However, the exact second the second half began...
The first person to receive a brutal lesson was Lorik Cana.
Lazio had confidently assumed that Atlético Madrid would entirely park the bus and defend their lead, especially considering their massive two-away-goal advantage.
They were completely wrong.
The moment the referee's whistle blew to restart the match...
Atlético immediately launched a devastating, high-tempo offensive blitz.
Receiving the ball just outside the penalty area, Shane executed a sudden, lightning-fast pivot, effortlessly sidestepping Cana, who had violently overcommitted to the press.
Realizing he had completely overshot his target, Cana desperately tried to hit the brakes and spin around to recover. But in his frantic panic, his cleats lost traction on the turf.
He slipped and face-planted spectacularly into the grass.
From the dirt, all Cana could do was watch helplessly as Shane, now completely unmarked less than two yards away from him, opened his hips and pulled the trigger.
The ball rocketed low and hard, skimming the turf as it zipped cleanly into the bottom corner of the net.
The goal plunged the entire Stadio Olimpico into absolute, suffocating silence.
"3-1! Atlético Madrid grabs their third away goal of the night! Shane Carter scores his very first goal in European competition!"
Thousands of miles away, inside the Fox Sports studio, Ian Darke's voice crackled with excitement.
Across the United States, fans were celebrating wildly as the American prodigy continued to cement his status on the continental stage.
But back inside the stadium...
Lorik Cana's brain was completely engulfed by an all-consuming inferno of rage.
As Shane jogged away to celebrate, Cana swore the teenager had deliberately glanced down at him lying in the dirt, his eyes practically dripping with mocking pity.
He was the "Murder Machine." He had spent eleven years terrorizing the top leagues in Europe.
Who the hell did this arrogant, eighteen-year-old kid think he was?
Cana absolutely refused to allow himself to be humiliated on his own pitch like this. Defensively, the kid wasn't intimidated by his violence, frequently besting him in physical duels. And offensively, it didn't even need to be discussed—Cana had been completely reduced to a helpless background extra in the kid's highlight reel.
When play finally resumed...
Cana began obsessively hunting for an opportunity to exact his revenge.
Since Shane was the absolute focal point of Atlético's offense, Cana knew the opportunity would present itself soon enough.
Shane received the ball and began driving forward through the midfield.
Cana immediately stepped up to meet him head-on.
Come on, kid! Let's finish this!
Fuck! Why did you pass it?!
Just before Cana reached striking distance, Shane casually slipped the ball sideways to Koke.
Without breaking stride, Shane immediately initiated a diagonal, overlapping run into the space Cana had just vacated.
Koke instantly understood the sequence and threaded a perfectly weighted return pass directly into Shane's path.
Perfect!
Cana saw his opening. He violently changed direction, launching himself into a terrifying, two-footed flying challenge from a diagonal angle.
Shane instantly sensed the murderous, aggressive aura rapidly closing in on him.
Reacting entirely on instinct, he instantly poked the ball a few inches forward and initiated a slight, evasive jump.
The very millisecond his cleats left the grass...
Cana's boots came violently scything through the space.
The tackle completely wiped Shane out.
Shane's body lost all center of gravity in mid-air. However, because he had successfully initiated the jump a fraction of a second prior to the impact, Cana's studs merely violently collided with the hard plastic of his shin guards and the rigid structure of his boot, rather than severely twisting the fragile ligaments of his ankle.
But the sheer visual optics of the crash were absolutely terrifying.
Shane was launched into the air, and to safely dissipate the kinetic energy of the impact upon landing, he was forced to execute several rapid, violent barrel rolls across the turf.
"Oh! Danger!!"
Watching the monitor in the booth, the commentators couldn't help but gasp in horror.
Fans watching from Madrid to New York felt their stomachs violently drop.
After executing three consecutive rolls to successfully kill his momentum, Shane prepared to pop back to his feet. But before he could even flex a muscle... Falcao had already sprinted over and practically crash-tackled him back down.
Falcao aggressively pinned Shane's shoulders to the grass. "Stay down. Stay exactly where you are. Just watch... this is going to be absolute cinema."
The rest of the Atlético players immediately executed their assigned roles with military precision.
Some aggressively swarmed Cana: "Are you trying to play football or commit actual homicide?! If you want to fight, go join the UFC!"
Others immediately surrounded the referee: "That is a severe, malicious foul! He intentionally tried to break his leg!"
Everyone on the pitch knew the exact stakes.
Cana was already carrying a yellow card.
If they could successfully pressure the referee into producing a second yellow, the Albanian would be sent off.
With Lazio reduced to ten men, Atlético could completely lock down the victory, potentially score even more goals, and mathematically kill off any lingering suspense for the second leg in Madrid.
Pinned firmly to the turf by Falcao...
Shane listened as the Colombian striker began frantically screaming for the medical staff. "Doc! Doc! Get out here!"
Shane found the entire situation incredibly hilarious.
His acting skills were genuinely atrocious, and he could feel the corners of his mouth violently twitching as he desperately tried to suppress a smile.
Fortunately, absolutely no one was looking at him right now.
Every single camera and pair of eyes in the stadium was either focused on the referee or the massive shoving match surrounding Cana.
While the two squads were aggressively pushing and shoving each other...
Atlético's head physician, Ronald, sprinted onto the pitch clutching his medical bag.
He slid into the grass next to Shane.
"Ankle pain?"
He began rapidly palpating and pressing along the joint.
"No pain."
"Try rotating it for me."
Ronald stared intensely as Shane effortlessly executed a series of smooth, perfectly fluid ankle rotations. The doctor remained silent for two long seconds.
"This isn't right. You are perfectly healthy. Your joint is completely fluid and displays absolutely zero symptoms of a high-velocity impact... does anything hurt at all?"
"Nope..." Shane finally couldn't hold it in anymore. "I'm not injured at all."
"Then why the hell have you been lying here like a corpse for three min— Ohhh~~" The team doctor suddenly realized the tactical reality.
"You absolute, cunning little bastard."
Shane opened his mouth defensively.
I wanted to get up!
Falcao physically assaulted me to keep me down!
I am innocent!
"Brilliant work."
The doctor patted his shoulder affectionately and gave him a highly exaggerated wink.
"That psycho is getting sent off."
Shane turned his head to look at the escalating chaos.
He immediately saw the referee aggressively holding up a second yellow card, swiftly followed by the red, pointing firmly toward the tunnel and expelling Cana from the pitch.
For Lorik Cana...
This specific match had been an unmitigated disaster.
He had been repeatedly, publicly humiliated by an eighteen-year-old kid. He had entirely failed to establish dominance in his absolute best discipline—pure physical violence.
And as the ultimate punishment, he had just been sent off.
He had lost this war comprehensively.
As he turned around in sheer frustration to begin the long walk of shame...
He happened to glance back. He saw Shane Carter easily pop up from the turf, laughing casually with the team doctor, before casually unscrewing a water bottle and taking a long, refreshing drink.
Looking at the kid...
It was glaringly obvious he hadn't sustained a single scratch.
The sheer, blinding rage became too much to bear. As Cana stormed off the pitch, he violently kicked a stray water bottle, sending water splashing directly across the face of Lazio manager Edy Reja.
Reja's expression darkened considerably.
This match had mutated into an absolute nightmare for Lazio.
They were actually having a phenomenal season domestically, actively fighting their bitter rivals, Roma, for a top-four finish to secure Champions League football next year.
Naturally...
The Lazio board absolutely wouldn't mind advancing deep into the Europa League either, primarily because hosting European knockout matches generated massive ticket revenue...
Therefore, they had deployed their absolute strongest squad tonight, intending to secure a dominant home victory to make the away leg in Madrid significantly easier.
Instead...
Their primary enforcer was sent off.
They were trailing by two goals.
And they had conceded three catastrophic away goals to the opposition...
It was an absolute, unmitigated disaster.
Reja watched Shane casually jog back onto the pitch alongside the doctor.
If Lazio had lost this match, they had lost it almost entirely because of that American kid. The sheer intelligence and tactical maturity he displayed... it was genuinely terrifying to remember he was only eighteen years old.
...
With Cana permanently removed from the equation...
Atlético Madrid smelled blood in the water.
Simeone immediately executed a ruthless tactical substitution.
He pulled off defensive midfielder Mario Suárez and brought on striker Adrián López.
Remove a holding midfielder, add an attacker.
The tactical directive was brutally clear:
Execute them while they're bleeding.
Simeone wanted to completely eradicate any mathematical meaning from the second leg.
After all, the opponent was down to ten men.
It would be a tactical sin to waste such a massive, glaring advantage.
Atlético completely hijacked the tempo, operating as if they were the home team, and initiated wave after wave of relentless attacks.
In the sixty-third minute.
The fourth goal arrived.
Operating just outside the penalty area, Shane initiated a violent, rapid one-two combination with Adrián, slicing into the right side of the penalty area. Without taking a touch to settle himself, Shane delicately chipped the ball toward the far post.
The ball perfectly floated over the desperately leaping goalkeeper and dropped cleanly into the side netting.
4-1!
Atlético Madrid officially locked down the victory.
And that remained the final score when the referee blew his whistle.
The exact second the match concluded...
Every single broadcast camera immediately locked onto Shane Carter.
He was, without a shadow of a doubt, the undisputed Man of the Match.
On the screen...
Shane raised his arms, hugging his teammates and celebrating the massive European victory.
Securing a 4-1 away win meant that their progression to the Europa League Round of 16 was virtually guaranteed.
Could this current Lazio squad genuinely travel to the Calderón and win 4-0?
It was highly improbable they possessed the offensive firepower to even attempt it.
Furthermore...
Not only was Cana suspended for the return leg following his red card...
Miroslav Klose had also been substituted midway through the second half with an apparent muscle strain.
Lazio had instantly lost two of their most crucial starters.
Realistically, Lazio's only remaining priority should be frantically preserving their league form.
...
[DING! Match Concluded. Calculating Match Performance...]
[Match Intensity: Hard. Match Rating: Excellent]
[DING! Congratulations! You have received the post-match reward: Lazio - Legendary Randomized Chest]
Shane's eyes instantly lit up with intense anticipation.
Wait.
Who were the legendary players that historically played for Lazio?
"Open Chest."
[DING! Congratulations! You have obtained: S-Tier Legend. The Mobster Midfielder: Diego Simeone's Interception Machine Module!]
[Initiate Integration?]
At that exact moment...
Diego Simeone came violently sprinting onto the pitch. Shane threw his arms wide, embracing his manager in a massive, celebratory hug.
Shane looked over Simeone's shoulder toward the stands.
Tsk.
Who would have ever guessed...
I would literally loot my own manager's DNA.
"Integrate!"
[DING! Your attributes have increased.]
[Tackling]: 77 ➔ 88
[Interceptions]: 76 ➔ 89
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