Chapter 122: The World Cup Begins

Arthur arrived at the iconic Allianz Arena right on schedule, flanked by Julian and Marcus. The evening air buzzed with electricity—flags waved, fans chanted in unison, and the rhythm of drums echoed throughout the stadium. This was the World Cup, and tonight, Germany was on center stage. The opening match would see hosts Germany face off against Costa Rica. For Arthur, this game carried a personal touch. Leeds United had several players called up for national duty, and in the span of a few days, many of them had gone from teammates to opponents. It was a strange feeling—watching familiar faces take the field, wearing different colors, chasing different dreams. In tonight's match, Philipp Lahm and Lukas Podolski, both key men from Arthur's Leeds United squad, were starting for Germany. Lahm had been consistent all season, a tireless engine on the flank. Podolski, with his rocket of a left foot, had matured into a dangerous forward. Arthur watched closely from the VIP section, anticipating every move with quiet pride. But there was one unexpected name on the German team sheet that caught his attention—Sebastian Deisler. In the original timeline, Deisler had missed this tournament entirely due to injuries that had plagued much of his career. But that had changed. Last year, Arthur had used a special injury-prevention card on Deisler, helping him stay fit through a tough campaign. Since then, Deisler had rediscovered his rhythm, first with Leeds, then with Liverpool. His performances had been so impressive that Jürgen Klinsmann had brought him back into the national fold, replacing Bernd Schneider in the squad. Arthur leaned back in his seat, arms folded, a satisfied grin creeping onto his face. One small decision had reshaped history—and given Deisler a second chance. The pre-match ceremony unfolded in grand fashion—fireworks, traditional performances, and loud music filled the arena. Flags from every competing nation flapped in the breeze as dancers and mascots paraded across the field. Then, as the national anthems concluded and the players took their positions, the World Cup officially kicked off. From the first whistle, Germany came flying out of the gates. In just the third minute, Miroslav Klose made a sharp diagonal run from the left, muscling past a defender before squaring it across the box. The Costa Rican backline scrambled, managing to intercept the ball. But the clearance fell straight to Torsten Frings, who took a touch before unleashing a thunderous strike from twenty-five yards. The ball swerved menacingly mid-air, only to miss the top corner by inches and ripple the top netting. The near miss drew a collective gasp from the crowd. "That one had venom!" Julian said, impressed. "Frings never takes prisoners," Arthur replied with a chuckle. "But Costa Rica won't survive if they keep giving him that much space." The Germans didn't let up. In the fifth minute, another attacking move saw Klose dart into the middle but lose control under pressure. The loose ball rolled out left, where Lahm was surging forward. Without breaking stride, he feinted inside, sending the full-back the wrong way, and then rifled a shot from the edge of the box. Time slowed as the ball curled through the air, a perfect blend of power and precision. It bent around the diving goalkeeper and crashed into the top corner. 1-0 Germany. The stadium erupted. Flags waved wildly. Fans leapt from their seats. And on the field, Lahm sprinted toward the corner flag, arms wide, his teammates mobbing him in celebration. Arthur stood and clapped with a wide smile. "What did I tell you?" he said to Marcus. "That kid's got a wand for a right foot." "Beautiful strike," Marcus nodded, clearly impressed. "Germany's not here to mess around." Julian grinned, "Think Lahm will be worth even more after this tournament?" Arthur smirked. "I wouldn't be surprised if Bayern try to bring him back again. But they'll have to pay double now." As the players reset and the Costa Rican team regrouped, Arthur sat back, eyes focused, already breaking down the plays in his head. He wasn't just a fan tonight—he was a club owner, watching his investments perform on the biggest stage in football. And so far, they were shining. *** The crowd at the Allianz Arena had barely settled from Lahm's wonder goal when the game roared back into action. Germany wasn't content with a 1–0 lead—they wanted to put on a show. And with Schweinsteiger pulling the strings in midfield, it didn't take long for another golden chance to arrive. In the 9th minute, Bastian Schweinsteiger picked up the ball near the touchline on the left and glided past his marker. With a quick glance, he spotted Klose darting between the center-backs. He cut inside and sliced a brilliant through ball behind the Costa Rican backline. Klose broke through perfectly, just beating the offside trap. "Here we go again!" Arthur muttered, leaning forward in anticipation. Klose surged into the box, but the Costa Rican goalkeeper, José Porras, wasn't caught sleeping. He rushed off his line with perfect timing, throwing himself at the striker's feet and smothering the ball just as Klose prepared to shoot. Julian exhaled loudly beside Arthur. "That should've been two." But Germany weren't done yet. Just seconds later, they were back pressing high. Klose, still hungry from the missed chance, chased down a loose ball near the edge of the penalty area and managed to toe-poke it away from a hesitant defender. Deisler, charging in from the right, snatched it with a burst of pace and slipped inside the box. Arthur's heart jumped. But instead of picking his spot, Deisler opted for power and blasted it straight at Porras. The ball thudded off the keeper's chest and was cleared frantically by the defense. "Agh, too greedy," Marcus grumbled. "Should've placed it." "Yeah," Arthur nodded, "but at least he's getting into those positions. That's already two big chances." Then came the twist. In the 12th minute, Costa Rica launched a quick counter from the right. Wanchope dropped into midfield, held up the ball with strength, and then peeled forward. Gómez, timing his pass to perfection, delivered a first-touch through ball with his left foot that cut straight through Germany's high line. Suddenly, Wanchope was clean through, galloping toward the goal with Lehmann charging out. Arthur sat up sharply. Wanchope didn't panic. One cool touch, and then he passed it smoothly into the bottom left corner. 1–1. Costa Rica had equalized. For a split second, the Allianz Arena fell into stunned silence—then erupted, this time from the 4,000 Costa Rican fans clustered in one corner, waving flags and screaming their hearts out. "No way!" Julian exclaimed. Arthur gave a low whistle. "That was clinical. Completely against the run of play, but they took their moment." It was a sucker punch to the German team, who had looked in complete control. But they didn't crumble. In fact, they struck back almost immediately. Five minutes later, in the 17th minute, Deisler made amends. Taking the ball on the right wing, he executed a sharp turn that left his marker spinning. Reaching the byline, he cut the ball back with precision toward the penalty spot. Schweinsteiger, always alert, collected the ball and danced past a lunging tackle before laying it off toward the far post. Klose was already there, sliding in at full stretch and guiding the ball into the net with the outside of his boot. 2–1 Germany. The stadium roared again—this match was quickly turning into a thriller. "Klose doesn't miss from there," Arthur said with a grin. "He's always in the right place." Fans were on their feet, the energy inside the stadium infectious. The early flurry of goals had lit a fire under everyone, and the tempo stayed high. In the 22nd minute, Germany threatened again. Schweinsteiger floated a teasing ball from the left, and Podolski met it with a powerful volley from just outside the box. But it flew straight into the arms of Porras, who did well to hold onto it under pressure. "Podolski's warming up," Julian said. "Next time, he'll bury that." By the 39th minute, Germany were pushing hard for a third. After Deisler was fouled just outside the penalty area, they won a direct free kick. Podolski stepped up with purpose. He whipped it over the wall with pace and dip, and for a moment, it looked destined for the top corner. But it flew just a few inches too high, grazing the top of the net. "Close," Arthur muttered. "Would've been a beauty." As the first half wound down, the referee finally blew the whistle, signaling the end to an exhilarating opening forty-five minutes. Germany led 2–1, but Costa Rica had shown they weren't going to be pushovers. Arthur stretched his legs, glanced around at the buzzing stadium, and smiled. This tournament had just begun—but if this first half was anything to go by, the drama was only getting started. *** The second half began under the bright lights of the Allianz Arena, with the crowd buzzing from a thrilling first 45 minutes. Germany held a narrow 2–1 lead, but it was clear both teams still had plenty to say in this opening World Cup match. Arthur leaned back in his seat, arms crossed as the players returned to the pitch. Julian was already back to nervously chewing his fingernails. Marcus, ever the optimist, grinned and said, "I've got a feeling we're about to see fireworks." He wasn't wrong. Germany kicked off with immediate intensity, and within moments, they carved out a golden chance. Deisler, ever the livewire on the right, slipped in a sharp pass to the edge of the box. Podolski took it in stride and didn't hesitate—he swung his left foot and let fly. The ball roared toward goal, only to sail just over the crossbar. Arthur exhaled sharply and shook his head with a crooked smile. "Podolski's cursed today. Everything's right except the finish." Julian chuckled. "He's hitting everything except the target." Despite the near miss, Germany stayed in control. Their midfield trio of Frings, Schweinsteiger, and Ballack continued to dictate the tempo, switching play effortlessly and probing the flanks. Costa Rica defended with grit, but cracks were starting to show. In the 60th minute, the breakthrough came. Frings collected the ball just past midfield and drove forward. Spotting Lahm making a run down the left, he threaded a clean pass into space. Lahm, completely unmarked, took a perfect first touch and charged toward the byline. He didn't panic. After a quick glance into the box, he whipped a teasing low cross into the danger area. A Costa Rican defender got a faint touch at the near post, but instead of clearing it, the ball redirected—straight to Klose at the back post. The striker reacted in a flash. His initial header was parried brilliantly by the keeper, but Klose was quickest to the rebound, poking it into the far corner with his right foot. 3–1. The Allianz erupted again. German flags waved furiously as Klose wheeled away in celebration, fists pumping. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Clinical. That's what world-class forwards do." With a two-goal cushion, Germany looked to be cruising. The pace slowed slightly as they began to conserve energy, but Costa Rica had other plans. They weren't going home quietly. In the 72nd minute, they struck again. The move started from the middle. Centeno, cool under pressure, spotted a narrow channel through Germany's high line. With a delicate touch of his right foot, he played a perfectly timed through ball behind the center-backs. Wanchope, already on the move, latched onto it. Arthur sat forward instantly. "Not again..." It was déjà vu. Wanchope, now one-on-one with Lehmann for the second time in the match, showed remarkable composure. He didn't blast it. Instead, he calmly rolled the ball into the bottom corner past the advancing keeper. 3–2. The Costa Rican fans exploded. Flags flew, drums pounded, and the tension in the stadium shot up. "You've got to hand it to them," Marcus said, nodding. "They're fearless." Arthur frowned. "Germany's defense is looking shaky when pushed. They need to close this out." And close it they did—but not before giving fans one final moment of magic. Germany, stung by the goal, turned the pressure back on. Schweinsteiger and Deisler buzzed around the box, testing the Costa Rican defense repeatedly, but chances kept slipping just wide or getting blocked at the last second. Then came the 86th minute. Germany won a free kick near midfield. Schweinsteiger, always one for clever deliveries, floated a low, driven ball into the center. The Costa Rican defense failed to clear it properly, and the ball fell to Frings, who had arrived late on the edge of the area. No hesitation. He struck it with venom. The ball screamed through the air like a bullet, swerving viciously before slamming into the top corner. 4–2. Arthur let out an impressed whistle. "Now that's a hit." The stadium exploded once more. Fans leapt out of their seats, roaring with approval. Germany had sealed it in spectacular fashion. The final minutes ticked down, and Costa Rica, despite their fighting spirit, had nothing left. After four minutes of stoppage time, the referee brought the curtain down on a thrilling opener. Full-time: Germany 4, Costa Rica 2. Fans around the world had just witnessed a six-goal thriller—one that set the perfect tone for the tournament ahead. Arthur remained in his seat for a moment, arms resting on his knees, eyes scanning the pitch. Lahm had been outstanding. Podolski was dangerous despite his luck, and Deisler had shown flashes of brilliance. Julian nudged him. "Thinking about Leeds?" Arthur gave a small smile. "Always." After all, the better they played... the higher their value climbed.