Chapter 111: The quarterfinal storm
After La Liga action came the Copa del Rey quarterfinals.
The Copa del Rey, also known as the King’s Cup.
It wasn’t Europe, it wasn’t the grandeur of La Liga, but in Spain, this tournament carried fire in its veins. It was the cup of surprises, the graveyard of complacent giants, and the proving ground of legends.
Now, with the quarterfinals upon them, the question was whispered across every tavern and shouted in every press conference:
Would Barcelona and Madrid march on, or would the cup demand blood?
The draw set sparks flying.
Villarreal would take on FC Barcelona at La Cerámica, a tight, feverish ground that rattled with yellow fury.
As for Real Madrid, it was another home game for them as they would welcome Real Betis at the Bernabeu, reigniting a clash of historic Andalusian flair against the empire of white.
So long as FC Barcelona and Real Madrid were involved, Spanish media snapped like ravenous Hawks as they feasted on it instantly.
*"Villarreal have nothing to lose — Barça beware."
*"Betis know Madrid well enough to sting them."
*"This is the round where giants stumble."
This wasn’t just pure journalism anymore. Rather, it was a wish; the world wanted Real Madrid and Barcelona to fall and that ramped up the anticipation.
The whole world wanted to see an upset.
...
In Barcelona’s camp, the tension was different.
La Cerámica wasn’t just a stadium, it was a trap waiting to snap shut.
Hansi Flick drilled his men in short, high-intensity bursts. "They will foul you, they will harass you, they will break your rhythm. But make sure you stay sharp!"
"No cheap turnovers, no lazy runs. Sam," his sharp eyes locked on Moses, "you must protect yourself. They will come for you."
Sam nodded, his jaw tight. A rewatch of Villarreal’s most recent games would tell him why his coach specifically warned him to protect himself.
Villarreal were slowly building a reputation for themselves as dirtbags; their defenders were famous this season for rough handling opposition attacking stars. They went as far as going for reckless tackles, and Hansi Flick was wary of that.
Lamine Yamal slapped Sam’s back. "Relax, we’ve got your back".
Raphinha chimed in with a grin. "Besides, I’m due a hat trick".
The squad laughed, but the tension lingered.
They all knew Villarreal smelled blood.
...
In Madrid’s Camp at Valdebebas, the mood was sharper, almost arrogant as
Xabi Alonso clicked through footage of Betis’ defensive line.
"They press high when desperate, that’s when we kill them." His eyes scanned Vinícius, Mbappé, and Rodrygo. "Patience," he gestured with his hand for emphasis. "They will tire, and that’s when we strike."
Bellingham leaned forward. "What about Isco?"
Isco, former Madridista now reborn in Betis green was a revelation for Real Betis in the past seasons; he was a threat.
Xabi smiled thinly. "We remind him why he left".
The locker room burst into chuckles, the tension easing. For Madrid, the Copa was a trophy, but also a rehearsal. It was a chance to show the world they were merciless, even against a proud Andalusian side.
...
D-day came fast.
La Cerámica in Villarreal was a battlefront as yellow flags fluttered like wildfire in the stands, the compact bowl vibrating with energy.
"¡Sí se puede!" The home fans roared at the top of their lungs.
Yes, it’s possible. They believed in a giant-killing.
At the Santiago Bernabéu in Madrid, floodlights lit the stadium like a cathedral as 80,000 Madridistas roared in unison, white scarves swirling in the stands. This was their temple, and they demanded victory.
Once again, the two giants gathered in two different stadiums, creating a spectacle of two storms about to collide.
FWEEE!
In La Ceramica, from the first whistle, Villarreal played like men possessed.
Every touch Sam took was met with a snapping tackle, and every dribble was hacked down by cynical fouls. The referee’s whistle became a drumbeat, but the crowd roared with approval each time they brought the Nigerian down.
In the 12th minute, the moment that froze hearts arrived as Sam danced past two markers, sliding into the box, when Jorge Cuenca lunged in recklessly.
The tackle clattered into Sam’s ankle, sending him sprawling as gasps ripped through the air.
Kayla, watching at home clutched her chest in shock. Enraged, Hansi Flick leapt from his technical area.
Sam rolled on the pitch, teeth clenched in pain, but then... he stood.
He was limping, yes, but standing.
"I’m fine!" He barked, waving off the physios as his eyes became blood-red.
He glared at the defender who brought him down even as his teammates rallied around him, rage etched into their faces.
The match rolled on, frantic and ugly as Villarreal pressed higher, feeding Nico Jackson and Yeremy Pino on the counter.
In the 31st minute, their persistence and ugly play finally cracked Barcelona open as a cross zipped through the box, and Gerard Moreno smashed it home from close range.
1–0 Villarreal.
BOOM!
La Cerámica exploded.
But Barcelona’s pride surged after that as Lamine Yamal erupted and began to weave, tormenting defenders with his electric dribbling, and drawing fouls with every movement that he made.
In the 42nd minute, Sam dropped deep and spun past two midfielders, before threading a pass into Raphinha.
The Brazilian hammered low into the far corner.
1–1. Barça level.
"Come on!" Raphinha roared.
Halftime arrived with whistles and boos raining down on Barcelona as Sam limped toward the tunnel. The score was level, but the storm was far from over.
...
On the other side at the Santiago Bernabeu...
FWEEE!
The Bernabéu pulsed like a living thing as soon as the game started as Madrid swarmed Betis from the start, but the Andalusians weren’t intimidated.
Isco, reborn and brilliant, danced through midfield with the ball anytime he got it, orchestrating Betis’ blitzing counters.
And then, against the run of play, it happened in the 19th minute of the game as Real Betis stunned the stadium.
A quick break saw Anthony cut inside, firing a curling strike into the top corner.
0–1 Betis.
Gasps filled the cathedral. Could Betis dare?
But Madrid’s response was thunderous.
Just 5 minutes later in the 24th minute, Vinícius danced past two markers with electric pace before chipping a cross toward Mbappé, who nodded it down for Bellingham to smash in the rebound.
1–1.
Madrid answered with fire and the stadium exhaled in relief.
After that, the first half descended into chaos as Real Betis pressed high, nearly catching Courtois off guard twice.
Valverde roared his men forward, unleashing one of his trademark rockets in the 37th minute, only for Rui Silva to tip it wide.
Halftime came with tension still thick. 1–1.
The Bernabéu demanded more.
...
At La Cerámica, Hansi Flick’s face was thunder as he hounded his players. "They’re hunting you, Sam! Be smart, don’t let pride get you hurt".
Sam nodded, sweat dripping down his face. "They want me scared," he shook his head. "I’m not giving them that."
At the Bernabéu, Alonso was calm, almost amused. "They’ve given us space. They don’t know it yet, but they’re already dead".
"Be patient, then kill them".
Two giants... two draws at halftime...
Two storms waiting to break.