Chapter 162: [162] "Intense training 2"
"They are playing a high line. It is probably the only way they can play us, by pinning us back," Hugo noted quietly. "Hadj and Ekberg do not possess the recovery pace to track you if we transition quickly. Let Cillian and Mallorca press high, then we bypass them."
Luc nodded. Henri blew the whistle to restart.
The Blue team took possession, and the physical reality of the midfield battle was showcased in all its glory. Cillian Doyle and Jose Mallorca operated like a pair of rabid hunting dogs. Everywhere Baini and Hugo moved, they were met. Henri watched from the touchline, keeping his whistle out of his mouth. He was letting them fight for their chance at a starting role.
Minute eight.
Baini received a pass from Aubert near the right flank. Mallorca closed him down instantly, initiating a shoulder-to-shoulder challenge that sent both men stumbling. Baini managed to toe-poke the ball backward to Klaus before hitting the turf.
Klaus took one touch, scanned the pitch, and fired a sweeping diagonal pass out to the left wing.
Dário Ferrão controlled the ball with his chest, dropping it to his feet as Marchand, the rb of the yellow team stepped up to defend. Dário didn’t rely on raw pace. He feinted inside, dropped his left shoulder, and chopped the ball down the touchline, buying half a yard of space. He whipped a curling cross into the penalty area.
Hadj and Ekberg came together in an attempt to sandwich the American striker. They were solid, dependable center-backs, but they lacked the malice of the Ligue Alpha starters Luc had been wrestling for the past month.
As the ball dropped, Hadj leaned his weight into Luc’s back, trying to disrupt his jump.
Luc engaged his core, the Physical Anchor locking his center of gravity. Hadj nearly bounced off him, failing to move Luc from his established position. Luc didn’t even leave his feet. He let the ball drop across his body, shielding it from Ekberg with his left arm, and snapped a vicious half-volley with his right boot.
The ball tore past Pinto’s outstretched glove and slammed into the bottom corner.
Goal.
Blue Team 1, Yellow Team 1.
"Good hold up play!" Baini shouted, jogging over to slap Luc’s hand.
Luc turned and jogged back. He looked at Hadj, offering a slight nod. "You have to drop your hips lower if you want to move me," Luc advised casually.
Hadj grunted, rubbing his shoulder, but absorbed the information.
The intensity escalated. With the score leveled, the 1v1 battles across the pitch became deeply personal.
On the right flank, Bachra Goza received the ball. He was desperate to make a statement after Gabriel’s early assist. The teenager isolated Zack Florez, intending to humiliate the left-back.
Bachra initiated a rapid sequence of step-overs, his feet moving in a blur, before executing a sharp croqueta to cut inside toward the penalty area.
Zack didn’t bite.
Having been humiliated by Bachra in earlier sessions, Zack had adapted. He ignored the flashy footwork entirely, keeping his eyes locked firmly on Bachra’s waist and knees. The moment the winger committed his weight to the inside cut, Zack stepped forward, planting his left foot out and executing a clean standing tackle that dispossessed the La Masia graduate.
The ball rolled safely away to Cillian.
"Not today, man," Zack breathed, adjusting his stance.
Bachra cursed under his breath, turning to track back. From the opposite wing, Gabriel let out a mocking laugh.
"Keep playing games, Bachra!" Gabriel shouted. "Maybe the grass will applaud!"
---
Minute eighteen.
The Yellow team orchestrated their second breakthrough, built entirely on gritty, unrelenting veteran experience.
Alex Sordell received the ball on the left wing. The Italian veteran didn’t possess Gabriel’s explosive speed or Bachra’s technical flair, but his football IQ was immense. He isolated Kévin Aubert, slowing the pace down. Sordell faked a cross with his left foot, causing Aubert to instinctively turn his hips to block it.
The moment Aubert committed, Sordell chopped the ball backward onto his right foot, opening up the inside channel. He drove toward the edge of the penalty box.
Instead of shooting, Sordell picked his head up and clipped a soft, rolling pass toward the penalty spot.
Idriss was heavily marked by Hernandez and Fall, completely occupying the center-backs. But Cillian Doyle had made a delayed, lung-busting run from the defensive midfield position.
The Irishman arrived completely unmarked. He wasn’t a natural goalscorer, and his technique was raw, but he attacked the ball with absolute conviction. He didn’t try to place it. He threw his entire body into a sliding strike, driving his laces through the leather.
The shot wasn’t pretty, but it was powerful. It deflected off Blažek’s shin and spun awkwardly into the back of the net.
Goal.
Yellow Team 2, Blue Team 1.
Cillian scrambled up, letting out a massive roar. He grabbed Sordell by the shoulders, shaking the veteran aggressively. "That’s how we do it! Drive it through them!"
Luc stood with his hands on his hips. The Yellow team was playing with a terrifying level of cohesion. The desire to prove they belonged in the starting eleven was overriding the superiority of the Blue team.
"They want it more," Hugo said quietly, standing next to Luc.
"We make them suffer for it," Luc replied. "Start dictating the tempo, Hugo. Cillian just ran fifty yards for that goal. He’s going to be heavy-legged for the next three minutes at least. Exploit his zone."
Hugo’s eyes flickered. He nodded once.
The match restarted. The Blue team shifted their strategy. Instead of engaging in the physical wrestling match against Mallorca, Baini and Klaus began circulating the ball rapidly, forcing the Yellow midfield to chase laterally.
Minute twenty-six.
Hugo found the pocket of space Cillian had temporarily vacated. He received a sharp pass from Klaus, turning perfectly on his first touch. He saw Bachra making a desperate run down the right flank, screaming for the ball.
Hugo shaped his body to play the sweeping diagonal pass to the teenager.
Mallorca, reading the intent, launched himself into a sliding interception to cut the passing lane off.