Kenji finally spotted Sarah in the VIP box and made his way over, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Seeing her after his mad dash through Liverpool put a smile on his face, despite the earlier shock of the PSG scout’s revelation.
"Sorry I’m late, Sarah." He said, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek, careful not to spill his refilled champagne.
"All that matters is that you’re here now. Michael is going crazy down there." She replied with a nervous smile.
Sarah could see that the billionaire had sothing on his mind when spotting him from afar. His creased brows were one of his telltale signs that he was thinking about a bad investnt.
"A penny for your thoughts? Or a million pounds?" She said softly, leaning her head onto his expensive suit shoulder.
Kenji was silent for a mont as he looked out onto the field where Barnsley were currently trying to survive a barrage of corners. Letting out a sigh, he asked her a question.
"Did Michael tell you why Kaito is running like that?"
Sarah was a little surprised, however, she shook her head in response. "No, he didn’t say anything. But I said that as long as they were winning, I wouldn’t pry. I was worried Michael might be stressed about the tactics."
Hearing this, Kenji pulled his friend’s wife in and embraced her side briefly. This woman had a heart of gold, always worrying about the Misfits while doing her best not to step on Michael’s chaotic boundaries.
Once again Kenji let out a heavy sigh, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth.
"I think Kaito has done his hamstring..." he stated.
Sarah almost jumped out of her seat in a panic, "W-What do you an!?"
"Did you see his sprint for the goal? I’ve never seen Kaito decelerate like that, even since before we signed him. It was as if he was afraid that running full speed would cause him to snap." Kenji replied, seeing the worry on Sarah’s face.
"We can’t let him play if he’s injured. You need to call Michael."
Kenji grimaced. He knew how stubborn his manager could be, especially when it ca to big gas. They would have better luck winning the lottery than convincing Michael to sub off his fastest weapon, especially since it was Anfield.
Now that he thought deeper about it, the decision to play Kaito on the right instead of the left was likely because it required the least amount of cutting inside on his weak leg. It was rather likely that Michael had known about this risk since the warm-up and ca up with this gamble.
The PSG scouts had comnted on how good Kaito’s speed was, so that was a large indicator that Kaito had been doing what he could to impress them, even through the pain.
What kind of owner would he be if he were to trample on all of his player’s hard work this year to make a transfer happen? Sure, he was wrong for not telling the dical team to intervene, but seeing the scoreboard, he could understand Michael’s thought process.
Letting out his 3rd sigh in as many minutes, Kenji leaned back in the leather chair and shook his head.
"This is the last ga before the international break. He won’t be able to play for Japan because of this. Let’s let him play with the Misfits one last ti."
"Huh? One last ti?" Sarah was imdiately confused, tilting her head in response.
THE ANFIELD CAULDRON
Back on the field, Mateo Vega was on the ball after both Leo Stone and Lukas Weber had been bypassed by the Liverpool press. Unfortunately, holding possession was not his strength against three players, and his fate was the sa as his two predecessors.
Barnsley once again walked back into their defensive shape, their faces filled with determination but soaked in sweat. It was currently the 65th minute and they were up against the heavy tal attack of Liverpool.
These were the best attackers in the league so far and a big reason as to why Liverpool had managed to stay unbeaten at ho. Considering this was their 3rd wave of attacks in five minutes, the Barnsley defense was filled with so nerves.
As a rule of thumb, Jurgen Klopp’s teams tended to hit well in the final 30 minutes considering they would have worn down the opponent’s stamina. This was especially true in the Premier League.
The Egyptian King, Mohad Salah, now stood on the right wing, holding his position wide and preparing for the switch of play.
Michael Sterling leaned forward off his bench, preparing for anything that ca his way. Since being exposed in the first half, he was much more aware of the danger.
THUD
The ball flew from the boot of Trent Alexander-Arnold and flew over the midfield. Michael tried his best to shout at Jean Luc Dubois to track the run, however, it was just out of his voice range, heading towards Salah in the danger zone.
Jean Luc spun towards the sideline and held out his leg, awaiting the one-on-one duel. Yet Salah managed to control the ball with his chest before Jean Luc could get tight.
"Don’t dive in!" Michael scread, his Hairdryer Treatnt passive skill activating involuntarily.
It was a little unfortunate that Salah made it into the box, especially since this next phase was the real headache. Michael had perford True Vision on this winger and could tell that he would be hard work to stop.
While his pace had dropped slightly with age, his finishing attributes were S-Tier. He was also the reason for Liverpool’s dominance, having a hidden trait called ’Anfield God’.
Vladimir Petrovic too felt so danger when facing this player, however, he had confidence in his ’Hidden Thorn’ technique. He held his position right down the middle of the penalty box and called for Diego Nunez to cover the cutback.
Diego nodded. As long as they forced him wide, the ball would go out for a goal kick, hopefully jamming the attack and giving them a breather.
Salah wound up and feinted a shot, yet Michael could tell from the mont that he dropped his shoulder that it was a trap. The movent which was ant to look like a cross, kept its trajectory towards the goal, causing both Vladimir and Diego’s eyes to light up in panic.
BANG!
The ball curled. It didn’t go wide. It didn’t go to the striker.
It bent around Vladimir’s massive fra. It bent around Jan Visser’s outstretched glove.
It kissed the inside of the far post.
GOAL.
Liverpool 2 - Barnsley 1.
The sound was deafening. It wasn’t just a cheer; it was a roar that shook the foundations of the stadium.
Michael stood frozen on the touchline.
"Fuck," he whispered. "That wasn’t a chance. That was magic."
He looked at Kaito Tanaka. The Japanese winger was bent over, hands on his knees. He looked exhausted. He looked like his hamstring was screaming.
Michael turned to Arthur Milton.
"Arthur. Get the sub ready."
"Who Boss?" Arthur asked, his face pale.
"Anyone," Michael snapped. "We need legs. Kaito is done."
But before Arthur could move, Kaito stood up. He looked at the bench. He shook his head.
He pointed to the scoreboard. Then he pointed to his chest.
I am not done.
Michael hesitated. His Tactical Eye saw the red fatigue bar. His logic said sub him.
But his Misfit heart?
"Sit down Arthur," Michael said softly. "Let him cook."
Liverpool was celebrating. The crowd was singing Salah’s na.
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