Play Soccer Like a King

Serie D, Matchday 34, San Remo Municipal Stadium.

The media presence at the stadium today reached an all-time high.

Even the press conference held here after Soto took office could not compare to the star-studded lineup present today.

Live Football News, Roma Sports, Italian Football Review, Italian National Sports News, Milan Sports, Kicker... these renowned Italian media outlets were all in attendance.

As expected, they quickly spotted the day's protagonists in the VIP stands.

Maniero and Carlisle!

Both were dressed in sharp suits, chatting and laughing with ease.

What came as a surprise was that accompanying Carlisle was Louis, a senior scout from the scouting department of Fiorentina.

This lent even more credibility to Hans's previous article.

"Maniero, are you sure that kid can handle this much pressure?" Carlisle looked down at the San Remo players warming up on the pitch, where one yellow-skinned player standing 1.81 meters tall was particularly eye-catching.

He and another player, standing 1.72 meters tall, were positioned at the furthest ends of the half, continuously launching long balls to one another, back and forth.

It was Lu Yang and Moric.

What was surprising was that both of their long passes were incredibly steady.

When Moric passed to Lu Yang, he often added subtle technical flourishes, showcasing his exquisite dribbling and control.

This was his retort to certain rumors circulating before the match.

Some said they would make him realize the cruelty of professional football in this game, and some had threatened him; Moric intended to use his superior technique to tell them: I have the ability to get past you, so come and try if you have the guts!

Similarly, while Lu Yang's passes lacked the technical flair of Moric's, they were remarkably precise, especially considering he was a defensive midfielder who started out as a center-back.

"It seems I was overthinking it." Carlisle chuckled. "Is he using this method to show the opposing players that he also possesses the ability to support and initiate attacks, thereby helping that little Maniero share the defensive pressure?"

Maniero smiled.

Because of his previous praise, many people now knew that Moric resembled a young Maniero.

"His technical characteristics aren't exactly the same as Maniero's," interjected Louis, the Fiorentina scout. "Moric's control over the game is far inferior to the young Maniero, though he masks this with his running."

"But in higher-level matches, where the range of movement for both sides increases significantly, his opportunities will be much fewer. This is the core reason why many teams don't rate him, and it's not just because of his 1.72-meter frail frame."

Maniero nodded; this was something many overlooked.

The pace in lower-tier leagues is slow and the pressure is low; being a midfield commander here does not mean you can replicate that in higher-tier leagues. Opportunities in top-tier football are fleeting, and not everyone can seize them.

"But Moric's quick passing is actually excellent! Especially his half-turn volley pass; I believe that is what sets him apart from other midfield commanders," Maniero said. "I didn't have that technical trait, nor was it required in my era. But with the accelerating pace of attack and defense in modern football, this might become his core competitive advantage in the future."

Louis frowned: "I've seen that pass of his; his ability isn't stable enough yet, and he hasn't fully mastered that style of delivery. Besides... it's hard for others to adapt to his passing; it's too fast for the enemy, and just as fast for his own teammates."

Maniero: "Someone will adapt. The only reason no one adapts now is because the overall level of Serie D is too low."

Louis nodded, not necessarily in agreement, but with a new perspective to consider.

After all, Maniero was the dual brain of the Italian national team and Juventus; his foresight in football was far more profound and accurate than the average person's.

"Aren't you going to comment on my successor?" Carlisle forcibly steered the conversation back to Lu Yang. "Louis, you were the one who strongly recommended that Fiorentina buy me. You know me too well, so the higher-ups must have sent you here hoping you would pay close attention to this crown prince."

Hans's article was explosive, and Fiorentina kept a close watch on everything related to Carlisle, hence why they specifically sent Louis.

Louis shook his head: "Carlisle, he is not you. I have studied his technical characteristics, and apart from the fact that he played center-back like you, there are no similarities between you two."

"Even your signature power shot is completely different from his Dipping Shot. He lacks any striker-level or midfielder-level dribbling, penetration, or escape ability. The V-Pull is just a basic touch technique; once people are familiar with it, it will no longer be effective for shaking off markers."

"Perhaps his trapping and passing are at a certain level, but a player like that cannot be a center-forward!"

"In fact, his technical style is less like a Fiorentina crown prince and more like a bankrupt version of The Butcher!"

Carlisle was stunned.

How did his own successor suddenly become a little Butcher?

But looking at Soto on the coaching bench, everything seemed to be explained.

It appeared his trip here was purely to catch up with Maniero.

The talk of a "crown prince" was nothing but hype.

Beep!

The referee blew the whistle, and the match between fifth-placed San Remo and seventh-placed Potenza in the Serie D standings officially began!

Just three minutes into the game, Moric was knocked down by an opposing midfielder during a challenge.

At that moment, Moric had clearly already passed the ball, but the opponent "failed to brake in time" and still plowed into him.

The opponent's number eight midfielder was a defensive specialist with a fierce playing style.

"Hey, buddy, I already got rid of the ball!" Moric complained.

Whether it was intentional or not, the people on the pitch were the best judges.

"Then pass the ball earlier next time." The opposing number eight showed no remorse.

"What did you say? Say that again if you have the guts!" Lu Yang stepped up. He was taller and stronger than the opponent, using his chest to shove him, causing the man to stumble.

"Hey, hey, hey, keep it clean, all of you!" The referee hurried over, shouting loudly at Lu Yang and the opposing number eight.

The two sides immediately dispersed.

The commentators used this moment to set the tone for the match, labeling it a brutal battle.

"Oh, we can see that Moric has been taken down once again, this time by the Potenza captain, Borges. Before the match, he kicked two tree stumps to pieces and tagged Moric—I think that was a blatant threat!"

"Lu Yang is up there again; this is the third time today he's gone to argue with the opposing players. You can tell he and Moric have a great relationship; he is truly furious."

"If it weren't for Lu Yang's tough stance, Moric might have been subjected to even more fouls. Potenza's tactic today is to freeze Moric out, and it's not just a tactical freeze."

"Borges is much sturdier than Lu Yang, but in their physical struggle, Lu Yang hasn't fallen behind at all. They are evenly matched!"

"Lu Yang's performance today is far more like a captain than the team's second captain! With Rondo absent today, Lu Yang has stepped up to represent the tough side of San Remo!"

Five minutes left in the first half.

Moric dribbled the ball forward, breaking through.

Potenza's number eight rushed toward Moric, attempting to use a foul to stop him.

But Lu Yang had already anticipated the move, blocking the opponent's path.

Moric gained a great opportunity because of this; with two more touches, he would have a clear shot on goal.

But just then, Borges came in with a sliding tackle from the front.

Moric crashed heavily to the ground.

Tweet!

The referee blew his whistle.

It was a foul.

But it was a calculated one, as the free kick from this position posed no real threat.

Before the fans could even boo, a figure charged toward Borges.

"What the hell are you doing, playing football or playing people!" Lu Yang shoved Borges with both hands, knocking the tall man to the ground.

Borges immediately scrambled up and rushed at Lu Yang.

The two collided, pushing each other's chests, neither giving an inch.

The rest of the team swarmed in, and the atmosphere on the pitch became extremely tense.

The referee decisively gave Lu Yang a yellow card.

But after seeing the fury in Lu Yang's eyes, he also flashed a yellow card at Borges.

However, the reasons were different.

Lu Yang received his card for the shoving incident.

Borges received his for the reckless foul on Moric.

In fact, this referee had been relatively lenient throughout the match—perhaps that was his style—but it only made the atmosphere on the pitch increasingly volatile.

Previously, at least two Potenza players should have been booked, but he hadn't called them.

Even this time, if Lu Yang hadn't been booked, the referee might not have carded Borges; it was a balancing act. He knew that if he didn't give a card to a Potenza player, the San Remo squad might become extremely hostile toward him.

Looking at the glaring Lu Yang, the shouting The Butcher Soto on the sidelines, and the furious crowd, the referee made the call to book both players to ensure he could walk out of this stadium alive.

"I've looked at Potenza's stats; they rarely get carded, but the way they play, they shouldn't have such a clean record," Louis remarked.

"In the lower leagues, this is inevitable. Potenza is a well-known 'referee's team.' They always manage to miraculously change the league's situation, leaving the bookies with a full harvest," Maniero said, almost stating it outright.

In this match, the referee was clearly biased toward Potenza.

Moric rolled on the ground twice, and even after getting up, he kept clutching his ankle.

He wasn't injured, but it was genuinely painful.

This was his first time facing this kind of "body-harm-oriented" defense.

It was hardly football.

But it was also an indispensable part of the game.

At halftime, the score was zero to zero.

The brutal defense made it difficult for both sides to play creative or organized football.

During the break, Soto told Moric to be more careful and protect himself, while instructing Lu Yang to join the attack at the right moments.

The opponent's fixation on Moric gave Lu Yang space to roam freely.

The second half began.

In the sixtieth minute, the match reached a turning point.

Potenza pressed into the San Remo penalty area, attacking relentlessly, and won a corner kick.

However, Lu Yang fought for the ball and gained control, then passed it to Moric.

Moric took possession, Lu Yang began his run, and Vedian, positioned ahead, broke into a full sprint.

A counter-attacking opportunity for San Remo had arrived!

At the same moment, the Potenza number eight charged into Moric, attempting to prevent him from releasing the ball.

Moric, however, delivered a beautiful pass to the right midfielder, then retreated instead of advancing, causing several Potenza players looking to mark him to lunge at thin air.

The right midfielder returned the ball to Moric, who launched a long pass, the ball cutting through the sky.

But at the same time, Moric let out a sharp cry.

Because Borges, who had been up for a header, had slid in from behind during his recovery run and taken Moric down.

He wanted to disrupt the pass.

He wanted even more to take Moric out of the game entirely.

"Oh, a beautiful pass... Moric has been fouled, and it has affected the trajectory of his ball!"

"Moric originally intended to send a long ball to the left flank; had Vedian received it, he would have been through on goal. But because he was brought down by the Potenza player Borges, the ball was sent toward the center instead. The referee has not blown the whistle, signaling for advantage!"

"Vedian realizes he cannot reach the ball, so he shifts from his forward run to the wing, drawing a defender away with him. Because in the center, there is still another San Remo player who might reach the ball."

"Lu Yang's high-speed run is also very fast. Why is his speed so incredible? He has overtaken one of the opposing defenders, and only the lone Potenza center-back remains ahead."

"The Potenza center-back establishes his position, and Lu Yang engages in constant physical contact with him while running. An ordinary striker would have been boxed out by the center-back by now, but not Lu Yang; he is not only fast, but strong!"

"He has the ball, Lu Yang has the ball, but the opposing center-back is grappling with him. What should he do? Pass to Vedian? But Vedian is too far wide. And the rest of the team hasn't caught up, especially Moric, who is still curled up on the ground. This was absolutely a malicious foul by Borges; after this attack ends, the referee might just give him his second yellow card of the match!"

At the edge of the penalty arc, Lu Yang received the ball, locked in a continuous struggle with the opposing center-back.

"He has no chance with this ball," Louis said from the stands. "If it were you, Carlisle, you would definitely pull the trigger, and you have the ability to shoot under such pressure—it's your signature move."

"If he wants to be your successor, if he wants to be the Crown Prince of Viola, he should fire a thunderbolt right now and send that damn ball into the net!"

Louis was a top-tier scout with a deep understanding of player technical profiles.

Carlisle was just that good.

But only Carlisle was that good, capable of carrying an opposing center-back on his back and blasting a shot at will.

An ordinary striker wouldn't even get the chance to shoot; they would be knocked off balance by the defender before they could even set their feet.

"He will, because he is furious," Maniero interjected.

The next second.

Boom!

Lu Yang was seen bracing against the opposing center-back while simultaneously pulling the trigger from the edge of the penalty arc.

The center-back tried to stop it, only to find that he couldn't budge Lu Yang at all.

This guy's physical strength was overwhelming!

The next second, the ball flew into the net in a straight, upward-sloping line.

While in mid-air, the ball was only about 1.2 or 1.3 meters off the ground. But by the moment it entered the goal, it nearly struck the crossbar.

During its flight, the ball had risen by nearly a meter.

It was a Rising Shot with spectacular performance value!

The Potenza goalkeeper had completely misjudged the trajectory; he was even half-kneeling on the ground.

Clearly, he had assumed Lu Yang could only strike a Dipping Shot.

Compared to the technical finesse represented by a Dipping Shot, a Rising Shot represents, above all else, raw power!

"GOAL!"

The entire stadium erupted in an instant!

And Louis stood frozen in place.

Because the way Lu Yang had just struck the ball was exactly the same as the King of Viola...