Chapter 161: [161] "Intense training"
Saturday morning. SC Valois training complex.
The air hanging over was sharp and thin, biting at the exposed skin of the players as they filed out of the warmth of the locker room. The usual pre-training chatter about weekend plans or cars was absent.
The next day, Sunday would be Matchday 25 against FC Belleville. The tactical blueprint had been laid out by Coach during his unsolicited mid-week calls to training, and now he had spent the entire morning session drilling the specific instructions and channels they intended to exploit.
But drills against mannequins did not simulate the reality of Ligue Alpha.
Henri stood in the center of the primary training pitch, blowing his whistle.
"Eleven versus eleven," Henri announced. He held a clipboard, though he didn’t look at it. "Full pitch. Full Match intensity. I want a minimum of ninety percent output. If you hold back, you go inside and run on the treadmill for two hours nonstop."
The assistant coaches had already distributed the colored bibs.
Luc pulled the blue bib over his head. He looked around at his squad. The Blue team was the designated starting eleven for tomorrow’s fixture...though things could change.
Tomáš Blažek stood in goal.
The back four consisted of Kévin Aubert on the right, Thierry Owusu on the left, with Leo Hernandez and Amadou Fall anchoring the central defense.
The midfield trio was the matchday standard, battle-tested and battle-proven one, Klaus Becker holding, Bense Baini operating box-to-box, and Hugo Blanc sitting at the apex.
Up top, Bachra Goza occupied the right wing, Dário Ferrão took the left, and Luc stood in the center.
It was a Champions League-caliber lineup.
Then, Luc looked at the opposition, at the Yellow team.
Pinto was in goal.
Marchand and Zack Florez operated as the fullbacks, flanking a center-back pairing of Hadj and Ekberg.
The midfield was a terrifyingly aggressive double-pivot of Jose Mallorca and Cillian Doyle, with the sixteen-year-old Max Caster pushed up into an experimental central attacking midfield role due to his blessed close control...and the lack of a direct Hugo lineup.
The forward line featured Gabriel Assis on the right, Alex Sordell on the left, and Idriss Konaté leading the line.
Luc narrowed his eyes. The Yellow team wasn’t just a collection of rotational players. It was a squad composed almost entirely of men who believed they should be starting.
Gabriel Assis was bouncing on his toes, glaring across the pitch at Bachra. The Brazilian had been rested against RC Alsace, forced to watch the nineteen-year-old score and assist. Gabriel’s ego was bruised, and he looked ready to commit murder to get his spot back.
Mallorca and Cillian were stretching their hamstrings, exchanging quiet, gritty remarks. They were the two most aggressive chasers in the club, with nearly unlimited energy, and they had just been paired together against Klaus and Baini.
Idriss Konaté looked like a starved wolf. He had scored off the bench against Garonne, but he was a natural number nine forced to play second fiddle to the league’s top scorer.
"They are going to do everything against us," Baini muttered, walking past Luc to take his position.
"They can fucking try," Luc replied, rolling his shoulders to loosen any lingering stiffness from his back.
Henri raised the whistle to his lips. "Forty-five minutes. No stoppage time. Play!"
Piii.
The scrimmage exploded into motion. Idriss took the kickoff, laying it back to Mallorca. The man previously based in England didn’t bother cycling possession through the backline to build rhythm. He took one heavy touch and drove a blistering, low pass straight through the center, aiming for Max Caster.
Klaus Becker stepped up immediately to crush the chance the teenager was expected to create, fully intending to establish dominance in the first ten seconds.
Caster didn’t have a shred of panic in his movement. The sixteen-year-old possessed an elite, almost unnatural close control. As Klaus’s massive frame closed in, Caster dropped his hips, received the ball on the half-turn, and executed a flawless drag-back. Klaus’s momentum carried him a fraction of an inch too far. Caster spun off the German’s shoulder, keeping the ball glued to his laces, and accelerated into the space behind the defensive midfielder.
"Track him!" Hernandez yelled, stepping out of the defensive line to close the gap.
Caster didn’t hold the ball long enough to take the press. He looked to his right and slipped a perfectly weighted through ball into the channel between the opposition’s Owusu and Fall.
Gabriel Assis was running into the space.
The Brazilian winger hit top speed, leaving Owusu scrambling to recover. Gabriel drove into the penalty area, his eyes locked onto the target. Hernandez was rushing to cover, but Gabriel didn’t cut inside enough. He hammered a violent cross across the face of the six-yard box.
Idriss Konaté crashed the back post, sliding through the grass. He connected cleanly with his right boot, sending the ball past Blažek and into the bottom corner of the net.
Goal.
Yellow Team 1, Blue Team 0.
The training pitch was dead silent for seconds, save for the heavy breathing of the players. The sequence had taken exactly fourteen seconds from the opening whistle.
"Wake up!" Klaus roared, his pale eyes flashing with sudden fury. He pointed at the defensive line. "We do not start matches asleep! Close the gaps!"... maybe forgetting he was the one who caused everything by not winning the ball off Caster.
Idriss jogged back, his face completely devoid of a smile. He pointed at Gabriel, acknowledging the assist. Gabriel looked at Bachra, tapping his temple with one finger before taking his position.
The internal warfare had officially commenced. Luc’s only saving grace from any fallout would be that TES had no punishment to render.
Luc collected the ball from the net and carried it to the center circle. He placed it on the white dot, looking at Hugo. The teenager was unfazed by the early concession. He was already scanning the Yellow team’s
structure, the positioning of Mallorca and Cillian specifically.