Halftime, Three-Nil!

Halftime, Three-Nil! Sheffield City, Bramall Lane Stadium.

"Maël! Maël! Maël!!"

The lights blazed, the roars shook the sky, and the Blades fans carried the atmosphere tonight. Their shouts even spread through the surrounding blocks.

An unstoppable momentum pressed down on the Preston players. They began making forced mistakes, and the situation descended into chaos.

They had conceded to Sheffield right at the start, and it had been such a brilliant World Wave goal.

They could probably imagine just how fired up and spirited their opponents were at this moment. "Don't rush, don't rush!"

Preston manager Landers wore a worried look. He had been standing in the technical area from the opening whistle and had never left it. "Their attacking methods are very one-dimensional. Don't worry. Just play your own game."

He wanted to use this method to help his players regain their confidence and believe they could defeat their opponents.

Swallowing, Landers felt his throat was slightly hoarse. Being caught so off guard had left him extremely frustrated.

Hadn't the pre-match scouting report said that kid's biggest feature was his crossing? His physical duels and ability to break through weren't supposed to be outstanding. So how had he come on and immediately outmuscled their fullback, then scored from long range?

"Information asymmetry!"

He really wanted to shout that in despair, but no one was there to listen to him complain.

He could only wait until he got back to the club, grab the data analyst by the collar, and ask him kindly what the hell they were all doing for a living.

"Bang."

In the twenty-seventh minute, Maël once again received a penetrating pass from a teammate in an advantageous position.

Landers quickly followed toward the wing area, wanting to remind his fullback that he only did bicycle kicks a little faster, and did not have many other ways to beat a man.

But then he remembered he had already reminded the fullback of that before the match, so he said nothing more.

Just as he had expected, after receiving the ball, Maël did indeed start doing bicycle kicks, and quickly knocked the ball with a "snap" toward the outside, preparing to cross.

"Stop him!"

He shouted, and found that his fullback's center of gravity indeed had not been tricked away. He pushed off the ground and burst after Maël's change of direction.

But immediately after that, Maël, who had tasted success not long ago, used the simplest and roughest method: his body slammed hard into the fullback who had caught up.

With a "thud," the fullback was once again knocked half a step away, while Maël sent a cross into the middle.

"Damn it!" Landers cursed bitterly at how unreasonable it was. His body slowly leaned backward at an astonishing angle, and he naturally thrust his hips and pelvis forward, every muscle in his body tensing.

Bang!!

In the middle, Sheffield United's tall center forward Bologanovic leapt high and powered a header toward goal. Unfortunately, he had had too few touches and had yet to find his feel, sending it slightly wide.

Only then did Landers let out a breath. Then he turned angrily toward the bench, wanting to find a stronger fullback to substitute on.

But after looking left and right, he finally pursed his lips and turned his head back toward the pitch.

"Kids these days are all too freakish!" he raged helplessly. For a team like theirs without a powerful fullback, there really was nothing they could do about a winger like Maël.

"The first half is about to end. Sheffield have created several good chances, and they also hold a major advantage in corner kicks and set pieces! "The performances of the two youngsters, Maël and Gilbert, have been surprising. Even though they lack seasoned experience, they have made up for it with a rookie's willingness to fight and take risks. They have made the Preston players uncomfortable.

"Landers has looked unhappy the whole time. That is his coaching style. He is a passionate type, and his expression and emotions easily shift with the team's situation.

"Let's look at this attack! A beautiful three-on-two on the wing! Karl Way has charged into the penalty area. He has cut straight all the way from the fullback position, overlapping behind Ward and rushing toward the byline. What will he choose?!"

On the pitch, amid the cheers of the crowd, Sheffield right back Karl Way had charged to the byline in the half-space.

He glanced at the center of the penalty area and found that the opponents were already beginning to panic, rapidly retreating.

When sprinting back like that, it was difficult to shift one's center of gravity in the opposite direction.

Copying the way Ward had assisted Maël, he knocked the ball toward the cutback area! Sure enough, the ball exploited the reaction gap! Quite a few Preston players wanted to shift their center of gravity and stick out a foot after seeing the ball, but their bodies could not keep up, and the ball slipped past by the slimmest of margins.

Bang!!

The one who followed up with the side-foot shot was the team's midfielder, Janu Hans. He stretched out his body and swept a beautiful instep ground-hugging curve toward the far corner.

The ball passed through the mess of blocking legs in the penalty area and rolled into the far corner of the goal!

Two-nil! Sheffield United had extended their lead!

"Oh!!" The home fans were like they were celebrating New Year, dancing wildly in the stands and celebrating the goal in ecstasy.

They were even closer to their first home win of the new season!

"Karl Way, my bedroom door is open for you tonight."

Janu Hans smiled with a sultry air, pointed at Karl Way, who had assisted him, and sprinted over. "Bring the equipment."

"Get lost."

Karl Way looked disgusted, but still, because of the joy of the goal, he opened his arms toward him. "If I'd known, I would've passed it to Gilbert."

Gilbert, following behind, had not heard clearly and got the meaning between the two of them reversed. After a shiver of revulsion, he said, "If you want to get a teammate's assist at Sheffield United, is there really this kind of tradition and rule?"

He thought of Ward's assist for Maël and could not help observing a few seconds of silence for his brother.

Wait, hadn't Maël assisted him too?

"What are you thinking about, idiot!"

Maël ran up, laughed twice, and pushed him toward the celebrating crowd.

After the restart, it was plain to the naked eye that Preston manager Landers's face had darkened another shade.

He no longer paced along the touchline. Instead, he stood there with both hands in his pockets, watching the ball move with cold detachment.

He glanced at his watch. There was not much time left before the end of the first half.

Just let it end like this. Rescue things at halftime, and maybe they could still survive.

Bang!

Just then, he saw the opposing midfielder Janu Hans pass the ball to Maël, and Maël began his magical Bicycle Kick footwork again.

"Watch him trying to crash into you. Be smart!"

Landers gritted his teeth and barked a reminder: "He can't break past you with his dribble. Avoid the contact and you win!"

The Preston fullback seemed to have heard him. While defending, he feinted every now and then, baiting Maël into crashing into him so he could dodge first.

And so, after Maël finished three Bicycle Kick steps, he planted his right foot and drove off it, his left side swinging sharply to the left as if he were about to make the final break.

The Preston defender fell for it, shifting his center of gravity toward the inside, only to see that Maël had not pushed the ball forward! Damn it!

It was still a feint!

Smack! After planting his left foot, Maël powered up again, using his right foot to knock the ball out to the right on the outside, then glanced toward the middle.

Bicycle Kick and Step-Over Dribbling could, of course, be combined. Only that way could he create a dazzling illusion and trick away the opponent's center of gravity! Bang!

Maël wrapped his right foot around the ball and sent a cross toward the middle, the ball's arc bending sharply toward the near post.

"Ah—" Not far from them, Landers thrust his hips forward again and leaned his body back, trying to twist away the danger of the ball with body movement. It seemed like a human instinct.

But this time, he was not so lucky.

Bologanovic, this center forward who had been buried for a long time, had seen his form rise dramatically after meeting an outstanding partner like Maël.

Bang!

He rushed out quickly and glanced the ball toward the goal with the back of his head.

Before he even had time to turn and look, he first saw the fans on both sides stand up, and heard the shout ringing to the skies: "Yeah!!"

The ball was in! His first goal of the new season! Three-nil up at halftime! "Maël!" Bologanovic grabbed the lower hem of his shirt with both hands and flipped it up, shaking it over and over to show his excitement as he sprinted toward the wing, toward Maël's embrace.

"Oh!" Only Preston manager Landers was left disheveled in the wind, thrusting his hips even higher and letting out an explosive sound under the cover of the cheers.