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Chapter 92 - Chapter 91: The Falling Comet

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The thirty-seventh round of La Liga arrived.

In years to come, historians of Spanish football would look back on this day and recognise it as a turning point. Many things began here. Many things ended.

At the time, it seemed like just another match day in a thirty-eight-round season.

5:30 PM. Wanda Metropolitano Stadium.

Atlético Madrid vs. Sevilla.

Victory would clinch the La Liga title with a round to spare. And for the first time in weeks, Simeone stood on the touchline again.

From the opening whistle, the match belonged to Atlético.

André and Griezmann—the latter still embroiled in transfer speculation—were both in devastating form. Within minutes, Sevilla's defence looked fragile.

Ninth minute. André drifted wide and delivered a cross. Saúl made a decoy run through the centre. Griezmann met the ball at the far post with a cushioned volley—it grazed the outside of the post and rolled past the goal line.

The collective groan from the stands reflected the frustration.

Three minutes later, another chance.

Arias overlapped from right-back and whipped in a cross from the byline. André rose to meet it with a diving header. The ball flew toward the top corner—and struck the woodwork.

Simeone looked skyward.

Atlético were utterly dominant. The focus was extraordinary. Every failed attack triggered immediate counter-pressing, forcing Sevilla into hurried clearances.

The breakthrough came in the nineteenth minute.

André switched to the flank, combined with Lemar in a quick one-two, then used raw pace to burn past his marker. A sharp stop-and-go near the byline took him into the penalty area. He drew defenders toward him, then lifted a chip toward Griezmann.

This time, the Frenchman didn't miss.

1-0.

Griezmann sprinted toward the Atlético supporters and kissed the crest on his shirt. The gesture was deliberate—a message that the recent transfer rumours had nothing to do with him.

In truth, this time, they didn't. Unlike previous summers when Griezmann had flirted with departure, the current saga was driven by the club's management.

Everyone at Atlético understood that regardless of the title outcome, the squad needed an overhaul. Felipe, Godín, and Juanfran were all out of contract in summer and wouldn't be renewing. Lucas, Saúl, and Rodri were all being linked with moves. Simeone himself knew that tactical evolution was overdue.

The club had identified their target: João Félix, the Portuguese prodigy at Benfica. But Benfica weren't pushovers. Their asking price: one hundred and twenty million euros.

That meant selling. And Griezmann was Atlético's most valuable asset.

The Frenchman, who'd committed to staying, felt betrayed when he learned he was being shopped around. Alemany's leaks from Barcelona's side had only made things worse.

Back on the pitch, Atlético were cruising.

The fans in the stands were already preparing for the trophy presentation.

Fifty-fifth minute. André received from Thomas just outside the penalty area. A sharp change of direction, a nutmeg past his marker, then into the box. A shooting feint drew the defender one way—André cut the ball back, created space, and fired a powerful strike into the Sevilla goal.

2-0.

The Atlético supporters held up replica trophies, rehearsing for the real thing.

Simeone, who'd been standing all match, finally sat down on the bench. He chatted with his assistant, smiling, relaxed. Everything was moving toward the future Atlético had envisioned.

But sometimes, disasters arrive without warning.

Seventy-sixth minute.

Costa had removed his jacket and begun warming up. Simeone intended to substitute André—let him receive a solo ovation from the crowd. A hero's exit.

What happened next would be etched into the hearts of Atlético supporters forever.

André dropped from the penalty area into midfield to provide an outlet. Thomas passed to him.

Back to goal. The ball arrived at André's feet.

He heard his teammates' startled cries before he felt it.

Then—a searing explosion of pain in his left leg.

Then nothing.

The agony was so intense that André lost consciousness instantly.

The stadium fell silent.

On the big screen, the replay showed what had happened.

Sevilla midfielder Roque Mesa had launched a vicious sliding tackle the moment André received the ball. The challenge was aimed at the man, not the ball.

The footage showed André's left ankle twisting into a grotesque angle.

Players from both sides rushed toward the scene. Medical staff sprinted onto the pitch.

The Wanda Metropolitano—moments ago celebrating a title—now held its breath.

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