Soccer Genius Wants to Get Noticed - Chapter 153



Only Krnovel

Episode 153 Struggle (3)

Players from both teams walk down a wide green corridor and line up on either side of the referee, with cloths printed with their club logos fluttering behind them and the golden trophy in front of them.

The real final.

The time to pledge fair play quickly ends, and we cheer each other on before scattering across the field.

The first half begins.

Beep!

The starting point is Leipzig’s.

Boom, boom, boom!

The opponent’s tactics were not much different from what the coaching staff had expected.

Based on the three-back system, both wingbacks actively participate in the attack during attack situations, but one of the two helps in the central ball battle.

Accordingly, Cologne will not back down in the battle for the midfield, relying on the two central midfielders, Ozcan and Schiri, as their supporters.

“Ut, number 27!”

“Whew, big!”

So, in the first 10 minutes, a battle of momentum unfolds between the two teams.

Mark Utt dropped deep to add a hand, causing the opposing central midfielder, number 27 Konrad Laimer, to make a mistake in touching the ball.

One after another, Ozkan and the opposing player rush in and openly exchange physical conversations.

There may have been an intention to take away possession of the ball, but it was more of a clash of wills. It was a fight of guts, never backing down in order to create an atmosphere.

Phew!

Beep!

Immediately after the collision, the referee’s whistle blows almost simultaneously.

Both players went down with their legs tangled, neither one appearing to be the victim, but this time it was Leipzig’s turn of events.

“Oh, why! Why is this their ball!”

“Be careful what you say.”

“No, what I mean is… … .”

“Go back to your seat.”

“… … .”

Eliez Schiri immediately protests, but the referee’s firmness is unusual. It seems he will not be swayed by the players’ verbal attacks.

But the rough play doesn’t stop there.

In the 6th minute of the first half, Uth and Emil Forsberg collided and got entangled.

In the 8th minute, Florian Kainz and Klostermann started as left wingers.

In the 11th minute, Skirigi tripped Nkunku’s leg and brought him down. Even though the players changed, the point of collision was always in the same area.

And after that, there was no winner in the fierce battle for the Central Plains… …

It was just a bang-and-bang, passing the ball forward, with no advantage being shown to either side.

It’s not that Leipzig attacked the left flank centered around the team’s ace, Nkunku, while Cologne attacked using Florian Kainz as a starting point.

right.

The key player for Cologne was not me, but Florian Kainz, a fellow Austrian who had just returned from injury.

“Return!”

Bam!

“You have to keep moving up! Move more organically! The pressure is intense. If you don’t actively move up, you’ll be isolated!”

It wasn’t anything strange.

Soccer is a sport that is played with just one ball, but if you try playing it yourself, you will realize that trust and faith are the key.

Would you give the ball to a player you don’t trust?

No.

If your form is not good, the ball won’t come.

I was chosen for that role today because I pooped a lot in training last week, while Florian Kainz, who plays football like a shaman, has the full support of his teammates.

That was it.

That’s all… … Damn it.

“Number 11! Don’t let them advance any further!”

The reason it’s hard to accept reality is because when something bad happens, something even worse happens.

The offensive on the left flank was… … truly breathtaking.

Florian Kainz thrives in the half-space, neither left-sided nor central, drawing the opposition wing-backs towards him.

“Flori, over here!”

As Mark Uth drops down to receive the ball, Leipzig’s central midfielder, Laimer, follows him to block the passing lane.

The actual pass route is Sali Ozcan.

A friendly midfielder runs across the halfway line into the enemy territory, approaches the side to receive the ball, and then passes it forward to Jonas Hector, who is moving up the left flank line.

A cross chance from the left flank.

Thud, thud, thud!

With the path wide open, Jonas cuts deep near the goal line and pokes a sharp pass into the box.

Fuck.

If you ask why such a great development is not good, the answer is simple.

There is an unspoken agreement in every organization, and Cologne is no different, because the head belongs to Modeste.

So what role would I play?

I am a bald eagle, a raccoon, and a close relative of the crocodile on the field. That means I am a creature that waits for the predator to finish its meal, barely getting the scraps.

Boom!

Kwaaaaak!

“This damn thing… … .”

Even then, he is unable to properly eat up the ball due to the severe marking by Leipzig’s left wing-back, Benjamin Henriks.

The moment the ball hit Modeste’s head and leaked out to the other side of the box, he tried to run inside, but missed his timing as someone skillfully grabbed his uniform.

The official ball rolled out of the goal line, and I felt a sense of loss as my good opportunity was wasted.

If you want to be active, you’ll have to somehow subdue Benjamin Henricks.

With his dark skin and the pharaoh-like beard hanging down his chin, his unusual appearance did not go as well as his running speed, and there was no way to break through.

What to do.

How can I do my part?

Think about it, Seonghaneul.

But before they can come up with an answer, bad news arrives from the allied camp.

17 minutes into the first half. The game resumes with a goal kick and ground pass from the Leipzig goalkeeper, and I try to press the right side forward with Modeste.

Knock, knock, knock.

The opposing defenders push up to the center line by passing from the back area and then pass the ball to the left center back – Marcel Halstenberg.

Liar-!

He soon floats a long pass into the friendly zone.

From the central semicircle to the front line, near the penalty box line on the Cologne side.

The official ball fell in a large curve, and soon led to an aerial duel between our central midfielder Salih Ozcan and the opposing central striker Andre Silva.

Too-woong!

The ball, which deflected off the attacker’s forehead, rose again with force and bounced to the other side of the box… no, diagonally, and headed towards the left side of the goal.

Here’s where the mistake already occurred.

An aerial duel between a central midfielder and a striker.

Isn’t it a mismatch?

To make matters worse, the trajectory was too high to be a direct shot, but friendly goalkeeper Timo Horn misjudged the landing point.

This is the second mistake.

Ta-da-dak, swoosh!

Then, Leipzig’s ace, Christopher Nkunku, uses his quick feet to run fiercely towards the landing zone and extends his right foot.

Just bringing your foot closer to the goal and aiming for it.

The goalkeeper belatedly chases after the ball and tries to jump, but the ball hits his fingertips, bounces on the grass, and then rolls into the goal.

[Wow-!!]

Fuck, shit, motherfucker.

This is what it’s like every time you lose a point. When mistakes pile up and the opposing player doesn’t miss them, it can lead to fatal results.

Around the 18th minute of the first half.

Cologne scored first and my mind started to get more and more anxious. So there was no need to explain what happened next.

* * *

Just after the first half ended with the score tied 0-1.

As soon as I am given a 15-minute break, I run away from the field.

bang!

I feel annoyed. I open the door as if I’m going to break it without realizing it, but I don’t have the energy to look around.

“Why am I so upset?”

“I’m not asking because I don’t know.”

“… … The first half was okay. As a team, we weren’t bad.”

okay.

As Remperle said, the team isn’t bad.

They’re down by one point, but their performance isn’t bad, so they might be able to turn things around in the second half.

But me?

The most important thing for me is, what should I do with Seong Ha-neul, who is unable to do anything in the position that determines the success or failure of the season?

“First half stats.”

“huh?”

“Call my first half stats.”

“… … Do you really have to go that far?”

“Wake up.”

The request itself is even more heartbreaking.

11 ball touches.

Pass success rate 63% (7/11)

2 crosses, 1 successful dribble breakthrough.

And just one shot.

There’s a reason I didn’t have time to talk about myself throughout the game. Stats aren’t everything in football, but sometimes they tell more than meets the eye.

I’m a mess.

Without a doubt.

What should I do, really, what should I do?

“But it wasn’t like it was terribly bad… … You moved according to the tactical instructions you received.”

“That’s the bigger problem. It’s not that I ran fairly normally.”

“… … .”

That won’t work.

I myself could not and would not tolerate mediocre performance. Especially when it came to someone with a crazy personality who acted however they wanted.

That was when.

“So, what do you want to do?”

I can tell who it is just by hearing the voice without having to turn my head.

Mark Ut.

I guess they were a bit nervous after focusing all their energy on the left side throughout the first half.

“……what.”

“It’s no wonder you’re upset. At the end of the season, in such an important match, you’re showing mediocre performance. If your skills were ambiguous to begin with, then it wouldn’t have been different, but why did your condition fall to the bottom at a time like this?”

“… … .”

“But, it doesn’t look like he’ll be replaced right away. That’s why I’m asking. What are you going to do in the second half?”

Correct it.

This crazy meerkat just came to pick a fight.

Even if it was a serious question, it didn’t make a difference. The anger that had been slowly boiling up rose up my throat.

“What do you want me to do? What can I do when I can’t do what I want? Should I just sit around in the corner of the bench blaming my brother for falling down? Is that what you wanted me to do?”

“I didn’t say anything like that.”

“I’m trying to find a way somehow. Why do you always come here and nag at others and… … Stop taunting me!”

“Then don’t swear either, you punk.”

Even though I glared at it so fiercely that its pupils gleamed (which they clearly did), the damn meerkat didn’t even blink.

No, rather, he laughed and retorted.

“Did I ask you something big? How are you going to play in the second half? You must have been thinking about how to get through Benjamin.”

“You left out the sarcastic remarks. You’re really good.”

“Then that’s great. I did my part. At least I’m a hundred times better than you are today.”

“… … .”

Should I just throw a bowl of swearing at him?

But because the cold reality was properly pointed out, I felt more resentment than ill temper. Why do you always do this to me?

Just recently, in the hospital emergency room, someone gave me some good advice.

Perhaps it was a sense of betrayal.

“Why, do you find my words offensive?”

“… … .”

“Don’t act like an idiot.”

“… … .”

“Don’t act like a loser. You’re a professional football player. Do you think you’ll be good forever? There are times like this and times like that. Sometimes the best opportunity comes when you’re not ready. Didn’t I tell you? How much of a shit time I had at #@ Schalke?”

“… … .”

As the tone suddenly became more intense, I intuitively felt eyes flying around me.

It seemed like the players and coaches who had been talking about detailed tactics and player strategies just a moment ago were all looking this way.

I’m not ashamed.

I hate to admit it, but… … it’s just annoying.

Naturally, my head dropped down, and my vision was filled with only the locker room floor tiles. When I was told to look at him, I forced myself to raise my head, and Mark Ut’s face came into view at a glance.

Contrary to expectations, he had a calm expression on his face.

“… … The decision is yours. Everyone, in every situation, has a choice. Maybe it’s okay to just end it like this. You’re young and you’ll definitely get a second chance. Just looking at the transfer rumors, I don’t think your future will be ruined by this one game.”

“… … .”

“But if that’s not the case, if you don’t want to just accept defeat and move on, then do what you can. Don’t do something else during tactical analysis time, don’t go back to the locker room and break the door halfway down, don’t evade by venting your anger somewhere else, and face reality as it is.”

“… … What should I do?”

“Don’t ask me, ask yourself. Are you desperate enough to let go of that lofty self-esteem you have?”

“… … .”

“Did you do your best? Did you really scrape the bottom of your talents?”

What a person who can say such things.

However, nods and objections come before admiration.

“… … No. No.”

“Then now, do what you can. This is the end of my whining.”

Surprisingly, every word was right and straight to the point.

He is right.

There are only 45 minutes of regular time left.

Even if it means sacrificing self-esteem for self-respect –

I couldn’t possibly end it like this.