c5 - Will He Teleport?
A collective gasp erupted from the stands. Even the substitutes, who had been sitting idly, shot to their feet, eyes wide with disbelief at the unfolding spectacle.
The wind screamed past Vardy's ears, an invisible force attempting to drag him back, but he ignored it. At this moment, everything logic, physics, hesitation ceased to exist. His world narrowed to one point of focus: the ball.
Charge.
Let the weight of past and present dissolve beneath his feet.
Let his sprint carve a new path forward.
Let this be the moment where everything begins.
Run!
In the terrified gaze of defenders who had already underestimated him, Vardy accelerated again, his legs pumping like the pistons of a finely tuned F1 car. In mere seconds, he had closed the vast distance from midfield to the opposition's penalty area, drawing level with the opposing team's two center-backs.
"What the hell? How is he that fast? Is he on something?"
"I finally get why they put him on the pitch he's a sprinter!"
"Bullshit! Even college sprinters don't move like that. If our school's 100-meter guys saw this, they'd probably quit on the spot!"
On the sidelines, Manchester United scout Langley, who had been calmly observing, could no longer remain seated. He leapt from his chair, nearly slamming into the railing in his excitement.
At first, he had merely noted Vardy's pressing game and impressive burst of speed. But this? This was something entirely different.
"This kid… he's a monster."
Langley's mind raced. A 17-year-old moving at this speed? If his fundamentals were even half-decent, this was a future top-flight player in the making. He had already made up his mind after the match, he was going to do whatever it took to bring Vardy to United's youth academy.
Speed alone wasn't everything in football, but in the modern game, an attacker with blistering pace was a nightmare for any defense. Cristiano Ronaldo. Thierry Henry. Even Rooney, with his aggressive bursts. If Vardy could hone his technique, he wouldn't just be playing at the top level he'd be defining it.
Yet, while Langley was coming to these realizations, the two defenders on the pitch remained oblivious to their impending doom.
To them, everything seemed under control. The ball was still deep in their half. There were no immediate threats. The closest opponent was still miles away.
"Relax, we got this," one of them gestured to the keeper with a casual thumbs-up.
Their goalkeeper, however, wasn't convinced. He could feel something was wrong. He squinted into the distance, and that's when he saw it.
A blur.
Charging.
Straight at them.
His stomach twisted. "Close the gap! CLOSE THE GAP!" he roared, but his voice was swallowed by the wind.
Too late.
A gust of air blasted between the two defenders as Vardy split them apart in an instant. Their heads snapped around, eyes filled with horror.
There was no need to confirm what had just happened.
They knew.
How the hell did he get past us?
Did he just teleport?
From the perspective of the stunned spectators, it may as well have been teleportation. One moment, Vardy had been yards behind. The next, he was already in front, brushing past the defenders like they weren't even there.
This was the first time Vardy had touched the ball since coming off the bench. And yet, with that one touch, he had already won.
But it wasn't over.
The goalkeeper had abandoned his line in desperation, charging forward like a man possessed. The defenders scrambled to recover, but they were already behind.
Vardy, however, remained calm.
A slight nudge forward with his toe, and the ball rolled delicately ahead. His speed dropped ever so slightly, just enough to control his next movement.
He's closing in fast… I won't have time to dribble past him.
Then there's only one option.
As his second touch came, he lifted his foot just beneath the ball, scooping it into the air with the perfect weight. The world seemed to freeze.
The goalkeeper jumped. Arms outstretched.
But the ball sailed beyond his grasp, a perfect parabola looping over his fingertips.
Time slowed. The stadium held its breath.
The ball dipped
then kissed the net.
Goal.
Silence.
No one moved. Not the players. Not the fans.
Even Vardy, who moments ago had been brimming with energy, didn't react immediately.
He had envisioned this moment countless times his first goal, the celebration, the overwhelming euphoria of it all. He had imagined himself roaring, pounding his chest, diving onto the pitch in raw excitement.
But now, standing here, he felt none of that.
Because in his heart, he knew.
This is just the beginning.
When he finally turned back to face his opponents, he found no anger in their expressions. No resistance.
Just shock.
Utter, helpless shock.
This game is too easy.