Waaaaaaaah—
Amid the tidal wave of noise created by the home fans’ cheers and chants mixing together.
“….”
And so, Manager Arteta—who instead stood out for maintaining a conspicuous silence—watches the players with his hand on his chin.
He was somewhat bewildered.
The players weren’t pushing up.
The opponent had pulled the ball back, a situation where they were reorganizing their formation and building their attack from the back again.
Naturally, it was a situation where they should be pressing up and disrupting the buildup from the opponent’s half, yet the players were not going up.
To be precise, they had stopped after starting to push up.
As if an invisible wall had been erected at the halfway line, they would halt even as they moved up, eventually standing rooted to the spot.
It wasn’t Manager Arteta’s instruction.
Had it been an instruction, there would be no reason for him to be bewildered at the sight of players not pushing up.
Rather, it was Manager Arteta who had been waving his arms toward the opponent’s half and shouting for them to go up.
Whether it was because of the noise filling this vast stadium, or because of something else,
that shout seemed to fail to reach the players at all.
It was a perplexing situation.
“[Ri is slowly carrying the ball up. He’s taking his time, and Arsenal are leaving him be.]”
“[It’s impossible to press intensely for the full 90 minutes. If they did, they’d have no stamina left. But it’s only just past the 7-minute mark. I don’t think it’s time to pace themselves yet, but well.]”
Though the atmosphere changed in an instant, in fact, they hadn’t even conceded a goal.
They had merely allowed one counterattack—the kind that can be conceded any time during a match—the defense had tracked back reasonably well, and they’d even shown the keeper’s shot-stopping ability.
Until just before then, the press had been working quite well.
Though they hadn’t produced visible results, they had been pushing hard enough to send chills through the stadium.
They had effectively bottled Man City—wizards at circulating the pass—in their own half.
But it was strange that their momentum died immediately from just one counterattack when they hadn’t even conceded.
It wasn’t as if they had been exposed to danger multiple times; it was just once.
Not even 10 minutes had passed yet, with over 80 minutes remaining.
Wasn’t it far too early to switch their prepared plan to Plan B?
“[Certainly, the impact of the scene where he broke out from the center seems to have been too great. The scene where Ri succeeded in escaping the pressure alone.]”
“[One turn, one dribble, and three players collapsed. It was a scene that couldn’t help but make your heart skip a beat. Because it was the moment the tactic was rendered powerless, futilely.]”
But players are human too.
There probably isn’t a person who could continue driving at 160 km/h on the highway after a roe deer crossed right in front of them, as if nothing had happened.
“[The challenger was pressing aggressively with great momentum, but the champion was watching every fist with his eyes. Then one thrown fist grazed the challenger’s ear. With just that one fist, the challenger’s momentum falters greatly.]”
“[They instinctively felt it from the sound brushing past their ear. If this hits, it’s over.]”
Man City seized the initiative and began slowly unfolding the match.
*
Making the opponent fall back was quite a confidence-boosting matter, but that didn’t mean everything was over.
The opponent was a team adept at counterattacks.
Their attacking line was composed entirely of fast players, and there were players who could deliver accurate passes to them as well.
Moreover, due to our tactical structure, the counterattack was also an attacking pattern we absolutely could not allow.
Just because the opponent had sat deep didn’t mean we could recklessly attempt risky passes.
The more confident I grew, the more I had to remember what my father had told me.
Those words he said when I cried after being eliminated from the Champions League—that those who face the best are also the best.
If we are the champions, it means the opponent challenging the champion also has the qualifications of a champion.
The more confident I became, the more I had to respect the opponent.
I had to find and remain at the point where those two things were in taut harmony.
Swish—!
Swish—!
Exchanging lateral passes, I tried to draw out the opponent’s movements.
There was that reason too, but truthfully, when the opponent sat deep, there was no need to rush in first because—
it was the opponent, not us, who felt the passing time as agonizing.
Even in the worst case, if we drew, the standings wouldn’t change.
If we drew, we could maintain 1st place, and the opponent would have to remain in 2nd.
If that happened, should we win all our remaining matches, we could take the title through our own strength.
But for the opponent to take the title through their own strength, today was their only chance.
If they couldn’t win today, all they could do was pray that we slipped up.
Therefore, the opponent was in a state where they couldn’t even accept a draw.
It was a situation where they had to defeat us today somehow, a situation where they couldn’t simply wait for us to come at them.
Thus, I knew they couldn’t sit deep forever, and I also knew there was no need to forcefully try to exploit gaps.
If we spent time appropriately, the opponent would have no choice but to break their lines and come out on their own.
Swish—!
Swish—!
We didn’t move as the opponent wanted.
Rather than following where the opponent led, we led the opponent where we wanted.
We are the champions.
The match had to flow the way we wanted.
As if it was us who had created this situation.
“….”
Glancing at the electronic display, it was already approaching the 40th minute of the first half.
After exchanging several attacks, sometimes breathing slowly and engaging in a battle of glares, time had flown by.
And instinctively, I felt that the remaining 5 minutes would be the decisive moment.
Tap-tap-tat—!
Receiving the ball below the halfway line and turning, I could see that the opponent players had drawn much closer.
Stealthily, as a whole, they had stepped forward one pace at a time.
Swish—!
Playing the ball back in response, the opponent began to raise their line even higher.
Did they feel there was too little time to wait until the 45th minute of the second half? Or had the earlier memory begun to fade?
Whichever it was, it seemed they had concluded that they couldn’t wait any longer.
Tap-tap-tat—!
One, two—moving horizontally between the players brushing past, I looked around the entire pitch.
And suddenly, I recalled what the manager had said in the locker room before the match.
How many people would be watching this match?
Would it far exceed a million, as the manager had said?
One thing was certain: an enormous number of people would be watching.
Then it seemed time to show them, so that no one would misunderstand.
Who was more champion-like, and who had the qualifications of a champion.
Swish—!
Swish—!
As the tempo of the pitch quickened once more, my head and feet grew busier too.
At the same time, changes in the surrounding situation began shifting by the second, and the calculation speed inside my head—tapping away like a calculator—also increased.
The formula itself was simple.
The opponent was the urgent one, and because of that, they opened up space behind them even while knowing it, and came up.
So I just had to aim for that space.
The problem, however, was that the opponent knew this too and tried to interfere however they could.
Tap-tap-tat—!
Moving quickly to find space, but space was not given easily.
The opponent players blocked the path as if cutting off the angles between me and my teammates in advance.
Even when I tried to move outside that angle, it wasn’t easy because the opponent constantly checked their positions by turning their heads, maintaining their coverage.
It is no easy task to watch both the ball—circulating in incessant passes—and the players.
If your gaze is fixed on the ball, you’re bound to lose track of the players.
Yet, admiring the opponent’s figure as they managed both,
and realizing this was no time for admiration, I burned the top of my head trying to think of a way.
Should I drop lower?
And thus increase the numbers at the back, breaking through with short passes?
But to do that, the opponent was continuously aware of my position.
What was different from before was that they seemed intent on preventing the ball from reaching me in the first place.
Then perhaps I should act as bait to create space for other teammates, but that wasn’t it either.
Because both sides—the opponent and us—had such tight spacing that our ranges overlapped.
So if I dropped down needlessly, I might end up taking space away from my teammates instead.
Then what should I do?
Pondering for a moment.
“….”
“….”
While looking around, my eyes meet De Bruyne’s.
And in that brief moment,
without anyone saying a word, without any gestures or body movements,
as if we had read each other’s thoughts without anyone going first, we begin to move.
Tap-tap-tat—!
De Bruyne drops down,
Tap-tap-tat—!
and I run up.
I could read it in De Bruyne’s eyes—
if I draw the defense forward, he would somehow take responsibility and send the ball forward.
Of course, it might just be my own thought.
But I didn’t think it was the wrong answer.
Tap-tap-tat—!
Suddenly sprinting forward, I could feel space opening up.
The opponent seemed to have not expected this either, hesitating for a moment before starting to run frantically.
I could feel about two players who had been guarding around me following behind.
Tap-tap-tat—!
I run, increasing my speed even more.
At this, Haaland, who had been up front, also starts sprinting forward, and Grealish and Foden on the left and right drop down instead, opening up space.
With that, confusion arises between the opponent’s center-backs and full-backs.
The center-backs drop back, and the full-backs are preoccupied with following Grealish and Foden, opening up space in between.
Tap-tap-tat—!
I sprint into that space.
With how fast Haaland and the opponent defenders are, there’s no need to check the offside line while running.
Even if I run with all my might, there seems to be no danger of being caught offside.
There’s no need to deliberately look back either.
If I couldn’t trust De Bruyne, there would be no one on the pitch I could trust.
He would definitely send the ball this way.
And that trust is solidified by a resounding thwack.
Thwaaaaaaack—!
With a refreshingly sweeping sound, I turn my head and see the ball floating high, coming over the lines.
After confirming that, I turn my head again to gauge the landing point, and in the midst of it, my eyes meet Haaland’s.
Through that brief exchange of gazes, we finish dividing our roles and dash to our positions.
Haaland runs toward the landing point with the defenders, and I run in front of it.
Shhhhhhwooooosh—
Swish—!
And he heads the ball.
Swish—!
I trap that ball and push it forward.
Tap-tap-tat—!
A 1v1 situation occurs in front of the box.
A 1v1 with a defender.
An opportunity that absolutely cannot be missed.
Precisely because it’s an opportunity created by all my teammates doing their parts and sacrificing, it absolutely cannot be missed.
I have to show them.
That we are the champions.
Tap-tat—!
Approaching the opponent, when the distance between us had closed to about two steps—
leaning my weight as if to go right, the opponent reacts sensitively.
At this, twisting my body back as if to go the opposite way, I see him react again.
The reaction is too fast.
Which means… it’s worth trying a feint.
Tuk—!
I nudge the ball with the tip of my foot.
Then the ball drifts ambiguously toward the opponent, and he cannot help but react.
He stretches his foot.
But I am faster.
Tuk—!
Stretching my foot long, I touch the ball first and avoid the opponent’s foot.
And taking one long touch to the right, the goal frame is fully exposed.
The championship is ours.
Thwaaaaaaang—!
The shot struck with full weight travels diagonally across the box,
Shhhhhhwooooosh—
Thud—!
and buries itself into the bottom left corner of the goal.
The goalkeeper dived, but given the distance, he was far too late.
Waaaaaaaaaah—!
Heaven and earth shook.
< It’s Jian -3 > End