Football singularity-Chapter 471 Saving Face

Mount stepped up to the corner, lifting his arm briefly before whipping in a swerving cross. Teden Mengi powered through the crowd of defenders, rising forcefully. His header flashed narrowly wide of the right post. Relief rippled visibly through the German defenders as Unbehaun quickly organised them again.

[35]

Germany took their time with the goal kick, subtly slowing the tempo, as completely different from the opening scene at the beginning of the match. They restarted their familiar possession game, deftly moving the ball around their opponents. Despite the clear difference in talent on paper, the clinical nature of the Germans became apparent.

It became pretty hard for them to mount a worthwhile attack as the Germans immediately constricted space with their zonal marking. This often times left them fighting for the slightest inch the moment they won the ball. The temperature on the pitch continued to increase, and judging by the players' body language showed they were starting to feel the toll.

This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.

Passes increased in sharpness as the intensity of the fans' chants continued to sound around the stadium. Tackles also became stronger with no player on the pitch daring to pull half-measures. England pushed higher up, their midfield trio tightening the noose. Declan Rice, previously sitting deeper, now shadowed Wirtz every time he drifted between the lines.

Their efforts bore fruit in the 35th minute after a moment of sloppiness from Germany. Angelo Stiller received a pass under pressure but hesitated too long under the pressure of 2 opposing defenders. He decided to bail out with a quick pass out wide, but it was too close to Mount. The Chelsea midfielder wasn't going to let the chance slip by and pounced, intercepting with an outstretched boot.

He took one touch to settle the ball under his control, and before anyone had the chance to reach, his next touch released it. His pass was low and hard, hugging the turf as it slipped into the channel behind Bella-Kotchap. Mason Greenwood was already on his track star, his studs digging into the turf as he left his man in the dust.

He sprinted in behind the German backline, eyes locked on the ball, timing immaculate. Kevin Ehlers scrambled to cut him off, but Greenwood's first touch was clean, and his second touch sent him racing into the box. Asta backtracked hard, trying to cover; however, Greenwood chopped the ball onto his left foot, shifting his weight just enough to open up an angle.

Without hesitation, he swung his foot, hitting the ball with venom, catapulting the ball towards the goal. The strike was pure—his left foot slicing cleanly through leather, sending the ball thundering toward the bottom right corner with terrifying precision. Luca Unbehaun, already in motion, flung himself full-stretch across the goal.

His frame cut through the air like a missile, arms outstretched, eyes locked on the ball. With his arms stretched out to the max, his fingers stretched out as far as possible as the ball neared. His fingertips made contact, but it wasn't enough. The ball ricocheted off Unbehaun's glove, its pace only slightly dulled as it spun across the face of the post—and in.

(GOAL!) The England supporters erupted into a wall of sound, flags waving violently, fists pumping the air. Greenwood sprinted toward the corner flag, sliding on his knees, arms wide open in Joy as his teammates quickly swarmed him. Behind him, Mount arrived first, leaping onto his back, followed by Bellingham and Saka, who screamed with unrestrained joy.

[Score: England 1 - 1 Germany | Time: 39:40]

"He buries it! Mason Greenwood with a rocket of a finish!" Paul Gartner boomed from the booth. "England equalises! One-all! A stunning response, and we're back level at Serce Łódź!"

Eddie Hall jumped in without missing a beat. "That you striker will do great things, I tell you. His chance to goal conversion is the fourth highest in the tournament, only barely falling behind Matteo Smith and Rakim Rex."

"Indeed, we have gotten to see some of the best strikers the new generation has to offer. If not for the ridiculous numbers, Haaland managed to put up those 3 names might have been the peak." Paul intoned with a light smile as the referee motioned for the players to return to their halves.

[39]

The restart came quickly. Lenn sent it short to Niklas Tauer, who returned it to Bella-Kotchap. The centre-back wasn't fazed by the approaching English players who charged at him like hungry wolves. He remained cool and collected, calmly spreading it wide to Simon, who had to deftly turn backwards to avoid Sancho's charge.

His spin was effective, allowing him to turn past Sancho as he hugged the byline. manoeuvring past the English winger, he sent a crisp pass to the back-tracking Jamie Leweling. The winger calmly took control of the ball using his broad shoulders and strong arms to hold England's left back Ben Chilwell off.

Mason and Declan in midfield tried to shut him down, but Jamie wasn't intimidated in the slightest. Pushing off his marker, he swung his foot, sending a chipped pass to Stiller. He jumped lightly to chest the ball down, completely shrugging off Jude's shoulder tackle. Without hesitation, he sent a weighted pass back to Noah Katterbach on the left flank.

Noah Katterbach brought Stiller's pass under control with a gentle instep touch, already scanning. James and Saka had pinched infield to choke the lane, so the left‑back clipped a quick diagonal to the middle of the pitch toward Florian Wirtz between England's midfield and defence. The stadium seemed to inhale a breath of air as the attacking midfielder side stepped and an English player with a quick roulette.

Wirtz pirouetted an elegant but swift blur of green boots and white lines, sending Declan Rice the wrong way. In the same movement, he jab‑rolled forward, stringing England's shape like an accordion. Mount, who had moved to recover his position, lunged in, but Wirtz coolly threaded the ball through his legs, bursting into the vacant behind him.

Conor Bradley stepped up to stop his charge, but Wirtz, who was already in motion, had a faster reaction speed than the defender. He deftly managed to manoeuvre the ball just in time to nudge it to the right, skipping past England's number 5. Teden Mengi, the other defender, debated whether to charge forward or stick to marking Lenn.

The hesitation was all Wirtz needed to make up his mind as he adjusted his footing and took aim. A second later, his foot met the ball with power, causing the leather to dent slightly before erratically rocketing toward the goal. Wirtz's strike burst from his boot like a tracer round, knuckling through the cool evening air toward the top‑right corner.

Dean Henderson sprang, body fully unfurled, fingers scraping the sky. The keeper's slightest touch was enough: the ball cannoned off his glove smacked the underside of the bar with a metallic thud, and ricocheted straight down onto the goal‑line. Immediately, a scramble for scraps ensued as the ball bounced on the line and out into the box.

For a moment, everyone hesitated — half-expecting a goal-line technology signal or a referee whistle. But nothing came. So, when the ball dropped down, it spun awkwardly, between legs and boots like a live grenade. Lenn Jastremski was the first to react and swung his foot, but only the side of his boot managed to clip the side of the ball.

Ben Chilwell fought off Jamie and twisted his body, trying to hook his foot around the bouncing ball. But the ball didn't go far as both he and Rakim simultaneously struck the ball. The ball took an awkward bounce to the far post, where Niklas Tauer, like a deer in headlights, found himself unmarked.

One could easily tell that he wasn't expecting the ball to go his way as he stumbled like Bambi on ice, trying to raise a foot to stop the ball. He somehow managed to knock it down with his shin guard, bringing it under his control as it bounced in front of him. Adjusting his body to the bouncing ball, he swung his foot, looking to smash the ball into the net. However, his strike was smothered brilliantly by Dean Henderson in the next moment, who took it to the face but held onto it for dear life.

.

.

.

.

To be Continued...