Wildschut powered down the wing, every step fueled by urgency. He had been VVV's brightest spark all night, and now, with seconds ticking away, he refused to let this be his final act.
Marcellis, exhausted, dropped back but couldn't close the gap fast enough. Wildschut took a deep breath, squared up, and drove a cross into the 18 yard box—low, fast, dangerous.
Chris: [Whipped in! This is trouble—]
Bodies crashed together. The ball pinballed off a defender, then a striker, then skidded loose—right at Nwofor's feet.
Rob: [Nwofor! He's got a chance!]
A split-second reaction. A swing of the boot.
Thud.
The shot rocketed through the crowded 18 yard box, past outstretched legs—
And slammed into the side netting.
Chris: [Wide! Oh, he had to score!]
Rob: [That was the moment! VVV's last, best chance, and it's gone!]
Nwofor buried his head in his hands. The VVV bench slumped.
