Serie D, Round 34, San Remo Municipal Stadium.
The media turnout at the stadium today was the highest in its history.
Even the press conference held here after Soto took over hadn't drawn a lineup this impressive.
Live Football News, Roma Sports, Italian Football Review, Italian National Sports News, Milan Sports, Kicker... Italy's most famous media outlets had all shown up today.
And sure enough, it didn't take long for them to find the stars of the day in the VIP section.
Maniero and Carlisle!
The two were dressed in suits and chatted amiably.
What was surprising was that a member of Viola's scouting department was sitting beside Carlisle: veteran scout Louis.
That lent even more credibility to Hans's earlier article.
"Maniero, are you sure that kid can handle this much pressure?" Carlisle looked at the San Remo players warming up on the pitch. One of them, a yellow-skinned player standing six-foot-one, was particularly conspicuous.
He and another player, who stood five-foot-eight, had taken up positions at opposite ends of the half, repeatedly sending long balls to each other.
They were Lu Yang and Moric.
What was surprising was how steady both of them were with their long passes.
When Moric passed to Lu Yang, he often added a little technical flourish, showing off his superb ball control.
It was his response to certain rumors circulating before the match.
Some had said they would show him the brutality of professional football in this game. Others had threatened him. Moric intended to use his outstanding technique to tell them, I can get past you. If you've got the guts, come and try!
Lu Yang's passes, by contrast, lacked the technical flourishes Moric added, but they were remarkably accurate—especially considering that he was a rough-and-ready defensive midfielder who had started out as a center-back.
"Looks like I was worrying for nothing." Carlisle laughed. "Is he showing the other players that he can link up play and launch attacks, so that little Maniero won't have to shoulder so much defensive pressure?"
Maniero smiled.
After his earlier praise, many people now knew that Moric was a little like Maniero had been when he was young.
"His technical qualities aren't exactly the same as Maniero's," Louis, the Viola scout, said. "Moric's command of the pitch is nowhere near as good as Maniero's was when he was young. He just makes up for it with his running."
"But at a higher level, both teams cover far more ground, so he'll have many fewer chances. That's the main reason so many teams don't rate him—not just his frail, five-foot-eight frame."
Maniero nodded. That was something many people overlooked.
The pace was slower and the pressure lighter in the lower leagues. Becoming a midfield playmaker here didn't mean you could do the same in a higher division. In top-level football, chances came and went in an instant, and not everyone could seize them.
"But Moric's quick passing is actually excellent! Especially his half-turn, driven passes. I think that's what sets him apart from other midfield playmakers," Maniero said. "I didn't have that particular skill, and it wasn't expected of me in my era. But as the pace of attack and defense in football keeps increasing, it could become his greatest strength in the future."
Louis frowned. "I've seen him make those passes. He's not consistent enough yet; he hasn't fully mastered that style. And... it's hard for other players to adapt to his passing. It's too fast for the opposition, but it's just as fast for his own teammates."
"Someone will adapt. Nobody has yet because the overall standard in Serie D is too low."
Louis nodded. He wasn't necessarily convinced, but Maniero had given him something to think about.
After all, Maniero had been the brains behind both the Italy National Team and Juventus. His vision for football was far-reaching and precise—far beyond that of most people.
"Aren't you going to say anything about my successor?" Carlisle dragged the conversation back to Lu Yang. "Louis, you were the one who recommended that Viola sign me. You know me too well, so the higher-ups sent you here to take a close look at this Crown Prince, right?"
Hans's article had caused a sensation, and Fiorentina paid close attention to anything connected to Carlisle. That was why they had specifically sent Louis.
Louis shook his head. "Carlisle, he isn't you. I've studied his technical qualities. Apart from both of you having played center-back, you have nothing in common."
"Even the thunderous shots you're best at are completely different from his Dipping Shot. He has none of the dribbling, breakthrough, or evasive ability of a striker or midfielder. The V-Pull is just a basic touch skill. Once people know about it, it'll be much harder for him to use it to get away from them."
"Maybe his control and passing are decent, but a player like that can't be a center-forward!"
"Honestly, rather than the Viola Crown Prince, he's more like a budget version of The Butcher!"
Carlisle was stunned.
How had his successor suddenly become a little butcher?
But when he looked at Soto on the bench, it all seemed to make sense.
It looked like he'd come all this way just to catch up with Maniero.
The talk of a Crown Prince was nothing but hype.
Tweet!
The referee's whistle sounded, and the match between fifth-place San Remo and seventh-place Potenza in the Serie D standings officially began!
Just three minutes after kickoff, Moric was knocked down by an opposing midfielder during a challenge.
Moric had clearly already passed the ball, but his opponent "couldn't stop in time" and still crashed into him.
Potenza's number eight was a hard-nosed defensive specialist.
"Hey, man, I'd already played the ball!" Moric complained.
Whether it was intentional was something the people on the pitch could judge best.
"Then play it earlier next time," Potenza's number eight replied, showing no remorse.
"What did you say? Say that again if you've got the guts!" Lu Yang stepped forward. Taller and sturdier than his opponent, he shoved his chest against the man's, making him stumble.
"Hey, hey, hey! Both of you, settle down!" The referee came over and shouted at Lu Yang and Potenza's number eight.
The two sides then separated.
The commentators took this as a sign that it was going to be a hard-fought match.
"Oh, we can see Moric's been brought down again. This time it was Borges, Potenza's captain. Before the match, he kicked down two tree stumps and tagged Moric. I'd call that an outright threat!"
"Lu Yang's gone over again. That's the third time today he's confronted an opposing player. It's clear he and Moric are close. He's furious."
"If Lu Yang hadn't stood his ground, Moric might have taken even more punishment. Potenza's game plan today is to shut Moric down—and not just in the tactical sense."
"Borges is a lot sturdier than Lu Yang, but Lu Yang hasn't lost ground in their tussle. They're evenly matched!"
"Lu Yang looks far more like the captain today than the team's second captain! Rondo isn't here, but Lu Yang has stepped up to bring some steel to San Remo!"
The final five minutes of the first half.
Moric dribbled forward.
Potenza's number eight charged at him, looking to bring him down.
But Lu Yang had already taken up a blocking position and got in his way.
That gave Moric a great opening. If he dribbled another couple of steps, he'd have a good chance to shoot.
But at that moment, Borges came sliding in head-on.
Moric crashed heavily to the ground.
Tweet!
The referee blew his whistle.
It was a foul.
But it was worth it, since a free kick from that position posed little threat.
The fans hadn't even had time to boo before a figure charged at Borges.
"Are you playing football or playing the man, you bastard?" Lu Yang shoved Borges with both hands, knocking the towering man to the ground.
Borges jumped right back up and charged at Lu Yang.
The two men collided, shoving each other in the chest again and again, neither giving an inch.
The rest of the players gathered around them. The atmosphere was extremely tense.
The referee promptly showed Lu Yang a yellow card.
But after seeing the fury in Lu Yang's eyes, he showed Borges one as well.
The reasons, however, were different.
Lu Yang was booked for shoving.
Borges was booked for his rough foul on Moric.
In truth, the referee had been relatively lenient throughout the match. That might have been his style, but it was also making the atmosphere on the pitch increasingly hostile.
At least two Potenza players should have been booked earlier, but he hadn't called either foul.
Even this time, if Lu Yang hadn't received a yellow card, the referee might not have booked Borges. It was a make-up call. He knew that if Potenza's players didn't get a card soon, the San Remo players might turn against him.
He looked at Lu Yang glaring at him, at The Butcher Soto shouting from the sidelines, and at the furious crowd.
To make sure he could leave the stadium alive, the referee finally gave each side a yellow card.
"I've seen Potenza's stats. They get very few cards, but they shouldn't get so few with the way they play," Louis said.
"In the lower leagues, this kind of thing is unavoidable. Potenza has a reputation as the referee's team. They always seem to find a way to change the course of the league, leaving the bookies laughing all the way to the bank," Maniero said, more or less spelling it out.
The referee was clearly being lenient toward Potenza in this match.
Moric rolled over twice on the ground. When he got up, he was still clutching his ankle.
He wasn't injured, but it really hurt.
This was the first time he'd faced this kind of defense, aimed at "causing physical harm."
It wasn't very sporting.
But it was still an indispensable part of football.
The first half ended nil-nil.
The brutal defending made it hard for either side to play creative, well-organized football.
During the break, Soto told Moric to take extra care to protect himself and told Lu Yang to pick the right moments to push forward.
Potenza's focus on Moric had given Lu Yang room to roam freely.
The second half began.
The match turned on its head in the sixtieth minute.
Potenza pressed hard near San Remo's penalty area and won a corner.
But Lu Yang won the aerial challenge and brought the ball under control, then passed it to Moric.
Moric took possession. Lu Yang began pushing forward, while Vedian up ahead immediately broke into a sprint.
San Remo had a chance to counterattack!
At the same time, Potenza's number eight charged into Moric, trying to stop him from passing.
Moric made a beautiful pass to the right midfielder and then moved back instead of forward, leaving several Potenza players who had rushed to mark him completely wrong-footed.
The right midfielder returned the ball to Moric. Moric sent a long pass that cut through the air.
But at the same time, Moric let out a scream.
Borges, who had been moving back to defend after positioning himself to challenge for a header, slid in from behind and brought Moric down.
He wanted to stop the pass.
More than that, he wanted to take Moric out of the game.
"Oh, what a lovely pass—Moric's been fouled, and that affected the direction of his pass!"
"Moric had meant to send it long to the left wing. If Vedian got the ball, he'd be through on goal. But Borges brought him down, and the ball went toward the middle instead. The referee hasn't stopped play. He's signaled advantage!"
"Vedian knows he won't get the ball. He's changed direction and gone wide, dragging a defender away. There's another San Remo player who might get to it in the middle."
"Lu Yang is charging forward at speed. Why is he so fast? He's passed one of the defenders, and now only Potenza's lone center-back stands in his way."
"Potenza's center-back is holding his ground. He and Lu Yang are battling for position as they run. An ordinary forward would have been blocked by the center-back by now, but not Lu Yang. He's not just fast—he's strong!"
"He's got the ball! Lu Yang's got the ball, but the center-back is all over him. What should he do? Pass to Vedian? But Vedian's too far out wide. And the rest of the team hasn't caught up yet, especially Moric, who's still curled up on the ground. Borges committed an atrocious foul. The referee might give him a second yellow after this attack!"
At the top of the penalty arc, Lu Yang received the ball and wrestled continuously with the opposing center-back.
"He has no chance here," Louis said from the stands. "If it were you, Carlisle, you'd shoot—and you'd be able to get the shot off under that kind of pressure. That's what you do best."
"He wants to be your successor, to become Viola's Crown Prince. This is when he should unleash a thunderous shot and send the ball into that damned net!"
Louis was a top scout who knew players' technical qualities inside out.
That was how strong Carlisle was.
But Carlisle was the only one that strong, able to shrug off an opposing center-back and shoot with ease.
An ordinary forward wouldn't even get a shot off before being knocked off balance.
"He'll do it, because he's furious," Maniero cut in.
The next second.
Thud!
Lu Yang planted his foot and shot from the top of the penalty arc, all while holding off the opposing center-back.
The center-back tried to stop him, only to realize he couldn't budge Lu Yang at all.
The guy was far too strong in a physical battle!
The next moment, the ball shot diagonally upward and straight into the net.
As it flew through the air, the ball was only about four feet off the ground. But when it entered the goal, it nearly struck the crossbar.
Over the course of its flight, the ball had risen by more than three feet.
It was a spectacular Rising Shot!
Potenza's goalkeeper got his read completely wrong. He was even down on one knee.
Clearly, he'd thought Lu Yang could only hit a Dipping Shot.
A Dipping Shot was all about technique. A Rising Shot, by contrast, was all about power!
"GOAL!"
The entire stadium erupted!
Louis was rooted to the spot.
Because the way Lu Yang had just played the ball was exactly like the King of the Violets...!