St. James' Park in December is a hostile, freezing cauldron. Newcastle United's stadium is loud enough to rattle your teeth, and the fans show zero mercy to teams fighting relegation.
It was the 78th minute. The freezing rain was mixing with sleet, turning the pitch into an ice rink.
Blackburn Rovers were hanging on by a thread. The score was 1-1.
Rio had scored Blackburn's only goal in the first half—a breathtaking Zero-State Strike from twenty-five yards out that completely silenced the Newcastle crowd. But since that moment, Rio had barely seen the opposing half of the pitch.
Because Blackburn couldn't keep the ball, Rio was forced to drop back. The Premier League's second-highest goalscorer was currently playing as an emergency defensive midfielder, throwing his heavily muscled body in front of shots just to keep his team alive.
His lungs were burning. His thighs felt like lead.
"Push up! Push the line up!" Rio screamed, his voice cracking as he desperately tried to organize the terrified Blackburn defense.
Davies, covered in mud and gasping for air, shook his head. "We can't! They're too fast on the counter!"
The Blackburn players were completely pinned inside their own penalty box, surviving purely on luck and frantic clearances.
In the 82nd minute, the luck ran out.
A Newcastle winger danced past the exhausted Blackburn full-back and whipped a vicious, curling cross into the box.
It was a dangerous ball, but it was at a comfortable height for Davies to clear. All the giant center-back had to do was put his head through it and send it into the stands.
But Davies hesitated.
His Wall aura, which had been so impenetrable in the Championship, was completely shattered. He second-guessed his timing. He took half a step backward instead of attacking the ball.
That half-step was a death sentence in the Premier League.
The ball skimmed off the top of Davies's head, completely throwing off the Blackburn goalkeeper, and deflected agonizingly into the back of his own net.
An own goal. 2-1 Newcastle.
The stadium erupted in a deafening roar of mockery. Davies fell to his knees in the freezing sleet, burying his face in his muddy hands.
Rio stood on the edge of the penalty box, his chest heaving. The cold apathy of the Zero-State completely fractured, replaced by a blinding, white-hot rage.
He didn't walk over to console his center-back. He sprinted at him.
"Get up!" Rio roared, grabbing the front of Davies's jersey and hauling the giant man to his feet. "What was that?! You ducked! You literally ducked in your own box!"
Davies pushed Rio away, his eyes wide and panicked. "I lost the flight of the ball! Back off, kid!"
"You lost your spine!" Rio screamed back, completely losing control on live television. The cameras zoomed in on the altercation. "I am running eighty yards to defend for you, and you score in our own net!"
Briggs, the veteran captain, ran over and violently shoved himself between them. "Shut your mouth, Rio! We win as a team, we lose as a team!"
"We aren't a team!" Rio sneered, looking around at the exhausted, defeated faces of the Blackburn players. "You're a bunch of cowards waiting for the season to end!"
The referee ran over, blowing his whistle frantically and flashing a yellow card in Rio's face for dissent.
The final eight minutes of the match were a formality. Blackburn's spirit was dead. Rio didn't make another run. He didn't track back. He stood near the center circle, a lone, furious figure in the freezing rain, completely disconnected from the ten men wearing the same shirt as him.
The final whistle blew. Another loss.
The bus ride back to Lancashire was entirely silent.
Nobody looked at Rio. Nobody spoke to him. The fracture was complete. He had publicly humiliated his own captain and center-back on national television.
When the bus finally pulled into the training facility at 2:00 AM, Rio grabbed his bag and walked to his car without a single word.
He drove to his empty, dark apartment. He didn't turn on the lights. He didn't take off his wet tracksuit.
He sat on the edge of his sofa, the silence of the room pressing against his ears. He turned on the television, muting the volume.
The sports news channels were already tearing him apart.
TOXIC WONDERKID: Rio's Meltdown Tears Rovers Apart.
THE MACHINE IS BROKEN: Is Rio Too Arrogant for a Relegation Fight?
They showed the replay of him grabbing Davies by the shirt. Over and over again.
Rio stared at the screen. His muscles ached, and his right knee throbbed from the unnatural strain of the Zero-State Strike. He had given Blackburn everything. He had broken his body in the weight room for them. He had won them promotion. He had scored half their goals this season.
And they called him toxic because he refused to accept defeat.
Rio reached into the pocket of his wet tracksuit jacket. He pulled out the waterproof business card he had taken from the agent at the training ground.
Elias.
Rio looked at the card. He thought about Leo, thousands of miles away, dictating flawless victories and building an empire.
I am a God trapped in a cage of mortals, Rio thought, the dark smoke of his Will flaring to life in the dark apartment, not with rage, but with a cold, absolute resolve.
He picked up his phone and dialed the number.
It rang exactly twice.
"I wondered how long it would take you to call," Elias's smooth voice echoed through the speaker. "Did you enjoy the mud at St. James' Park tonight?"
"Get me out," Rio said, his voice completely dead of emotion.
Elias chuckled softly. "The January transfer window opens in three weeks. Blackburn will fight it. They will demand an extortionate fee. It will be ugly, Machine. The fans who love you right now will burn your jersey in the streets."
"Let them burn it," Rio replied, his eyes locked on the muted television screen. "I don't play for applause anymore. I play for the top."
"Good," Elias said, the predatory edge returning to his tone. "Pack your bags, kid. I'm sending a contract over tonight. We are going to London."