Keep it in the Family (230) - World Cup • Group Stage • Brazil vs Republic of Ireland (Patreon)

In the following days, this was the result of the other matchdays:

The opening match of the World Cup, which had seen Japan vs Colombia, ended with an effortless victory from the hosts. 3-1. Whilst Serbia vs Honduras ended with a 2-0 for the Serbians.

On the same day, South Korea took the front page with a crushing victory against New Caledonia. 6-1.

Uganda vs Ecuador ended with a 1-3.

Argentina vs Australia: 4-0. No surprise there.

Mozambique vs Denmark: 4-0.

France vs Haiti: 5-0. Predictable.

Saudi Arabia vs Uruguay: 3-1.

...

Up until the third day, where the Brazil match we've all been waiting for. Brazil against the Republic of Ireland.

And I felt extremely excited to watch this particular game, not just because of the hype around it, but also because I knew I'd be facing them soon, so getting to see them in action was important.

So, in the comfort of my hotel room, I turned on the TV, which was already on the sports channel. There were two commentators, both Japanese.

The commentators were going over the roster of both teams, hyping up the players and mentioning their achievements.

Their match was set in Tokyo's National Stadium, and boy, did the Irish bring the spirit. They were loud. They had banners and a sea of green. And they were not gonna let a young Brazilian team come and trample over them. The Irish coach had clearly prepared his team for this.

Not that it would've made any difference, with all due respect to the Irish. There was a reason the Brazilians were favorites.

Just as the cameras panned across the stadium, I saw him. Number 10. He was standing next to the coach, listening intently to his final instructions. Rico. With his dark hair, his sharp, confident gaze, and an easy smile. He just had that Brazilian flair, that lively look and vibe that the crowd absolutely loved. While he didn't look as iconic as Ronaldinho, with the long hair and the buck teeth, by the Gods, that smile was the same.

The camera then switched to the Irish side, showing their young captain, a lanky redhead with a determined look. He was clapping his hands, trying to fire up his teammates.

The ref called both captains to the center of the field for the coin toss. The Irish captain won the toss and chose to kick off.

The whistle blew, and the game started.

I leaned back in my seat. The rest of my teammates were all watching the game together. I excused myself in lieu of being alone. I didn't know why, perhaps it was that seeing that nostalgic yellow-blue kit again made me a little uncomfortable. It reminded me of my past.

So, I watched in silence. Just me and the TV.

I saw Rico make his first move. A quick pass to the midfielder, then a run forward.

"Here we go, Brazil's number 10, Rico, is making his presence felt early on." One of the commentators said.

The other one, who was the color commentator, laughed. "Yes, he's a talented player, isn't he? He's been compared to some of the greats already. We'll see if he lives up to the hype today."

I sipped on my water, watching Rico take possession of the ball, do a cheeky overstep that reminded me of myself, and blitz through the gap in the defensive line like it wasn't even there. Then he shot.

The ball flew past the Irish keeper and hit the back of the net.

1-0 Brazil, in the 5th minute.

"GOALLLLLL! A fantastic goal by Rico! Just five minutes into the game, and he's already put Brazil in the lead! What a start for the Seleção!" The commentator shouted.

While the other one added. "That was just too easy! He just ran past the defense as if they weren't even there! This is what we've been waiting for, this is what the World Cup is all about! Seeing the best young players in the world showcase their talent!"

The Brazilian fans, dressed in yellow and blue, went wild. 

Rico was hugged by his teammates, and like nothing had happened, they quickly jogged back into position. The Irish players, on the other hand, looked quite shell-shocked, even though they must've known that this wasn't going to be an easy match for them. 

I knew from experience that a team that concedes a goal this early in the game is often demoralized, and unless they have a strong mental fortitude, they can easily crumble under the pressure.

And with a team this strong, it was remarkably easy for the Brazilian players to poke and prod at the cracks of the Irish defense, until it finally shattered completely.

That happened roughly five minutes after the first goal.

With Rico's shining presence, one could forget that there was another star player in the team. Da Silva. A powerhouse that, along with Rico, was like having two unstoppable forces meeting at the same point in space and time.

Da Silva was more of a physical player, even though he could likely dribble a bit. He was tall, strong, and had a lethal shot. He was the kind of player who would break your leg if you got in his way, but he was also the kind of player who would score a hat-trick without breaking a sweat.

It was him who scored the second goal. After a series of quick passes, the ball ended up at his feet, right outside the box, with an Irish defender trying to put himself between the incoming thunderbolt and the all too squishy goalpost. A shot from this monster would either wreck the net or hospitalize the keeper.

Da Silva just shrugged the defender off and unleashed a thunderous shot that left the keeper with no chance.

2-0 Brazil, in the 10th minute.

The rest of the first half followed in the same note. There wasn't really any surprise, and despite knowing what kind of ridiculous team this was, seeing it play like this still left me reeling. And the rest of my teammates, who were watching in the common room, were probably losing their minds right now. Rico and Da Silva; they'd lead their Seleção. A star-studded team that was going to produce world class players in every single position.

If things had gone slightly different, I'd have been playing for that same exact team, now I had to wonder how we would've fared against this particular generation. While I was confident in Jun-hwan and myself to carry most of the burden, the raw truth was that when it came to the rest of the team, we were outmatched.

Perhaps one could hope for a miracle.

This was a bit demoralizing.

The first half ended, the scoreboard lighting up with an embarrassing five nill for the Brazilians. A score that was bound to overtake ours, no doubt. Our victory over New Caledonia had been an achievement, and something to be proud of on an international stage, but Brazil's second half was going to be a bloodbath, I knew it.

After a brief fifteen-minute break, the second half started.

The Irish coach must've said something to his players, because they came out with a bit more fight in them. A fight that lasted all but the following ten minutes, before Rico and Da Silva scored again, back to back, with just 2 minutes of interval between their respective goals. 7-0.

Ireland faced the same wall that Qatar did back in the final against us. 

An insurmountable wall of talent and skill that they couldn't overcome.

I could've turned off the TV right then and there, and I wouldn't have lost any surprising twist. I decided to stay till the end to see just how much they would run the score up. And they did.

The final score was 10-0. Did their coach tell them to stop, at some point? When the disparity was so big that the game was no longer a competition? Did they feel any pity for the Irish team, who had fought so hard to even be here?

They couldn’t even get a single opportunity in the entire game.

Just one shot—but even that had been a lucky powershot from way too far for it to be a threat. The brazilian’s goalkeeper should have his pay deducted because he didn’t fucking play. 

The ball had followed the same pattern of ping-ponging between Brazilian feet in the midfield, from one wing to the other, before seeking the peak of the triangle, which scored in practically almost every single occasion. 

“......”

I saw the Irish players, their heads bowed in defeat, as they walked off the pitch. Their fans, once so boisterous and full of life, were mourning their own team's funeral. 

As optimistic as one could be in such a situation, this was a heavy and demoralizing defeat for them.

I didn’t know what to think. It was a… spectacular match, for sure. But it didn’t bode particularly well for us either. 

The camera panned on Rico’s face one last time. I could see the magic in that kid’s eyes. The fun and passion of playing. This little monster had an innocence that belied his true nature. 

And we were quite possibly fucked. 

A/N: To be rev