Starter -3
"Don't forget to talk to each other, and watch your positioning when they press high."
"Okay, okay."
"All right, when I say Forza, you say Viola. Forza—!"
"Viola—!!!"
Accompanied by a thunderous roar, the kids who had been standing in a circle with their arms around each other scattered to their positions.
"Phew—"
I, too, walked toward my position.
Today, without fail, as always.
The Florentine sun was blazing, and the grass was green.
And I stood in the very center of it.
"Beep—!"
The moment the whistle echoed, purple jerseys and sky-blue jerseys began to mingle together.
The field that had been nothing but green mere moments ago was now a dark, bloody battlefield.
Amid that chaos, I, too, began moving busily.
This was a battlefield where you died if you stood still.
"Back!"
"Slowly, slowly!"
The match against SSC Napoli had begun.
Today, I started as the team's seconda punta. The 3 in a 4-2-3-1 formation, and more specifically, the center position among them.
I was called a seconda punta in name, but today I had been ordered to adopt fluid, organic movement unrestricted by position.
At times like a mezzala.
At times like a regista.
At times like a seconda punta.
Making runs to the sides, attempting creative passes, and continuously looking to score.
In short, it meant I had a lot to do.
All of a sudden, Gino felt worthy of my respect.
Until now, I had only ever received the comfortable order to just do as I saw fit.
Gino must have always played while being assigned these kinds of roles, so I couldn't help but respect him anew.
Anyway, today too, while fulfilling those roles above, I had also been given the additional instruction to exercise my own judgment freely.
So it wasn't particularly difficult, but...
The problem was the opponent.
I understood my role perfectly; the problem was that the opponent was Napoli.
Could I really play my own game as I pleased against such a strong team?
"Drop back! Don't go up!"
"Going back! Quickly!"
Early in the match.
From the start, the opponent began pushing up.
They drew their backline quite high while simultaneously applying forward pressure.
How should I put it.
I felt an intense momentum, as though they were determined to break our spirits early on at all costs. A pressure filled with hostility that couldn't be felt in training came rushing in from all sides.
It was an atmosphere incomparable to the last match, when I had entered after the tide had already turned.
However, precisely because of that, there was a feeling of intense focus.
Today, too, Jiu had come to watch the match.
Somewhere over there, in the stands.
We had exchanged messages before the match.
It made it easy for distracting thoughts to creep in, but with the opponent applying pressure like this, I had no leisure to let my attention wander.
Now, I could only concentrate on this war.
"This way!"
"Make the run! I'm telling you to go!"
Our team was circulating the ball from the back.
Because the opponent was pressing strongly from the front, it looked a little precarious.
The pressure was so fierce that, rather than attempting to build up through passing, we seemed desperate just not to lose the ball.
I had heard that few teams could withstand that pressure.
If that situation dragged on, a long ball would inevitably come out.
To be exact, it wouldn't be a long pass but a clearance.
Leaving aside myself, my friend Enzo Baretti, who was playing as the prima punta (center forward) today, wasn't a tall player either.
There was a sense that we were being pushed around by the opponent in the air.
Tak-tak-tak—!
So I dropped down deep.
I had been instructed to actively drop back to support if the build-up from the back was disrupted.
Now was that time.
Reading the opponent's pressing range and rhythm, I moved down along the right half-space.
At a glance, the opponent's pressing seemed quite perfect, but if you looked closely, there were gaps.
I couldn't let myself be fooled by the momentum. Napoli's press wasn't moving as one body, and I positioned myself in the space behind the one guy who couldn't keep up with the rhythm.
"Hey—!"
When I shouted, I saw our defenders meet each other's eyes.
Training exists for moments like this.
The defenders finished communicating with a brief meeting of eyes and executed the passing sequence as they had trained.
Thwack—
Thwack—!
A pass that narrowly evaded the pressure came to me.
The guy who should have been holding this position had pressed up too deep on his own, so I stood alone in the space.
Thanks to that, I received the pass comfortably.
And,
Tak-tak-tak—!
I immediately turned and began driving the ball forward.
I had learned that the most lethal thing against an opponent applying forward pressure was a quick transition to attack.
There was no reason to hold onto the ball for long in our half. Running along the right half-space, I surveyed left and right.
Baaaaang—!
I hit it long to the left.
The opponent's spacing was tight. But precisely because of that, they exposed quite a lot of space on the flanks.
Because I had already identified this fact, I could make a quick decision easily.
To be honest, the scary-looking defender rushing straight at me was a bit frightening, too.
Thwack—!
Confirming that my pass connected accurately, I sprinted forward.
While running, I simultaneously watched the movement of my friend Bruno, who had received the ball, and the reaction of the opponent's defense.
Bruno, having received the ball in open space, dribbled near the box and showed movement as if trying to take on the opposing fullback one-on-one.
The moment I read that intention,
Tak-tak-tak—!
I instantly accelerated and dashed toward the box. I was planning to penetrate the left side inside the box.
Bruno, the left winger, was right-footed.
Therefore, he usually enjoyed cutting inside toward the center and shooting in situations like this.
My movement was to help him do that.
Because if I dragged one defender deep inside the box, the shooting angle would open up more.
Perhaps Bruno, who had been slowly sizing up the angle while facing off, read my movement,
Tak—!
He drove inside and made a crossing run with me.
And,
Boom—!
Immediately, a shot.
A curler aimed at the far post, but...
Swoosh—
"Ah!"
The under-curled shot went wide of the goal.
It was an attack with a good buildup but a disappointing result.
"Sorry, sorry."
Bruno, who had taken the shot, raised his hand to his teammates, sending a sign of apology,
"Good!"
and showed me a thumbs-up.
I responded in kind, then ran back toward our half.
At the same time, I heard the shouts of our midfielders.
"Come back! Hold your position!"
"Form up! Block them!"
Running toward my defensive position, a thought suddenly crossed my mind.
Just because the opponent was Napoli... I didn't think I needed to be that scared.
If I just kept my wits about me, I felt like I could at least fulfill my role.
It was thanks to the play just now.
I just had to do as I'd trained.
"Keep the spacing, spacing!"
I began to immerse myself deeper into the match.
*
"We have to go faster! Faster!"
"Pay more attention to the calls!"
"Let's do it with confidence! With confidence!"
Before I knew it, the time had already passed the 30th minute of the first half.
Time had passed so quickly that I thought, "Already?" It seemed because the situation had been such that I couldn't let my guard down for even a moment.
"Phew—"
Napoli was definitely a strong opponent.
Early in the match, I had thought we might be able to win easily at this rate, but five minutes later I realized that had been an arrogant thought.
Perhaps feeling they had allowed the first shot too easily, the opponent began to show more concentration.
Even stronger pressure suppressed us.
We failed to respond properly and got pinned back, and mistakes emerged during our backline build-up, exposing us to danger.
Honestly, I was a bit bewildered.
It wasn't because I couldn't play my own game.
It was awkward to judge myself, but anyway, I was continuing the match without mistakes.
What bewildered me was our team's kids.
How should I put it.
Should I call it a disconnect?
I wasn't sure if that was the right word for this, but anyway, I felt something like that.
Seeing our team's kids struggling against the opponent's pressure, making mistakes, and unable to play their own game.
The kids on our team that I know are good.
Much better than me.
I was someone who had been wandering among the reserves until recently. I was on the same field now thanks to luck, but until recently these kids had been distant, unattainable presences to me.
And yet, those kids were struggling.
While I was thinking this much was manageable.
That was a bit confusing.
Had I become too immersed in playing the genius?
"Give it forward!"
"Push the line up!"
Anyway.
It wasn't the time to be having distracting thoughts.
I saw our defense cut out the opponent's pass. At the same time, I dropped down, and now the ball was passed to me as if it were only natural.
Instead of trapping the ball and turning,
Thwack—
Thwack—!
I exchanged a one-two pass, left one guy behind, and began advancing.
I kept dribbling and running while checking ahead, but the teammates who should have been showing weren't there.
They were either reacting late, or their runs in behind were delayed.
I considered slowing down for a beat and waiting until my teammates got into position, but...
A sudden, inexplicable confidence came over me, and I didn't stop dribbling but kept running.
It was a confidence that somehow, right now, I could take it all the way.
I had finally gone mad.
Tak-tak-tak—!
I charged straight down the right half-space.
At the same time, I surveyed the front and looked for a vulnerable spot.
Perhaps because I had played a pass-oriented game until now, I could see the defense spread out widely.
I thought I had to drive straight through.
I was already up to speed.
I judged it better to settle things quickly using this speed rather than attempt unnecessary tricks.
I saw one opposing midfielder blocking the way ahead. But to me, already at full speed, he was no different than a training cone.
Tak-tak-tak—!
I slightly changed direction and left him behind.
I immediately knocked the ball straight ahead again, narrowing the distance to the box.
Only now were the defenders closing in on my side.
With a desperate determination to get through before that gate closed, I sprinted.
Could I get through?
Tak-tak-tak—!
I learned once again that nothing is impossible if you want it badly enough.
I quickly passed through the defenders and entered the box.
To the right of the goal.
I saw the goalkeeper narrowing the angle by sticking to the near post.
Having confirmed that movement, I exhaled deeply and lunged toward the ball.
And drawing my right foot back wide,
Baaaaang—!
I struck the shot as I was.
Swoosh—
My shot rolled low toward the far post. After confirming that much, the world began to spin around me.
Because I had shifted all my weight into the shot while moving at speed, my body had floated up, and I had no choice but to tumble across the ground.
Maybe I had rolled once or twice.
I pushed myself up off the ground and raised my head.
I saw my teammates shouting and running toward me.
The goal had gone in.
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