Arnold was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, still fuming from his run-in with Richarlison, muttering under his breath about the "dark arts."
"I should have just ignored him," Trent seethed, kicking a stray water bottle. "I let him get in my head. Stupid."
"Hey," Andy Robertson said, putting a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. "That’s his whole ga. He’s a professional pest. He wants you angry. Don’t give him what he wants."
"He’s right," Virgil van Dijk’s calm, authoritative voice cut through the tension. "He is irrelevant. We are better than them. We prove it with our football, not with our mouths."
Arne Slot stood in the center of the room, his expression a mask of cold, tactical analysis.
"They have identified a weakness," he said, his voice sharp.
"Not in our defense. In our discipline." He looked directly at Trent, his gaze intense but not accusatory.
"He will target you again in the second half. He is a ’ntal Disruptor’," he said, unknowingly using the exact term from Leon’s Vision.
"Every ti he cos near you, I want you to smile. A big, stupid, annoying smile. It will drive him absolutely insane. The rest of you," he said, his gaze sweeping the room, "we are creating chances. The final ball needs to be better. Be patient. The goal will co."
The second half began, and Liverpool ca out with a new, icy composure.
They dominated possession, their passing a crisp, confident rhythm that slowly began to suffocate the life out of the ho crowd.
Richarlison, as predicted, continued his campaign of annoyance, but every ti he got near Trent, the fullback just gave him a wide, infuriatingly cheerful grin.
In the 51st minute, Liverpool’s dominance almost paid off.
Mo Salah, a blur of red on the right wing, went on a blistering speed run, leaving his defender for dead.
He cut inside and unleashed a furious shot that was destined for the far corner, but Vicario, the Spurs keeper, made another brilliant, flying save.
"THEY ARE KNOCKING ON THE DOOR!" the comntator roared.
"Liverpool are playing with a swagger now! How long can this Spurs defense hold out?!"
But in football, a single mont can change everything.
In the 55th minute, just as it seed Spurs were about to crack, they won the ball back deep in their own half.
Richarlison, in a mont of actual footballing brilliance, played a subli, first-ti flick around the corner to Jas Maddison.
The counter-attack was on. Maddison drove forward, saw the space, and unleashed an absolute missile of a shot from a full 39 yards out.
The ball flew with a vicious, swerving power.
Alisson, at full stretch, could only watch as it cannoned off the inside of the post and into the net.
2-1 to Tottenham. A goal of pure, breathtaking, out-of-nowhere genius.
Anfield was stunned.
The goal was a sucker punch.
Liverpool had been completely dominant, and now they were behind. They threw everything forward, a desperate, furious wave of red.
The ga beca a shooting test for the Spurs goalkeeper.
A powerful shot from Szoboszlai was tipped over.
A clever, curling effort from Leon was parried away. A header from Isak was saved on the line.
And as Liverpool pushed forward, they left themselves vulnerable.
In the 68th minute, Spurs hit them on the break again.
A long ball found Son Heung-min, who used his intelligent movent to spring the offside trap.
He was one-on-one with Alisson.
He made no mistake, calmly slotting the ball into the bottom corner.
3-1. A disaster.
The cara panned to the away fans, a small pocket of red in a roaring sea of white, their faces a picture of utter, devastating shock.
On the sideline, Arne Slot just shook his head, a look of grim, frustrated resignation on his face.
But this was Liverpool.
They did not die. In the 70th minute, from the restart, they produced a goal of pure, defiant pride.
A quick combination of passes saw the ball fall to Alexander Isak on the edge of the box.
The big Swede, a man who had been a frustrated, peripheral figure all ga, took one touch to set himself and then smashed the ball with a ferocious, unstoppable power into the roof of the net.
3-2. A glimr of hope.
The clock was ticking.
Twenty minutes to find a miracle. Leon felt a familiar, cold fury rising within him. He had been a facilitator, a creator.
It wasn’t enough.
He needed to be a weapon. He closed his eyes, his mind a quiet, focused storm.
Skill Store.
[System Points (SP): 475] (Earned from his earlier shot and key passes).
He navigated to the ’Shooting’ category. He saw the familiar icon.
[’Power Shot - Level 2’]: Increases shot power by a further 10%. Cost: 250 SP.
It was a significant upgrade.
A move from a cannon to a full-blown howitzer. Without a second’s hesitation, he clicked ’Purchase’.
[250 SP deducted. ’Power Shot - Level 2’ acquired!]
A new, more intense surge of golden energy seed to flow through his body, a feeling of coiled, explosive power that was almost overwhelming.
As he opened his eyes, the ball was in the air, a high, hopeful clearance from a Spurs defender.
It was coming down right towards him, 35 yards from goal.
The world seed to slow down. He saw the space. He saw the goal. He saw the path.
He didn’t think. He just acted. He let the ball drop, and as it bounced perfectly in front of him, he swung his right leg, unleashing every ounce of his newly upgraded power.
The connection was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was a sound that was less a "thud" and more a sonic boom.
It was a white blur, a straight, rising, unstoppable line of pure energy.
The goalkeeper, a world-class athlete, didn’t even have ti to dive. He just flinched.
The ball crashed into the very top corner of the net with a force that made the entire goal fra shudder.
3-3.
The stadium was utterly, completely, devastatingly silent, except for the tiny, faraway pocket of red that was losing its collective mind.
Leon just stood there, a look of pure, shocked, animalistic triumph on his face. His teammates mobbed him, a screaming, disbelieving pile of red.
In the stunned silence, the comntator, his voice a hoarse, reverent whisper, finally managed to speak.
"I... I don’t believe it. I do not believe what I have just seen. That was not a shot. That was an explosion. That was a statent.
Leon has just scored one of the greatest goals in the history of the Premier League. And we have a grandstand finish."
But as Leon was being lifted onto the shoulders of a roaring Virgil van Dijk, his eyes happened to glance at the giant screen in the stadium.
The broadcast was showing a slow-motion replay of his goal.
And as the cara zood in on the ball at the mont of impact, a strange, almost imperceptible flicker of golden light, visible only for a single fra, seed to pulse from his boot.
And at that exact mont, a new, unexpected, and deeply unsettling notification flashed in his Vision, a ssage he had never seen before.
[SYSTEM WARNING: Unstable energy signature detected. ’Power Shot - Level 2’ has caused a minor reality fracture. Continued use at this intensity may result in... unpredictable side effects.]
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