Unconventional Center

Chapter 22: How Did You Win Before?

In the 40th minute of the match, a red card and a free kick. Antonio walked off the field in frustration. Gresel patted him on the shoulder, and Heike handed him a towel. “Sorry, boss.” “It’s okay. Just stay calm next time. Go get some rest.” Antonio walked over to the bench, sat down, and covered his face with the towel. Gresel took a deep breath and substituted central midfielder Lucio for a backup defender. Lucio’s expression, naturally, wasn’t a pretty sight. “Sorry, Lucio.” Gresel didn’t offer much explanation; he trusted that Lucio would understand his predicament. Lucio was a professional player and had enough experience to understand, but it was impossible to expect him to happily accept being subbed out in the first half. He simply nodded and walked over to sit on the bench. Meanwhile, Bartra—who had been carried off the field after rolling around on the ground three and a half times—returned to the field, full of energy. The Valencia fans, of course, didn’t let him off the hook, greeting him with a chorus of boos. Unfortunately for them, this was on the home team’s turf, and their boos were quickly drowned out by the cheers of the Wesken fans. “Bartra is taking this free kick himself. Cayo is setting up the wall. All the Valencia players are involved in the defense—even Mo Ya has moved into the penalty area—leaving only Adrian up front waiting for an opportunity.” “Beep!” The whistle blew, and Bartra gently curled the ball into the air. The wall jumped high, but couldn’t block the ball. Fortunately, Cayo had quick reflexes and read the direction correctly, leaping to make the save. “The ball curved around the wall and was saved—well done, Fernand… uh, it’s a goal! The scorer is… Cesc.” The Wesken players froze for a moment, then erupted into cheers, rushing to the sideline to celebrate wildly. Mo Ya’s face turned ashen. The ball that Cayo had parried landed in the penalty area, sparking a scramble, then inexplicably bounced off his foot, and even more inexplicably flew into the net. “Goal! Thanks to Cesc, an own goal by the Prince of Mestalla has put us ahead of Valencia. It’s only halftime, and Wesken is already leading by one goal. You heard that right—fourteenth-place Wesken is leading third-place Valencia.” The Valencia stands fell deathly silent, while the Wesken side was in an uproar. Mo Ya walked back to his own half with a grim expression; his teammates tried to console him, but the young captain’s face remained frighteningly cold. The match resumed, and as expected, Mo Ya went into a frenzy. He wouldn’t even pass the ball, determined to go it alone, frequently dribbling past two or three defenders at a time. His defensive play was fast and aggressive as well, but unfortunately, the opposition was prepared—they simply set a trap, and he was shown a yellow card. The first half ended amid the cheers and laughter of the Wesken fans. With their starting defender sent off, their captain and offensive leader carrying a yellow card, and trailing on the scoreboard, the situation could not have been more dire for Valencia. “The first half is over, and Cesc needs to pull himself together as soon as possible. The own goal was a pure accident, but his performance after scoring it did a disservice to the captain’s armband he wears. Valencia’s new owner witnessed the team’s dismal performance firsthand from the stands, and perhaps it was his presence that caused the players to lose their composure—which is not a good sign. Of course, the person under the most pressure right now must be Marco. Gresel. If they lose right under the China owner’s nose—especially to a team like Wesken—Marco is likely in for a rough time.” “Of course, we must emphasize that the Chinese presence at Valencia isn’t limited to the man in the stands—there’s also the one on the bench. That’s right, I’m talking about Chu Yang. His performance in the last game was there for all to see. If I were Marco, I’d put him in the game immediately; Adrian’s form is absolutely dreadful.” Close-ups of Xiao Luo frequently appeared on the stadium’s big screen, but the China owner didn’t show any signs of frustration; instead, he casually waved at the camera. As the starting players filed into the locker room one by one, Gresel suddenly called out to Heike and said, “Have Chu warm up.” “Got it.” Chu Yang, who was walking at the back of the group and about to enter the tunnel, was suddenly pulled aside by Heike. “What’s up, Onnes?” “You don’t need to go in. Go warm up.” “Got it.” Chu Yang stopped in his tracks and was about to turn back when Heike suddenly called out to him again. “What is it?” Chu Yangdao asked. “We’re going to win, right?” “Of course,” Chu Yang gave him a confident smile, “as long as I’m here.” Even without Rejoice, Chu Yang would have been just as confident, because Wesken’s skill level—just like their ranking—was truly abysmal. The Valencia guys had only fared so poorly in the first half because Xiao Luo was sitting on the sidelines, which had fueled their intense desire to prove themselves, combined with some genuinely bad luck. He was certain that after the halftime adjustments, the situation would definitely be different. Things indeed unfolded exactly as Chu Yang had imagined. After the second half began, Valencia looked like a completely different team, playing steadily and methodically. Even with one fewer attacking player, the front line—composed of Mo Ya, Adrian, Banderas, and Garcia—continued to pose a serious threat to Wesken, and that threat quickly translated into a goal. In the 60th minute, Banderas received the ball on the left wing. Facing pressure from the opposing fullback, he quickly drove the ball toward the center, where Mo Ya swiftly switched positions with him and received the pass. “Cesc has the ball on the left wing and is driving toward the byline. The defender is closing in, and Adrian has already entered the box. Is this going to be a cross? Brilliant! Cesc fakes out the defender and cuts into the box from the left. He passes to Adrian, who receives the ball with his back to goal. Wesken’s defense is tight—Adrian has no opening, so he plays it back to Cesc. What will Cesc do?” Mo Ya feints a shot, and the opposing defender immediately closes in to block. Mo Ya makes a subtle cutback to leave him in the dust, and the rest is simple: he swings his leg and unleashes a powerful shot that flies straight into the net. “Goal! Cesc Moya! He burst down the left flank, linked up with Adrian, then dribbled past the defender and sent the ball into the back of the net. The Valencia captain redeemed himself with a goal from open play—something he’s not known for.” After scoring, Mo Ya sprinted to the sideline, kicked the corner flag hard, and let out a mighty roar as his teammates swarmed around him. In the 60th minute, the score was 1–1. Although down a man, Valencia was playing with unstoppable momentum, and the entire team was brimming with fighting spirit. Aside from Adrian, who had been substituted out, the player coming on was, of course, Chu Yang. “Cesc kicked the corner flag hard and let out a roar—it’s rare to see him like this. It seems our captain is under a lot of pressure. Oh, Chu Yang is finally on the field. He has just over thirty minutes left to play. Will the China player pull off another miracle? Let’s wait and see.” “Oh, dear Chu, you’re finally on the field.” “Cesc, didn’t you say we’d wrap this up in the first half? Didn’t you say it would be garbage time by the time I came on? What’s going on now?” “Okay, there was a little hiccup, but I’ve already turned things around. We’ve got plenty of time—a full thirty minutes. That’s more than enough for you, isn’t it?” “All right, dear Mo Ya, leave the scoring to me. But first, you have to answer one question for me—I’ve been racking my brain about this while I was on the bench,” Chu Yangdao said. “Back when I wasn’t here, how the hell did you guys win so many games?”