"Ladies and gentlen, I’m Peter Drury, and alongside is Jim Beglin. And what a night we have ahead of us! A contest of titanic proportions, a battle of footballing supremacy. Jim, it doesn’t get bigger than this, does it?"
The voice of the legendary comntator, poetic and electrifying as always, echoed through the television speakers, filling the room with an air of anticipation.
"No, it certainly does not, Peter. It’s a beautiful evening in Portugal—the city of Lisbon, to be precise. And where else could a match of this magnitude unfold but in the iconic Estádio da Luz? Ho to the footballing institution that is Benfica, a club draped in history and glory. But tonight, the Eagles are not soaring on this stage. No, tonight, this grand coliseum of football hosts sothing even more extraordinary."
Jim Beglin, another titan of the comntary world, his voice steady yet brimming with excitent, set the scene for what was to co.
"Yes, Jim, because tonight, it is FCB versus FCB! Two giants of the ga, two behemoths who have rewritten footballing history ti and ti again. The Bavarian juggernaut, Bayern Munich—a team that has operated like a well-oiled machine all season, suffering only five defeats across all competitions. And in the grandest theatre of them all, the UEFA Champions League, they have been untouchable, relentless, victorious in every single ga leading up to this. But Jim, their opposition... they are not to be taken lightly."
"Not in the slightest, Peter. Because tonight, they face the Catalan overlords, the eternal blue and garnet of Barcelona. A club whose na alone sends shivers down the spine. And while their dostic campaign has been fraught with heartbreak—trophies slipping through their fingers, the league title wrestled away by their eternal adversaries, Real Madrid—here, in the Champions League, they have been nothing short of magnificent. No defeats, a few stumbles in the form of draws, but they have fought, they have endured. And tonight, there are no second chances, no replays—this is a one-off, a battle to the very end. If ninety minutes cannot separate them, then we shall be blessed, or perhaps cursed, with the cruel lottery of penalties."
Jim’s voice carried the weight of the occasion, the sheer magnitude of what was at stake.
"And while the German giants may be the favorites in the eyes of many, football has never been a ga of certainties. Especially not when the Spanish side is led by the one man who defies logic, the one man who bends fate to his will—arguably the greatest player the ga has ever seen!"
Jim’s words hung in the air, thick with reverence, before Peter’s voice, rich and poetic, took over.
"Yes, Jim. The Argentine forward, the little magician, the man who has danced through defenses and defied physics for over a decade. He has promised his people, his teammates, his fans—a Champions League title. And when he makes a promise, you know he will fight to keep it. The script is written, the stage is set... now, all that remains is for football to weave its magic."
And as those final words were spoken, the players began to erge from the tunnel, stepping onto the grand battlefield under the floodlights, their boots kissing the sacred grass. The roar of the crowd, the sheer electricity in the air—it was a night for history to be made.
The two iconic comntators, who have been the voices of PES footballing gas—a fierce rival to the iconic FIFA series since 2016—delivered their srizing comntary as their voices filled the apartnt of a young football talent nad David Jones.
"David! The match is starting, the players are already entering—where are you?"
The unmistakable voice of Zoey rang out from the phone speaker, filling the quiet living room. She sounded exasperated yet amused, her tone carrying the usual mix of banter and urgency.
"I’m coming, I’m coming! I’m just getting my snacks ready," David called back, erging from the kitchen, his hands carefully balancing a loaded tray.
It was a feast fit for the occasion. A steaming pile of chili cheese hotdogs, a juicy classic cheeseburger, a crispy chicken sandwich, and a serving of nachos drenched in lted cheese with a side of guacamole. There were also spicy popcorn chicken bites, a bowl of salted almonds, and a plate of fresh-cut fruit—grapes, strawberries, and apple slices—for good asure.
Satisfied with his setup, he placed everything on the table he had arranged earlier, nodding to himself in approval. The only piece of furniture in the apartnt for sitting remained his trusty bean bag, which he promptly sank into, shifting around to get comfortable.
As he stared at the spread before him, a small wave of guilt flickered in his mind. Hadn’t he told himself he’d start watching his diet? But then again, this was a big match. A little indulgence wouldn’t hurt. Besides, he had been mindful—no sugary sodas. Instead, he had grabbed a chilled homade banana-almond smoothie, packed with protein and just the right amount of natural sweetness to keep him energized through the match. It had all been ordered through his favourite delivery app and ward in his microwave, ready to go.
"You, this glutton! Must you eat every ti?" Zoey’s teasing voice ca again from the phone, which was propped up on the sa table as his food.
David rolled his eyes. "I’m not a glutton. I just don’t know how to watch sothing without eating—it’s a habit." His defence was light-hearted yet firm as he popped a piece of popcorn chicken into his mouth.
His attention then shifted to the TV screen. The cara panned across the pitch, capturing both teams standing at attention. The stadium lights cast a bright glow over the lush green grass. He recognized so of the players instantly—already legends of the ga, warriors about to battle for ultimate European glory.
David’s eyes locked onto the screen, where so of football’s finest stood in formation, waiting for the whistle. He saw Gerard Piqué, Jordi Alba, Frenkie de Jong, Sergio Busquets, and—of course—the one and only Lionel ssi. Even through the screen, he could feel the aura radiating from them. Legends of the ga, standing tall under the bright stadium lights, ready for battle.
Clearly, he wasn’t the only one feeling it.
"Are you seeing this? Look at those players! Look at ssi! Bayern should just quit now—Visca Barça! Visca Barça! VISCA BARÇA!" Zoey’s voice ca from the speaker, at first a chant, then a full-blown song as she hyped herself up.
David sighed dramatically. "Please, please, please. It’s not like Bayern don’t have their own stars." And he was right.
The Bayern Munich players stood just as tall, just as confident, not intimidated in the slightest. Alphonso Davies, Thiago Alcântara, Jérô Boateng, Thomas Müller—they were all present, all ready. But the real danger? Their main man, the goal machine himself, Robert Lewandowski.
David smirked, sensing how balanced this battle was going to be. "Did you see the way Lewa’s looking? You guys should just forget about this match. He’s getting a hat-trick today—mark my words."
Zoey instantly shot back. "Please! It’s just a lucky season. Suárez is there. He’ll show him why he’s the best striker of this generation."
David only laughed. He wasn’t emotionally invested in this match. Outside of Manchester United, he never really cared about any other club. The only reason he was backing Bayern tonight was simple—to piss off Zoey. And judging by her reaction, it was working perfectly.
But then, a thought hit him.
"Wait, how are you even a Barcelona fan? You’re clearly British. What made you support them instead of any English team?" David asked, genuinely curious. He’d never seen Zoey in person, but from her accent, there was no doubt—she was born and bred in England. Supporting a foreign club over a local one? It was rare.
Zoey, however, sounded outright offended. "What kind of dumb question is that? You should already know why I’m a Barça fan!"
David grinned, already piecing it together. "Let guess," he began. "It’s because of ssi."
The mont he said it, Zoey exploded.
"Of course, it’s because of ssi! I an, look at that beautiful man right there! The way he moves with the ball—he’s unparalleled! Why wouldn’t I support his team?" Her voice had shifted from defensive to downright fanatic.
David snorted. "So you support Barça just because ssi is a good player?"
"No, I don’t! I started supporting Barça because ssi is the best player. But now, I support them because I’ve fallen for the club. I might have co for ssi, but now, I’m a Culé through and through." Zoey’s conviction was undeniable.
David leaned back, smirking. "Well, all I hear is that there’s still hope of saving you. Once I start playing professionally, you’ll see who the real best player in the world is. Then you’ll ditch Barça and start supporting Manchester United." His voice was full of playful arrogance, his laughter echoing through the room.
Zoey, however, wasn’t having it. "Did you even listen to what I just said? I support Barça for Barça now. And as for you being the best—first, you need to score a Premier League goal. you championship player!" She burst out laughing.
David, still chewing on a hotdog, simply muttered, "Not funny."
The playful banter continued as the screen showed ssi and Neuer stepping up for the traditional coin flip. The captains exchanged nods, the referee flipped the coin, and soon, both leaders walked back to their respective squads. Bayern Munich would take the kickoff.
David adjusted himself in his bean bag, his eyes glued to the screen.
"The match is starting," he said, still holding the hotdog between his teeth.
And then—the referee’s whistle blew.
I want to give a massive shoutout to DotGov—who sent seven golden tickets! Yes, you heard that right, seven! That’s everything I got last month, and bro, I can’t thank you enough. I’m truly grateful to have you as a reader.
Also, I wasn’t even planning to drop this Chapter since the request post only got one like. But that one like? It ca from MizuKen—and you already know I have to deliver when you ask for sothing.I’m still so grateful for what you did.
Thank you all so much for your support, and happy new month!
Wishing all my Muslim readers a blessed and peaceful Ramadan! May this holy month bring you joy, good health, and countless blessings. Ramadan Mubarak
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