya as he surged into the final third.

Kubo scanned the box as Valencia’s defenders scrambled to recover. Deciding on what to do, Kubo whipped in a low cross—a venomous delivery skimming the turf.

Players from both sides fought the ball but it ultimately travelled towards Cenk.

Cenk Özkacar lunged desperately, stretching his leg to intercept the ball, but in doing so, the ball clipped his shin and looped awkwardly toward goal.

Giorgi Mamardashvili, Valencia’s goalkeeper, dived instinctively, but the deflection was too quick and too close. The ball kissed the underside of the crossbar before bouncing into the net.

The Mestalla fell into stunned silence, the noise sucked out of the stadium in an instant. For a moment, it felt like time stood still as Özkacar lay on the ground, his hands clutching his head in despair.

The commentator’s voice rang out, heavy with shock. "Oh, no! It’s an own goal! Cenk Özkacar, in an attempt to clear, has inadvertently handed Sociedad the lead! Heartbreak for Valencia!"

On the pitch, Real Sociedad’s players sprinted toward their fans in celebration, arms raised in jubilation.

The travelling supporters erupted into wild cheers, their section of the stadium a sea of blue and white.

Flags waved furiously, and their chants filled the air, drowning out the initial boos from the home crowd.

"¡Vamos La Real!" they sang with fervour, their voices a stark contrast to the stunned silence of the Mestalla faithful.

Özkacar was still on the ground, his teammates gathering around him. Gaya crouched beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Get up, Cenk," the captain urged, his voice firm but understanding. "There’s still time. We need you."

On the sideline, Ruben Baraja clenched his fists, his frustration evident as he barked instructions to the bench. "Heads up! We don’t stop here! There’s still three minutes, plus stoppage time!"

In the stands, some Valencia fans tried to rally the team with chants, their voices shaky but determined. Others held their heads in their hands, disbelief etched on their faces.

The commentator continued his tone tense. "Sociedad lead 2-1 through sheer misfortune for Valencia. The question now is, can the home side recover in these dying minutes? Or will Sociedad hold on to break Valencia’s hearts?"

As play restarted, the Mestalla crowd found its voice again, urging their team forward with desperate chants.

The clock ticked ominously toward full-time, the tension almost unbearable.

Could Valencia find one last moment of magic, or was this the end of their Copa del Rey dream?

Izan, looking at the ball found it all exciting. "Why do I feel this way" he thought as the ball found its way to him.

Two Real Sociedad players tried to double-team him but Izan found their movements way too slow to be even called movements.

As the message flashed through his mind, Izan understood what was on.