Chương 217: Is that all you got (217)
Bachira, a whirlwind of wind and adrenaline, tore across the field. The taste of victory danced on his tongue, and a familiar urge roared in his veins. It was time to unleash the beast - his Jinga x Monster dribbling style.
Agi, a rock in the opposing team's defense, materialized in his path. Bachira's vision narrowed, not to a single opponent, but to a tapestry of possibilities woven between Agi's legs, behind his back, through his very shadow.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent Agi stumbling back, a phantom touch dancing just out of reach. Left, then right, a feint so sharp it could draw blood. Finally, the nutmeg. The ball slipped between Agi's legs with a whisper, leaving the defender grasping at air.
"That one," Bachira chuckled, his voice laced with the thrill of the hunt. His eyes, alight with predatory hunger, glinted like polished obsidian as he sped past, leaving Agi and doubt in his wake.
The nutmeg against Agi was merely the prelude to Bachira's symphony. As he surged forward, the ball became an extension of his will, responding to his every whim with liquid precision. He danced between defenders, his footwork a mesmerizing blur of stepovers, scissors, and Cruyff turns.
With each feint, he painted illusions on the grass, leaving the Manchine players chasing shadows.
One defender, built like a tank, lunged with the grace of a falling rhino. Bachira anticipated the move, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He executed a Rabona, his heel sending the ball in a gravity-defying arc over the defender's outstretched leg, the touch so delicate it seemed to caress the leather.
Another defender, known for his speed, tried to contain him. But Bachira was quicksilver, his movements infused with the deceptive rhythm of capoeira.
He weaved through him with a series of elástico moves, the ball switching feet with impossible speed, leaving the defender tangled in his own frustrated momentum.
The nutmeg against Agi was merely the prelude to Bachira's symphony. As he surged forward, the ball became an extension of his will, responding to his every whim with liquid precision. He danced between defenders, his footwork a mesmerizing blur of stepovers, scissors, and Cruyff turns.
With each feint, he painted illusions on the grass, leaving the Manchine players chasing shadows.
One defender, built like a tank, lunged with the grace of a falling rhino. Bachira anticipated the move, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
He executed a Rabona, his heel sending the ball in a gravity-defying arc over the defender's outstretched leg, the touch so delicate it seemed to caress the leather.
Another defender, known for his speed, tried to contain him. But Bachira was quicksilver, his movements infused with the deceptive rhythm of capoeira.
He weaved through him with a series of elástico moves, the ball switching feet with impossible speed, leaving the defender tangled in his own frustrated momentum.
Bachira's dazzling display continued, each movement an ode to artistry on the soccer field.
His feet were an extension of his creativity, orchestrating a symphony that captivated everyone in the stadium.
The next defender, determined to halt Bachira's enchanting run, charged in with unwavering resolve. Bachira, however, was a maestro in control.
With a cheeky wink, he pulled off a quick sombrero flick, lifting the ball effortlessly over the defender's head. The stadium gasped at the audacity, and the ball descended gracefully on the other side, untouched.
As he approached the final line of defense, Bachira faced the goalkeeper, a formidable opponent guarding the gate. The crowd held its collective breath, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. Bachira, undeterred, conjured up his final act of brilliance.
In a move that defied conventional expectations, he initiated a sequence of step-overs and dummies, leaving the goalkeeper hypnotized by the intricate dance of the ball. With a burst of acceleration, Bachira performed a Maradona spin, leaving the goalkeeper flat-footed and bewildered.
The goal loomed large, a canvas waiting for Bachira to paint his masterpiece.
Nagi's swift intervention, blocking Bachira's shot with an impeccable trap, stunned the stadium into a momentary silence. The crowd, caught off guard by Nagi's defensive brilliance, watched as he calmly held the ball in his possession.
With a composed demeanor, Nagi turned his gaze towards Bachira, locking eyes with the Barcha maestro. The air was charged with anticipation as Nagi, in a display of confidence, uttered words that cut through the silence like a blade.
"Is that all you've got?" Nagi's tone was dripping with disrespect, a calculated taunt that echoed through the stadium. The audacity of his words hung in the air, challenging not just Bachira but the entire Barcha team and their supporters.
A/N so instead of just describing the move I decided to just put the names of the move down, it saves time and less time spent describing a very simple as skill.
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