Chapter 207: [207] "Deadlocked..."
The stadium was still vibrating from the sequence seconds prior. Bense Baini’s lethal strike had been denied only by the skull of a desperate Nantaise center-back, keeping the scoreline deadlocked at zero-zero.
Hugo took four measured steps backward. He raised his right arm, signaling the tactical routine to the mass of black and gold jerseys crowding the Olympique Nantaise penalty area.
Inside the eighteen-yard box, the physical wrestling match reached its peak. Idriss Konaté was actively backing his massive frame into the opposing goalkeeper, attempting to limit the keeper’s range of motion.
Kévin Aubert and Gabriel Assis hovered near the edge of the box, ready to recycle any poor clearances.
Leo Hernandez and Amadou Fall had pushed up from their defensive halves, injecting their aerial presence into the scrum.
The referee blew a short trill on his whistle, pointing at an aggressive shirt-tug occurring near the penalty spot, before backing away and authorizing the corner kick.
Hugo initiated his run-up. He planted his left foot firmly and whipped his right instep across the ball, generating a vicious, in-swinging trajectory aimed at the near post.
Leo Hernandez read the flight path. The Valois center-back disengaged from his marker, executing a sharp, looping run to attack the space at the near post. He leaped, throwing his forehead toward the dropping ball.
But the Nantaise defensive line had anticipated the near-post routine.
A towering Nantaise center-back, the same veteran who had just absorbed Baini’s shot with his face, stepped into Hernandez’s path. The defender didn’t jump with grace...infact it was anything but. He utilized raw, blunt force, driving his shoulder into Hernandez’s while airborne. The leverage advantage was necessary as the Nantaise defender towered over the Valois center-back, arriving at the ball a full second earlier.
He snapped his neck forward, executing a massive, clearing header.
𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞
The ball didn’t simply pop out to the edge of the box. It rocketed upward and outward, clearing the entire penalty area, soaring through the crowded midfield, and dropping into the vast, empty expanse of the center circle.
Up in the executive suite, Luc Beaumont’s hands tightened on the glass of sparkling water. The temperature in his veins dropped instantly.
"They’re completely exposed," Luc stated, his voice devoid of any inflection.
Because of Pinto, the Valois defensive line had operated deep for the entire first half. But for the corner kick, Hernandez and Amadou Fall had been forced to push forward into the opposition box. Klaus Becker and Bense Baini had also crept higher to sustain the offensive pressure.
The clearance soared past all of them.
The ball bounced heavily on the turf near the halfway line.
A solitary figure in a white and green away kit was waiting for it. The lone Nantaise striker, who had spent the last forty-three minutes starved of service, isolated against the deep Valois backline, found himself standing in acres of uncontested space.
The striker trapped the clearance perfectly off his chest, dropping the ball to his laces. He turned his shoulders toward the SC Valois goal.
There was no defensive line waiting for him. There was no holding midfielder positioned to delay his run. There was only Pinto, standing yards away, anchored firmly to the white chalk of his goal line.
The Nantaise striker accelerated almost immediately.
The stadium’s roar inverted into a unified intake of breath. Thousands of supporters and rivals alike instantly realized the catastrophic vulnerability of the Valois defence at the mercy of the counter-attack.
Down on the touchline, Coach Henri stepped out of his technical area. The manager stood frozen, then began shouting frantically and waving his arms, he was watching a nightmare unfold. The high-risk possession structure had finally snapped. It was bound to do so, but atleast he hoped they would have converted enough chances before then.
The striker crossed the halfway line, his cleats tearing into the grass. He was a veteran forward, lacking explosive, world-class pace, but he possessed the ball control required to carry it at a dead sprint without breaking his stride. He drove straight down the center, angling his run slightly to the right to open up a clear shooting angle.
Behind him, the Valois recovery effort initiated.
Klaus Becker and Bense Baini attempted to turn and sprint, but the toll of covering the stretched midfield for forty-three minutes betrayed them. Their legs were heavy and they couldn’t do much to stop him at their distance. They had spent the entire half sprinting extra yards anyway.
They could not close the distance.
But Amadou Fall could.
The towering Senegalese center-back had started his recovery run the exact second the Nantaise header made clearing contact with the ball. Amadou wasn’t exactly known for his aerial dominance and his physical strength, it was his top sprint speed that was a closely guarded weapon. Once he achieved full momentum, he was undeniably one of the fastest center-backs in Ligue Alpha.
He was about to show why Valérie poached him.
Amadou covered the ground with terrifying, ground-eating strides. His arms pumped furiously, his eyes locked dead onto the back of the Nantaise striker.
"Get there, Amadou," Luc commanded, leaning his weight heavily onto his single crutch. "Run."
Valérie Laurent stood up, she was silent, her posture rigid as she watched the footrace develop on the grass below.
The striker reached the edge, thirty yards from the Valois goal.
Amadou was closing the gap. The distance shrank from fifteen yards, to ten yards, to five yards. The center-back’s physical mass generated an audible thud against the turf with every footstep. He was hunting the forward down, angling his pursuit to force the striker wider, away from the immediate vicinity of the goalmouth.
The Nantaise striker checked his shoulder. He saw the Valois defender arriving like a freight train.
They breached the edge of the eighteen-yard box.
Amadou knew he could not afford to let the striker take another touch. If the forward entered the penalty area cleanly, Pinto would be at his mercy. The center-back committed.