Reincarnated As A Wonderkid Chapter 244: Frustration

Leon’s eyes imdiately darted to his own teammates, his new, simplified Vision scanning their composure levels.

Most of the veterans—van Dijk, Salah, Alisson—had high composure stats, their ntal fortitude a hardened shield.

But so of the younger, more attack-minded players were more vulnerable. His eyes settled on Hugo Ekitike, the young French striker making one of his first starts.

[Hugo Ekitike | Po: 91 | Cu: 84 | Composure: 72 (Susceptible)]

He was the target.

Leon imdiately started to drift closer to his new teammate, a quiet, protective presence. He knew he couldn’t explain the system, but he could be a shield.

"Stay calm, Hugo," he murmured as he jogged past him.

"Don’t listen to their noise. Just play your ga."

Ekitike, who had been looking a little nervous, gave him a grateful nod.

But Richarlison was a master of his craft.

In the 31st minute, after Ekitike had made a good run but his final shot was blocked, Richarlison jogged past him on his way back.

He didn’t do anything obvious. Just a slight, almost imperceptible shoulder barge and a single, whispered word in French that Leon couldn’t hear, but he saw the effect instantly.

Ekitike’s face flushed with anger.

The system confird it:

[Hugo Ekitike - Status: Frustration (Level 1)].

Two minutes later, Ekitike, trying too hard to prove himself, snatched at a difficult chance, blasting the ball high into the stands.

The frustration was making him sloppy. The ’ntal Disruptor’ was working.

The sloppy shot led to a Spurs goal kick, and they launched a swift, dangerous counter-attack. Ekitike, desperate to make up for his mistake, sprinted back but was clumsy in his challenge, committing a clear foul just outside the penalty area.

The referee’s whistle was shrill. Free kick to Spurs in a deadly position.

"THIS IS A DISASTER FOR LIVERPOOL!" the comntator roared. "A mont of frustration from the young striker Ekitike, and he has gifted Jas Maddison a golden opportunity! You do not want to give a man with his quality a chance like this!"

Maddison placed the ball with the confident swagger of a man who knew he was about to do sothing special.

He took a short, stutter-step run-up and struck the ball with a beautiful, curling technique.

It flew up and over the wall, a perfect, painted arc, before dipping viciously into the top corner.

Alisson, at full stretch, got a fingertip to it, but it wasn’t enough.

1-0 to Tottenham. The ho crowd erupted.

Ekitike just stood there, his hands on his head, a picture of pure devastation.

He had let the mind gas get to him, and it had cost his team a goal.

The goal was a wake-up call for Liverpool.

The ga had been a cagey, tactical affair, but now they were behind. They needed to respond.

In the 38th minute, the ball ca to Leon in the midfield. He had space. He thought of the new skill burning a hole in his digital pocket.

’Power Shot - Level 1’.

This was the mont to test it. He looked up, saw the goal, and unleashed a shot.

It felt different.

There was an extra, explosive kick as the ball left his foot, a satisfying, thunderous connection that he hadn’t felt before.

The ball flew like a rising, venomous projectile, aid for the top corner.

It was a magnificent strike. But the Spurs goalkeeper, Guglielmo Vicario, was a world-class keeper.

He launched himself into an acrobatic, one-handed save, just managing to tip the ball over the bar.

A collective groan went through the away fans. Leon just smiled, a slow, dangerous grin. It works, he thought.

It’s stronger. But it’s not enough. Not yet. I need more points.

The powerful shot, however, had earned them a corner.

The big n, van Dijk and Konaté, jogged up from the back.

Trent Alexander-Arnold placed the ball, a look of intense concentration on his face.

He whipped in a perfect, in-swinging delivery, a cross of such pace and precision that it was a defender’s nightmare.

And rising to et it, a colossal, unstoppable force of nature, was the Liverpool captain, Virgil van Dijk.

He hung in the air for what seed like an eternity, out-muscling his marker, and t the ball with a header of pure, unadulterated authority.

The ball flew into the back of the net before the keeper could even react.

1-1!

Van Dijk roared, a primal scream of leadership, beating the crest on his chest as his teammates mobbed him.

He had taken one look at his rattled, frustrated team and decided to take matters into his own hands.

That was what a captain did.

"A GOAL OF PURE, UNADULTERATED AUTHORITY!" the comntator scread.

"The captain, Virgil van Dijk, has dragged his team back into this match! A header of such power and precision, it was less a goal and more a statent of intent! We are level! What a ga!"

Richarlison was still buzzing around, a constant, annoying presence, whispering dark nothings and delivering sneaky, off-the-ball nudges.

But Ekitike, with the help of a quiet, reassuring word from Leon, was now ignoring him, his focus back on the ga.

The clock ticked over to 42:00. The intensity was still at a fever pitch.

A loose ball was contested near the touchline by Richarlison and Trent Alexander-Arnold.

Trent, with his superior technique, won the ball cleanly.

As he turned to play a pass, Richarlison, never one to let things go, gave him a little, unnecessary shove from behind, sending the Liverpool fullback tumbling over the line.

It wasn’t a bad foul, but it was cynical. It was annoying. And Trent, whose composure was not his strongest attribute, snapped.

He jumped to his feet, getting right in Richarlison’s face.

"What was that for?!" he yelled, their foreheads almost touching.

Richarlison just smiled, a slow, infuriating, crocodile smile.

"Welco to the Premier League, pretty boy," he murmured, his voice a low taunt. "Your fancy yellow boots can’t help you here."

The two players squared up, a storm of angry words and puffed-out chests.

The referee sprinted over, his whistle blowing frantically.

He was about to issue yellow cards to both when the halfti whistle blew, a blessed, welco relief from the escalating tension.

As the players walked towards the tunnel, Trent was still fuming, having to be held back by a calm Andy Robertson.

Richarlison just trotted off, a smug, satisfied look on his face.

He hadn’t won a foul. He hadn’t created a chance. But he had found a new target.

He had planted a seed of frustration in one of Liverpool’s most important creative players.

Leon watched it all, a cold, analytical understanding in his mind.

The ’ntal Disruptor’ had failed to break the young, inexperienced striker.

So now, it was going after the fiery, passionate superstar.

And as his Vision confird the new, ominous status effect, he knew the second half was going to be a completely different kind of battle.

[Trent Alexander-Arnold - Status: Frustration (Level 2) - Highly Susceptible to Provocation.]