MY GAME MY RULES

Chapter 4 – The Lion Enters Madrid

The Santiago Bernabéu stood like a white colossus against the Madrid sky. Over 81,000 fans packed the stands, creating a thunderous wave of voices, flags, and chants. Tonight wasn’t just a friendly.

It was a test. A war of reputations. A chance for Robin Ashwood to prove lightning could strike twice. Inside the tunnel, the air was thick with tension and perfume. Robin stood beside world-class players, veterans whose names he’d only ever shouted at TV screens.

Karim Montalvo, Real Madrid’s legendary center-back, stared him down. “You’re the viral street rat?” he asked, voice like gravel.

Robin didn’t blink. “We’ll see what I am when the whistle blows.”

Montalvo chuckled, amused. “Good. I like fire. I like crushing it.”

As the teams jogged the pitch, fans erupted in chants of “Rooob-innn!” while others booed, seeing him as a social media sensation rather than a real threat. From the stands, Stacy, disguised as a sports journalist, watched through tinted glasses.

Beside her, Kev filmed on a hidden phone, whispering into a mic connected to someone else. The sabotage plan was underway. “Eyes on target. Operation ‘Pull Him Down’ begins after kickoff,” he whispered.

Kickoff... Real Madrid wasted no time. They pressed hard, tight, physical. Montalvo and his backline made it clear: Robin wouldn’t be dancing here. Robin barely touched the ball in the first 10 minutes. Every time he did, a shoulder smashed into his ribs, or a foot clipped his heel.

Coach Velasquez barked instructions from the sidelines. “Move wide! Breathe! Find space!”

But Robin felt boxed in. Hunted. His mind wasn’t on the game. It was on that anonymous text. On Jordan. On Stacy. On the fear that maybe this dream was slipping.

Flashback: The Streets of Marrowfield...He remembered being 14. Running barefoot through puddles, the ball glued to his foot, escaping bullies who threw stones and insults. “You’ll never be anything!” But he always outran them. He always kept the ball. He wasn’t about to lose it now.

Minute 23 – The Spark Returns...Robin slipped wide left. A defender lunged. Robin flicked the ball through his legs, nutmeg. The crowd gasped. Then another came. Robin spun. Back-heeled. Gone. The third defender reached, Robin leapt over his leg, flew into the air, twisted mid-spin, and shot— GOAL!

Top corner. Silence. Then… explosion. Even the Madrid fans rose, some clapping in awe. The replay played five times in a row. Commentators screamed: “A GOAL FROM HEAVEN!”

“THE STREET KING STRIKES AGAIN!”

“WHO IS THIS KID?!”

Robin ran to the corner flag, dropped to his knees, and looked straight into the camera. He didn’t speak. He just pointed to the badge over his heart… and then toward the sky.

At Halftime – Shadows Close In... While Robin cooled off in the locker room, Stacy crept down restricted corridors, her forged pass granting her access. Kev’s voice came through her earpiece. “Security shift change in two minutes. Get the file.”

Stacy slipped into the staff office, plugged in a flash drive, and began downloading Robin’s travel logs, training files… anything that could be twisted. She was nearly done when a voice behind her said, “You don’t belong here.”

It was a young intern. Stacy smiled. “I’m new. Wrong door. Don’t mind me.” But the intern frowned, unconvinced.

Second Half...Madrid came out swinging. Angry. In minute 52, Montalvo deliberately stomped Robin’s ankle. Robin cried out, but stood. Minute 61—two defenders sandwiched him. Minute 72—elbow to the ribs. He fell, gasping. But he rose. Every time.  His mother had taught him that. “Fall nine times, rise ten.”

Minute 79...Robin weaved past two defenders, darted into the box, and was about to shoot when he heard something in the crowd: “He’s a fraud! He faked his age! He’s not who he says he is!” He froze, just a second. But that second cost him.

A tackle came in from behind violent, illegal and he went down hard. Real hard. He didn’t move. The Crowd Reacts Silence. Stadium medics rushed in. Coach Velasquez sprinted to the field. Don Marco appeared in the tunnel, face pale.

Cameras zoomed in, Robin’s eyes were closed, mouth barely moving. News feeds erupted. “Robin Ashwood Injured in Brutal Challenge – Career Threatened?”

“Footage Shows Madrid Defender Could Face Ban”

“Fake Identity Claims Surface Online – Sabotage or Truth?”

In the Locker Room – Chaos Robin was awake but dazed. Pain throbbed through his leg. A medic whispered, “Could be ligament damage. MRI will confirm.”

Velasquez knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder. “You were brilliant. No matter what they say.”

Don Marco’s phone buzzed. His assistant whispered something in his ear. His face turned to stone. He walked out of the room immediately.

Outside – Exposure Begins

Stacy had fled the stadium with the drive. Kev uploaded the altered files. News anchors began receiving anonymous tips. A fake school record here. A forged age there. All planted. All damning. “Robin Ashwood, Too Good to Be True?”

“Did He Lie to the World?” The media storm swelled. Lying alone in the hotel bed that night, Robin stared at the ceiling, his leg bandaged. His phone buzzed.

Another anonymous message: “This is just the beginning. Fall hard, street prince.”

Robin clenched his jaw. His reply? “You hit me. But you didn’t break me.”

He locked his phone, rolled over slowly, and whispered: “I’m not done.”