Intra-Squad Training Match, Draw the Sword!

Intra-Squad Training Match, Draw the Sword!

After the signing ceremony ended, Maël and the others went to the team's photography room, put on their new kits, and shot their styling photos for the new season.

It was a moment filled with laughter and cheer. The two of them either stood with hands on hips and solemn expressions, or raised a fist high, posing as if roaring with blazing fury; sometimes they even had to imitate moves like dribbling past opponents and firing shots.

"Hahaha." Even though the photographer had reminded them several times, laughter still rang through the room from time to time.

It was just like brothers who spent every day together being called on by the teacher to answer a question. At first they could still force themselves to look serious, but the moment their eyes met yours, they could not hold it in anymore.

By the time they finished all that, it was already one in the afternoon.

Led by Joelson, they went to the team cafeteria for their first meal on the club's tab.

After that, they went home to pack and get ready, waiting for the intra-squad training match that afternoon.

At three in the afternoon, at Sheffield's First Team training ground.

People in kits walked in one after another. Some joked and laughed with a few friends, while others came alone, moving toward those beside them who were just as solitary, hoping to find a group.

A tense atmosphere began to spread from that moment on. Everyone knew what this training match meant for the new season.

Maël arrived together with Gilbert. Seeing that training had not started yet, they took a football and did some basic passing drills around the area, warming up their touch.

Before long, a tall, slightly plump old man with snow-white hair arrived at the pitch holding a tactical board.

Several assistant coaches followed behind him, including Gareth Speed, who was dressed in formal attire.

Maël knew this had to be the team's manager, Mr. Kevin.

"Beep!"

Kevin blew his whistle, signaling everyone to gather around him, then began fiddling with the tactical board in his hands.

Once everyone had drawn close, he set the tactical board down, raised his head, and said, "There are quite a few new faces on the team, so let me introduce myself. My name is Kevin Blackwell, and I'm the team's Head Coach.

"You may not be familiar with me yet, but we'll be spending plenty of time together. There will be more than enough time for us to slowly get to know each other."

As he said this, Maël deliberately observed Gareth Speed's expression and found that he looked very calm, the same as when they had first met not long ago.

"All right, I've done some research on all of you."

Kevin picked up the tactical board again. "You all know what we're doing today. Next are the team assignments."

He acted crisply and efficiently, rarely wasting words. "Formation: 3-4-3. Red bib lineup: Goalkeeper, Aksaru. Defenders, Andy Taylor and Lotton. Midfielders, Gilbert and Quinn."

The Red Team was quickly assigned. Maël did not hear his own name, so he figured he should be on the Yellow Team.

"Good luck."

As they parted, Gilbert smiled at him and clenched his fist. "Don't use Bicycle Kick on me again."

Maël smiled knowingly. "Sooner or later, I'll use the Bicycle Kick to get past you cleanly."

Thinking of his rate of improvement, Gilbert raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I believe that. But not now."

"Yellow bib lineup."

Kevin's voice rang out again afterward, hoarse yet high-pitched. "Goalkeeper, Robert. Defenders, Karl Way and Chris Morgan. Midfielders, Janu Hans and Montgomery. Forwards, Maël, Evans, and Ward!"

After all the names were read out, two people were left out and sat on the bench to wait.

Kevin put away the tactical board and waved a big hand. "Each team organize your own warm-up. We start in fifteen minutes."

Maël pulled on a yellow bib and went to the half where the Yellow Team was, doing some simple jogging and stretching with his teammates, along with passing and shooting.

Throughout the entire process, there was only communication on the pitch. No one said anything privately.

Because there were too many unfamiliar faces, this felt more like a trial match than a professional team's preseason training match.

Maël kept observing his new teammates. These people still fit his stereotype of the Championship quite well.

Most were strong and sturdy, with few agile-type players.

He figured their playing style was also the rather direct long-ball, aerial-bombardment kind, with no need for too much Ball Control in the back line.

He took a deep breath, adjusting his state during the warm-up, hoping he could get a good opportunity.

"Beep, beep...!"

Only when Kevin's two preparatory whistles sounded did everyone end the warm-up, jog to their positions, and wait for the match to begin.

The position Maël got today was Left Winger. This was the position he was best at. Joelson had probably communicated with the club and put him there.

He continued adjusting his breathing, hoping to leave a good first impression on the coaching staff and his teammates.

"Beep!"

Finally, Kevin blew the whistle to start the match.

The Red Team's Center Forward played the ball from the center circle. Gilbert, in the central area, received it, turned, and kicked it to the wide midfielder at the side.

Both sides' formations quickly began to move. The defending players closed in from spread-out positions toward the area where the ball was, compressing space and limiting the opponent's passing options.

The attacking side, meanwhile, did everything it could to stretch the width and create space to receive the ball.

The battle between the two sides was happening at every moment. As long as one side showed the slightest carelessness or lapse, the other might seize the chance and deliver a fatal blow! The higher the level of the match, the higher the cost of a mistake.

"Bang!"

Maël had only just run a few steps forward when he saw the opposing wide midfielder hit a Long Pass, sending the ball in behind him.

He quickly turned his gaze toward the teammate wide midfielder closest to him, and in the next instant saw him head the ball down, intercepting it and nodding it toward Maël's position.

Maël pushed off the ground and exploded forward, wanting to control the ball before the opposing player behind him could get there.

Screech! But he still had not expected his opponent to fly in with a sliding tackle from behind, knocking the ball out over the touchline while taking him down to the ground.

Since the tackler had indeed touched the ball while making the challenge, Kevin, the Head Coach officiating, did not blow the whistle. He believed this kind of contact was normal in the Championship.

"You all right, lad?"

A bright voice came over. Maël looked up and saw the opposing midfielder who had just brought him down reaching out a hand to him. "Up you get."

There was nothing else in the other man's eyes. He seemed to think this was nothing at all.

Maël took his hand, got to his feet, and ran back to his position.

So this is the physical Rhythm of a Championship team? He swallowed, adrenaline pumping wildly, strength surging through his body—that was the instinctive hunger for battle.

Bang!

After their throw-in was taken, the ball was quickly switched from the left to the right, and then another Long Pass was lofted toward his side.

As expected, Maël failed to win the aerial duel, and the ball flew straight out over the touchline.

He waved an apology to his teammates, then turned around and fixed a predatory stare on the opposing wide midfielder taking the throw-in, his attitude to the match buzzing with excitement.

The opposing wide midfielder noticed it too, and deliberately chose a position far away from Maël when making the throw.

"Mine!"

In the end, Evans, the Yellow Team Center Forward lurking in the middle, suddenly burst out and poked the ball away in front of the Red Team midfielder, bringing it under control on the flank.

Maël reacted very quickly. The moment he saw Evans win the ball, he sprinted at full speed toward the central area Evans had just vacated.

There, because of Evans's run, an open pocket had appeared.

"Here!"

After running into position, he had only just shouted when Evans's precise pass arrived at his feet.

He glanced at the goal and pushed the ball to the right.

Now!

Bang!!

All his tension and excitement turned into power, poured into the ball before him.

Maël gritted his teeth and swung his leg through fully, unleashing an utterly ferocious instep drive. The ball howled toward the near corner of the goal.

"Don't." Gilbert, the Red Team midfielder, had wanted to remind his teammate not to give Maël a free shooting environment, but he had only managed one word before Maël had already struck the shot.

The angle was not especially tricky, but the power was simply too great. On top of that, the Goalkeeper had not yet settled into the match and was caught completely off guard.

Swish! The ball smashed into the net, making a crisp, pleasing sound.

One-nil!

Yellow Team led!

"Oh!" Most of the Yellow Team players were not slow to react. The instant the ball hit the net, they spread their arms in amazement and rushed toward Maël.