⚽ Kickoff
The whistle echoed across the stadium, and the game began.
Both teams snapped into motion, boots crunching over the fresh turf. On the sidelines, coaches stood with arms folded, watching intently — not barking orders, just analyzing. Looking for tactical cracks. Waiting to make adjustments if needed.
For now, it was all up to the kids.
Leon Marshall Academy wasted no time showing their shape:
5 at the back. 1 defensive midfielder.
A fortress.
A frustrating one.
The five defenders weren't just bodies — they were disciplined. Smart. Moving in unison, with short, controlled touches and sharp switches across the back line. Their defensive midfielder, a broad-shouldered, no-nonsense brute wearing number 4, sat right in front like a concrete wall.
"That guy's not under 10," Min Son muttered to himself, eyes narrowing.
Then a second thought followed:
"Even if he's older… football doesn't care about age. Only understanding."
And right now, Leon Marshall understood something very well:
How to make the attackers run for nothing.
🌀 Stamina Drain
Blue Flame's forwards — Jin-Woo and Min Son — were pressing, chasing, shifting side to side.
But they were burning fuel fast.
Every tap-tap pass across Leon Marshall's line drained energy.
Every false press led to nothing.
Seven minutes in, and the game felt more like chess than football.
But Min Son?
He hadn't even touched the ball.
He just walked. Jogged. Drifted.
Watching. Calculating.
👻 Off-Ball Genius
He noticed the defenders never stepped out of shape. Not even once.
They weren't greedy. They didn't bite. They just mirrored movement and waited.
The defensive midfielder was even worse — huge, wide stance, never turned his back, shadowing every attempt to slip between lines.
But in the middle of that structured wall, Min Son saw gaps.
Tiny ones. Ones that opened for only a second.
And he ghosted into them quietly.
"Not yet…" he told himself.
He wasn't waiting for the ball.
He was waiting for the moment.
⚡ Turning Point
Suddenly — a crack.
Leon Marshall's number 11 broke into space and unleashed a stunning long-range effort.
Blue Flame's goalkeeper dove perfectly and caught it midair.
Before anyone could recover, he hurled the ball out wide to their right full-back.
The full-back took one touch and lofted a low, skipping pass across the turf — fast, clean — toward midfield.
Straight to Min Son.
🚀 Break Begins
The moment the ball touched his foot, Min Son exploded.
Full speed.
He surged forward like a released spring, cutting across the halfway line. His head lifted. Ahead of him: two options.
Jin-Woo, number 9, sprinting into the box.
Number 7, dragging wide to stretch the defense.
But the defenders? They weren't fooled.
They moved in sync, expertly holding a line. Deliberately baiting an offside. Positioning themselves so any pass to 7 or 9 would be smothered instantly.
⚠️ The Deception
But Min Son didn't rush.
He slowed.
Started jogging.
His body language screamed, "I'm about to pass."
He cradled the ball like he was setting up a through ball. But the defenders also knew he could shoot — the angle wasn't impossible.
So they backpedaled, hesitating. Waiting for the cue.
Then the first one cracked.
Number 6, a tall, wiry center-back, stepped up aggressively.
"This bastard's not passing. He's trying to dribble us!" he growled.
🩰 Close Control
He lunged.
Too late.
With a soft, casual tap, Min Son slipped the ball past him.
It barely left his foot. So smooth, it didn't even look like a dribble.
Min Son didn't break stride.
His control was too tight.
Like the ball was glued to his foot.
He slid past number 6 like water around a rock.
Two more defenders rushed forward in frustration — trying to close him down.
But they made a mistake.
They left Jin-Woo alone.
🎯 The Final Pass
Min Son didn't panic.
Didn't flash.
He didn't even look flashy.
He just played the right pass.
No tricks. No flair.
Just a clean, cold, efficient through ball that split the defenders.
Jin-Woo received it perfectly in stride — one-on-one with the keeper.
And that only meant one thing.
🥅 GOAL!
A soft tap under the keeper.
Net.
Blue Flame 1 - 0 Leon Marshall
The crowd burst into cheers.
The bench leapt. Coaches high-fived. Junho shouted from midfield.
But Min Son?
He just turned around and jogged back into position.
The restart was anything but quiet.
Leon Marshall's rhythm kicked up a gear. They passed not just with purpose — but with authority. Possession stretched like elastic across the pitch. Left. Right. Back. Diagonal. Repeat.
Tapping. Tapping. Tapping.
> "They're playing in circles," one Blue Flame defender muttered under his breath.
They weren't just holding the ball.
They were wearing Blue Flame down.
And it was working.
---
🕟 Minute 35: Equalizer
Min Son barely had time to react before disaster struck.
Leon Marshall's number 9, a wiry boy with spring-loaded feet and terrifying balance, ghosted past two defenders with a feint and a flick — a one-two that cracked Blue's shape wide open.
Then—
> A left-footed curler.
Low. Fast. Dipping into the bottom corner.
The crowd erupted like it was a championship winner.
"GOAAAAAL!!"
The boy slid across the turf like a European star, arms wide, teammates piling over him.
1 - 1.
---
But that goal didn't shift momentum.
It only made it worse.
Leon Marshall kept pressing.
Kept controlling.
Kept tapping the ball — and keeping it.
Blue Flame?
Couldn't even breathe.
---
💢 Min Son's Frustration
Min Son was practically starving for the ball.
He watched pass after pass get intercepted.
Saw his defenders either panic-clear it…
…or spam hopeful through balls straight to the opposition.
> "Why are we just kicking it away…? Why are we not thinking?"
And when the ball did finally come his way—
The space was gone.
The pressure? Immediate.
The defensive midfielder — that towering, brick-bodied boy in number 4 — was glued to him.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
But always there.
> "How is he never out of position…?"
He didn't need to run.
He just read everything.
Like a ghost that knew where the ball would be before anyone else.
---
🧠 Inner Monologue — Min Son
> "Okay… don't panic. Just control… then quick pass to Sung."
He received a pass. His first clean one in minutes.
A defender came.
He tried to flick it left.
Intercepted.
> "No… okay… get it back, next time pass earlier—"
Another ball came to him.
He touched it twice.
DMF was already there. Shoulder. Hip.
Bodied.
Possession lost again.
His teammates' reactions were louder now.
Lee Sung, number 7, threw his arms up.
Jin-Woo didn't even hide it — glaring at Min Son like he wanted to knock him over himself.
> "They're pissed…"
"They're all pissed…"
"I never lose the ball this much…"
He got it again — near the center circle.
His instincts screamed "dribble."
But the pressure came from both sides.
His decision froze for half a second.
Too long.
Lost again.
---
🧊 Cold Reality
His passes became rushed. His dribbles, stiff. His vision blurred from pressure and fatigue. The ball started bouncing awkwardly under his foot, like even it was turning against him.
> "I don't have time to think. I don't have time to breathe."
> "If I try to pass, they close me down."
> "If I try to run, they shove me off."
> "If I just stand still… I disappear."
It was the kind of helplessness that couldn't be coached out.
It was the kind that hurt.
Especially for someone like Min Son.
---
💬 Opponent's Voice
As he got up from the turf — after another shove from Number 4 — he heard it.
A low chuckle.
> "Too soft, pretty boy."
The defensive mid didn't even say it like an insult.
More like a fact.
---
🧠 Half-Time: Adjustments & Tension
The whistle blew like a mercy.
Blue Flame walked off the pitch with heads down, sweat soaking their collars, breaths heavy.
The fans still clapped — mostly parents, trying to lift the boys' spirits — but anyone who understood the game knew:
> This could've easily been 1–3.
Leon Marshall weren't just playing better.
They were dominating tactically — pressing high, passing sharp, and squeezing the midfield like a vice.
In the locker room, no one spoke at first.
Just the hum of the fan spinning lazily above them.
Then the coach stood.
He didn't yell.
He just let silence sting first — then walked toward the whiteboard.
> "Fullbacks. You're not tracking back fast enough."
"You're getting caught too high and letting runners behind you."
"Fix that — now."
The players nodded stiffly, eyes low.
Then his tone shifted.
> "We're ditching long-ball counters. Switch to fast counters."
No need to explain it.
These kids had practiced it a thousand times — short, sharp, one-touch transitions the moment they win the ball.
Then he turned to Min Son.
> "Play wild," he said flatly.
"You're thinking too much. Let instinct drive now."
Min Son blinked.
Then nodded.
He turned to Jin-Woo.
> "No wasted chances."
"Understood," Jin-Woo replied, sharp and short.
---
⚔️ Second Half Begins
The rhythm changed.
Blue Flame moved faster. Crisper.
The match started to even out. Not because Leon Marshall got weaker — but because Min Son got freer.
> "I'm playing wild now…"
"Less safe. Less afraid. Lower risk of choking…"
"Higher chance… of magic."
---
🎯 Minute 65: A Glimpse of Magic
Junho read the field like radar.
He intercepted a lazy pass near midfield — and without a second of hesitation, sent a threaded through ball to the right wing.
Min Son was already on the move.
He drifted wide, took one touch — then two.
Explosion.
He sprinted down the flank, tearing the turf under his cleats, drawing gasps from the crowd. The full-back sprinted after him, lungs bursting, but Min Son's feet were fire.
He reached the edge of the box — just barely outside the 18-yard line.
He stopped.
The full-back skidded past, nearly losing his balance.
Min Son cut inside — but there he was again:
The DMF.
He came charging in like a wall of muscle.
Min Son's instincts screamed.
Shoot now.
Instead—
He faked the shot.
The DMF bit — throwing his body to block it—
Too late.
Min Son slipped past him like a whisper.
Now he was in an awkward angle — just outside the box, hugging the line.
But his breath slowed.
His eyes locked on the far post.
---
⚡ The Blitz Curler
He struck.
Not with power. Not with violence.
With intent.
The ball lifted… and lifted… and kept lifting.
The crowd gasped.
> "That's going out…"
Even the keeper stepped back, tracking it lazily — until his eyes widened.
The ball swerved.
Bent.
Dropped.
Like it had its own soul, its own orbit.
It smacked the underside of the crossbar with a deafening clang — then dropped straight down.
Everyone froze—
Except Jin-Woo.
He dashed in, cool as ice, and tapped it home before anyone could blink.
2 - 1.
---
⏱️ Minute 80: The Final Blow
Min Son wasn't done.
He received the ball near the left sideline, again.
A defender charged in.
Gone.
Another slid in.
Embarrassed.
He danced, ducked, spun.
The crowd screamed.
Then — a precise, deadly cross into the 18.
Jin-Woo jumped like gravity forgot him, meeting the ball with a bullet header that crashed into the net like thunder.
3 - 1.
Even a professional keeper wouldn't have touched it.
---
🔄 The Substitution
Min Son collapsed to his knees afterward, gasping.
His legs barely obeyed him.
Coach called him off.
He left the pitch with the crowd rising to clap — even some Leon Marshall fans.
His hands trembled. His lips cracked into a breathless smile.
---
⏳ The Final Minutes
Leon Marshall tried everything.
Shots from range.
High crosses.
Last-minute corners.
Nothing worked.
The Blue Flame keeper punched. Blocked. Saved.
The defense clung on like warriors in the trenches.
Then — the final whistle.
Blue Flame 3 – 1 Leon Marshall
---
✅ End of Match Recap:
Min Son: 1 magical assist, 1 Blitz Curler that hit the bar and lead to the second goal, 1 dazzling cross.
Jin-Woo: 3 goals,"Hatrick" laser-focused. 1 bloody cold finish, one tap in and one header
Crowd: Wild.
Scouts in the crowd? Watching. Silently taking notes.
---