240. KICKING ASSES at EL SADAR

Time: Saturday, 18th April 2034 : 18:30 CET

Location: Estadio El Sadar, Pamplona

Caos could feel in the air. He was more powerful than ever. Nothing could seem as real as others imagined.

The Estadio El Sadar was already shaking before the teams came out.

Red and white filled almost every seat.

Osasuna supporters had spent the entire afternoon singing. Flags moved above the stands. Scarves were held over heads. Every time Caos appeared on the stadium screens, the noise changed.

Some booed.

Some laughed nervously.

Some simply shouted his name.

Osasuna were fighting for survival near the bottom of the table, and they had no intention of treating Real Madrid like another ordinary opponent.

Their coaching staff had prepared something specifically for Caos.

A 5–4–1.

Three players would stay close to him whenever possible. The midfield would collapse toward his position. Tactical fouls would be used before he could turn. The first pass after losing possession would trigger an immediate counter-press.

When the ball was recovered, Osasuna would send it forward quickly.

They knew they couldn't match Real Madrid in an open game.

So they wanted to make the game ugly.

Fast.

Physical.

Uncomfortable.

And for the first thirty-seven minutes, it worked.

#OsasunaVsCaos was trending at No. 1 in Spain, with 7.9 million posts in thirty-six hours.

@Marca: “Osasuna have prepared a completely different approach for Caos. Triple marking, aggressive pressing and constant pressure. El Sadar is ready.”

@TheAthletic: “Caos has scored 22, 21 and 20 goals in recent matches. Osasuna believe their structure can slow him down.”

A video from Real Madrid's latest training session had also gone viral.

Caos sprinting at impossible speed.

Caos striking the ball.

Caos fighting enormous prehistoric creatures inside one of Erebus's simulations.

The caption underneath the video had been simple:

“ What is the menu for today? una goleada se viene”

The Osasuna dressing room was tense.

Ante Budimir stood in front of his teammates with his shirt already on and his boots tied. He looked around the room before speaking.

“We know what we're facing,” he said.

His voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard him.

“We don't need to pretend he's ordinary. He's not. But this is our stadium. We fight for every ball. If we lose it, we press immediately. If he gets through one man, another goes to him. If he gets through two, a third is already there.”

Budimir clenched his jaw.

“And if he scores?”

A few players looked at one another.

Budimir answered his own question.

“We start again.”

Across the stadium, Rubén García was warming up with the other Osasuna players. He glanced toward the tunnel where Real Madrid were preparing to emerge.

“He has destroyed almost everyone we've seen,” García said quietly to one of the younger players beside him. “So let's make him work for every meter.”

The younger player nodded.

“Even if it doesn't work?”

García smiled faintly.

“Especially then.”

COME ON! CHAOS!

HURRA!

CAOS! CAOS! CAOS!

Mbappé finished tightening his boots and looked across the room toward Caos.

“They're going to suffocate you,” he said.

Caos was sitting quietly, elbows resting on his knees.

“They'll try.”

Mbappé smiled.

“You've got that look again.”

Caos looked at him.

“What look?”

“The one that usually means someone is about to have a very long night.”

Caos laughed once.

“I'll play what's in front of me.”

Mbappé stood.

“Then enjoy yourself.”

Near the tunnel, Xabi Alonso waited for Caos.

As the players walked toward the pitch, Xabi placed a hand against Caos's shoulder.

“Don't force anything early,” he said. “They've built their entire plan around your first movements. Let them show you where the gaps are.”

Caos looked toward the pitch.

“And when I find them?”

Xabi gave him a small smile.

“Use them.”

Caos nodded.

“Understood.”

THE PRIVATE BOX

High above the pitch, Zeraphina, Keyla, and Michaela watched the players enter.

Zeraphina kept one hand over her growing belly.

Keyla leaned forward against the railing.

“They've spent days talking about how they're going to stop him.”

Zeraphina watched the Osasuna defenders forming their shape.

“They've prepared seriously.”

Keyla glanced at her.

“You sound worried.”

“No.”

Zeraphina smiled.

“I just want to see how long their plan lasts.”

Michaela laughed softly.

“Probably longer than the last one.”

Keyla looked toward the pitch.

“That's what I'm here for.”

HERE WE GO!

START THE MATCH.

CRUSH THEM.

The whistle blew.

Osasuna immediately dropped into their shape.

Five defenders across the back.

Four midfielders packed into a narrow line.

Budimir alone at the top.

Caos moved toward the left.

Three Osasuna players followed him.

He moved right.

Two followed.

He dropped into midfield.

A midfielder stepped toward him while the nearest defender moved forward.

Caos received the ball anyway.

One touch.

Two.

A tackle came from behind.

He released the ball before contact.

The crowd roared.

“CAOS!”

The ball went out.

He walked back into position without reacting.

The first ten minutes were ugly.

Osasuna kicked the ball long whenever they recovered it. Their midfielders chased every loose pass. Their defenders didn't allow Caos to turn easily.

At the 18th minute, Caos received the ball near the sideline.

Three players surrounded him.

One grabbed his shirt.

Another blocked the inside lane.

The third stepped toward his legs.

Caos twisted away.

The defender caught his shoulder.

The referee blew the whistle.

The crowd screamed for a foul against Caos instead.

Caos stood, brushed the grass from his sleeve, and looked toward the penalty area.

Xabi shouted from the sideline.

“Keep moving!”

Caos nodded.

For once, Osasuna had managed to stop him without needing him to make a mistake.

At the 31st minute, Budimir nearly punished Real Madrid.

A long ball dropped behind the defensive line.

He controlled it with his chest and struck first time.

The shot flew wide.

The Osasuna supporters rose from their seats anyway.

Budimir slapped his hands together.

“Again!”

The match remained 0–0.

Then came the 37th minute.

Caos received the ball inside his own half.

He stopped.

For a second, he looked upward.

His expression changed slightly.

He thought about his mother.

Nothing more.

Then he looked forward.

Three defenders were already coming.

Caos lowered his body.

And accelerated.

1–0 — Caos

500 mph.

The first defender disappeared behind him.

The second tried to change direction.

Too late.

The third reached for him and caught nothing.

Caos activated the Triassic Vortex.

His movement became violent and unpredictable, cutting between the collapsing defensive lines before Osasuna could close the space.

He reached approximately 82 meters from goal.

There was no hesitation.

His right leg swung through the ball.

The strike carried roughly 350,000 Newtons of force.

The ball traveled at approximately 849 km/h.

The goalkeeper raised both hands.

He never touched it.

The net snapped backward.

1–0.

For several seconds, the only sound came from the ball settling against the net.

Then El Sadar erupted.

Not everyone was celebrating.

Osasuna supporters were screaming in disbelief.

Caos turned away from goal.

KEMPES shouted over the noise:

“Caos has found the answer! Osasuna surrounded him with three players, then four, and he simply changed the speed of the game! Eighty-two meters out and that strike is beyond the goalkeeper's reach!”

Caos jogged back toward midfield.

Budimir stared at him.

Rubén García walked past and shook his head.

“That's ridiculous.”

Caos heard him.

He smiled.

“Keep playing.”

Osasuna changed shape.

The triple marking became even tighter.

Their defenders stepped farther forward.

They stopped worrying about fouls.

They wanted to disrupt every Real Madrid attack before it developed.

For several minutes, the plan worked again.

Then Caos began attacking the structure itself.

A pass to Mbappé.

Mbappé returned it.

Caos accelerated through the first gap.

2–0.

A Plateo Crush sent a violent shock through the defensive line.

The defenders stumbled.

3–0.

Herrera Snap.

4–0.

A 500 mph run behind the right-back.

5–0.

Then another.

And another.

Osasuna kept trying to adjust.

Caos kept finding another answer.

By the 30th minute, the scoreboard showed 12–0.

By the 40th, it was 16–0.

The crowd had changed.

The constant singing had disappeared.

Now there were scattered shouts, whistles, applause, and the occasional stunned laugh.

The Osasuna players continued running.

They refused to stop.

That mattered.

They were being overwhelmed, but they were still competing.

Before halftime, Caos scored three more.

The referee blew for the break.

Halftime: Osasuna 0–19 Real Madrid

Caos: 15 goals, 4 assists

Mbappé walked toward him as the players entered the tunnel.

“Fifteen.”

Caos looked at him.

“Apparently.”

Mbappé laughed.

“You're impossible.”

Caos wiped sweat from his face with a towel.

“They made us work.”

Mbappé looked back toward the pitch.

“They really did.”

SECOND HALF

Osasuna came back out with nothing left to protect.

They pushed forward.

That decision created space.

And Caos used every meter.

His sixteenth came after a through ball from Mbappé.

His seventeenth came from outside the box.

His eighteenth came after a Plateo Crush disrupted the midfield.

Then came the nineteenth.

And the twentieth.

The supporters began counting his goals aloud.

“TWENTY!”

Caos stood near the corner flag for a moment.

He looked toward the private box.

Zeraphina was standing.

Keyla was beside her.

Michaela had both hands over her mouth.

Caos pointed toward them.

Then he turned back.

Osasuna attacked again.

They eventually found their first goal.

20–1.

The stadium erupted.

Their players celebrated together.

Caos stood near midfield and applauded them.

“Good goal,” he said.

Budimir looked at him.

“You're applauding us?”

“You earned it.”

Budimir shook his head.

“Strange man.”

Caos smiled.

“Maybe.”

The second Osasuna goal came later.

20–2.

The supporters celebrated even louder.

Real Madrid restarted.

Caos received the ball near the right side of the pitch.

He lifted it over the nearest defender.

Then he jumped.

His body rotated.

For one brief moment, he was completely horizontal.

The 68-foot chilena came down with extraordinary force.

The ball flew into the upper corner.

21–2.

The La Liga commentator nearly lost his voice.

“What a finish! Sixty-eight feet in the air and a chilena from Caos! That is one of the most extraordinary goals we have seen this season! QUE PELA LE ESTAN DANDO. GOAL”

Caos landed and immediately looked toward the private box.

Zeraphina had both hands over her belly.

He smiled.

The final minutes passed quickly.

Caos scored again.

Then once more.

His final goal of the evening came from a counterattack that lasted less than ten seconds.

One pass from Mbappé.

One touch from Caos.

One acceleration.

One finish.

The scoreboard changed.

Osasuna 2–28 Real Madrid

The referee finally blew the whistle.

CA Osasuna 2–28 Real Madrid

Caos: 22 goals, 6 assists

Man of the Match: Caos

46th consecutive Man of the Match award in all competitions

Caos remained near the center circle after the final whistle.

His breathing was steady.

Sweat ran down his face.

He looked toward the sky.

One finger rose.

For his mother.

Then he placed his fist against his chest.

For his father.

He stayed there for several seconds before lowering his hand.

The players began leaving the pitch.

The stadium slowly emptied.

But Caos remained where he was.

Not celebrating.

Just standing.

AFTER THE MATCH

At the private exit, Zeraphina was waiting with Keyla and Michaela.

Caos approached them.

Zeraphina smiled first.

“Twenty-two.”

Caos nodded.

“You counted?”

“I tried.”

She laughed softly.

“The first ten were easy.”

Keyla stepped closer.

“After that, I stopped counting.”

Michaela shook her head.

“You realize normal people don't score twenty-two goals.”

Caos looked at her.

“I'm aware.”

Keyla laughed.

Zeraphina reached for his hand.

“You looked up after the first goal.”

Caos's expression softened.

“My mother.”

She nodded.

“And the gesture after the match?”

Caos looked down briefly.

“My father.”

Zeraphina squeezed his hand.

She didn't ask him to explain.

She didn't need to.

Caos then placed his other hand gently over her belly.

His voice became quieter.

“This is what matters.”

Keyla looked at him.

“The football?”

Caos shook his head.

“No.”

He looked at Zeraphina, then at Michaela and Keyla.

“The people.”

Zeraphina rested her hand over his.

“And the children?”

Caos smiled.

“They'll choose their own lives.”

He looked back toward the stadium.

“They won't owe me football. They won't owe me my name. They won't owe me a legacy.”

Michaela smiled.

“And what do they owe you?”

Caos looked at her.

“Nothing.”

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then Keyla broke the silence.

“Well, you still owe us dinner.”

Caos laughed.

“That I can accept.”

They walked together toward the private corridor.

Behind them, El Sadar was still noisy.

Osasuna had lost heavily.

But they had scored twice.

They had fought.

And Caos had once again found a way through everything they put in front of him.

To be continued.