Left stick. Sprint. Feint.
He pressed Start.
Leo’s avatar slid to his knees, arms spread wide. The digital Ronaldo from the start screen ran over and leaped onto his back. The stadium was a supernova of white confetti and synthetic joy. pes 2013 start screen
“Come on,” Leo whispered, his voice a dry rasp. His nurse, Marta, paused in the doorway with his evening meds. She knew better than to interrupt. She watched from the dark hall. Left stick
This is it, he thought. The last kick.