Elian and Marin locked eyes once more in the empty space created in the flank.
It was just the both of them, no Santos.
The tension between them crackled visibly as Marin slowly began to move the ball.
He suddenly moved quicker, throwing his leg over the ball, using a series of intricate dribbling moves.
He moved towards his opponent, closing the distance between them, Elian swallowed, but he didn't blink. Sweat was dripping, but he didn't clean it. He couldn't afford to. He needed absolute concentration right now.
Elian watched intently, his gaze fixed on Marin's every movement. He could sense the Madrid winger's intentions, analyzing the way Marin shifted his weight.
Marin's dribble was well seasoned, it was no wonder that he was a defender's biggest nightmare. However, Elian wasn't in the mood to be beaten. He stepped backwards, his etes fixated on the ball still.
His mind raced: this was a duel—a test of will and skill.
"I would find an opening...then I would counter."
