Brentford was back, compact, but visibly more cautious. There was a slight tension, almost imperceptible, but for Lucas, it was clear as day.
The ball rolled again and Lucas, with his keen reading of the ga, strategically positioned himself in the space between the midfield line and the opposition defense.
Denis, now aware of Lucas' plan, kept possession not by trying to break down the opposition's defense, but by trying to be broken down, protecting the ball and forcing fouls. When one of the Brentford midfielders approached to steal the ball, Denis spun on his axis, forcing contact.
The referee's whistle blew once again.
The referee quickly took the free-kick, and Lucas received the ball at his feet. He took a light touch and advanced, facing one of the opposing defenders.
The small but excited crowd held their breath as Lucas skillfully guided the ball, making small sideways movents. When the defender tried to shoot, Lucas tilted his body to the opposite side, escaping elegantly.
He was now just a few ters from the edge of the penalty area. Sensing Marcus' approach, Lucas again tried to turn, but Marcus intercepted him with a sudden contact.
The impact threw him to the ground, prompting a chorus of protests from the Brighton side.
"Foul!" shouted Eddie, raising his arms towards the referee.
The referee, without hesitation, signaled the infringent and pointed to the exact spot. It was a dangerous foul, almost central, a few ters from the penalty area.
The Brentford team complained, gesturing to the referee, but he stood firm, ignoring their protests.
Lucas stood up slowly, rubbing his shoulder. Despite the pain, there was a small smile at the corner of his mouth. He knew this was the mont Brighton needed.
Denis walked up to the ball with an air of concentration. His accurate free kicks in training were renowned, and he knew his teammates trusted him to score. He placed the ball on the pitch carefully, adjusting the position until it was perfect.
But before he could position himself for the kick, Felix approached, his countenance resolute.
"Leave that one to , Denis?" asked Felix. "That distance is perfect for . Trust ."
Denis arched an eyebrow. He wasn't the type who liked to give up these opportunities, because he already had a few chances to score his goals. He looked around at Lucas, who just shrugged, leaving the decision in Denis' hands.
"Right. But make it worth your while," Denis replied, taking a few steps back.
Felix nodded. He handled the ball once more, even though it was perfectly placed, as if he wanted to connect with it before taking it.
The Brentford goalkeeper set up the barrier, gesturing to his teammates. Marcus positioned himself next to the barrier, ready to jump if necessary or block a cross.
Felix took four slow steps back, asuring the distance carefully. His countenance was closed, concentrated.
Outside, Alex whispered sothing to Eddie, but the coach kept his eyes on the pitch.
Felix positioned himself with the calm of soone carrying the weight of a decisive mont on his shoulders, but without showing the slightest sign of hesitation.
"He's going to hit hard, that's for sure," whispered Parker on the bench.
"If he misses, the other guy there will get angry." Javier replied.
Brentford's goalkeeper, a tall, slim young man called Rory, moved nervously on the line, spreading his arms, pointing to adjust the barrier.
"Close right! Watch out for the low shot!"
Lucas, standing near the area, observed everything. He knew Felix had more tricks than he realized. He was an unpredictable player, capable of alternating between brute force and surgical precision, but sothing in his posture at that mont showed an obvious choice: power. At this distance, if he tried to be technical, the goalkeeper would have ti to look for the ball anywhere in the goal.
Felix took another step back, his eyes flickering towards the goal. The barrier moved slightly, trying to guess which side he would choose.
From the bench, Eddie didn't blink. He knew the boy lived for monts like this, where all the pressure in the world seed to feed his confidence. Alex, standing next to him, murmured with a slight smile:
"He's going to send up a rocket."
The referee blew the whistle, and ti seed to slow down.
Felix set off with a quick run, and his right foot t the ball with a resounding impact, like thunder breaking the silence. The sound echoed across the pitch, and the ball soared upwards, whirling through the air with overwhelming force, a cot heading for its destination.
The barrier jumped, but it was useless. Felix had calculated every detail. The ball sailed over, grazing the tops of heads, before suddenly diving.
Rory, the goalkeeper, reacted late. His feet moved as if they were stuck to the ground, and when he finally jumped, the ball was already crossing the goal line.
The impact with the net was explosive. The ball flew past the top right corner, making the net vibrate like an instrunt played to perfection. For an instant, ti froze. Then the pitch erupted in euphoria.
"GOAAAL!" shouted Alex, tapping Eddie on the shoulder, who allowed a rare smile to escape.
Felix raised his arms, his serious countenance breaking into a cry of pure ecstasy. He ran towards the left corner and his teammates crushed him in hugs.
Denis was the first to reach him, slapping him on the back with a satisfied smile.
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"You did great, partner!"
"You've got ice in your veins!" said Raphael, patting Felix on the bare head.
"Yeah, and fire in the foot." Felix replied.
At the other end, Brentford looked dejected. Marcus approached the goalkeeper, helping him up while muttering words of encouragent.
"There was no catch, man. It's all right."
The referee gestured for a restart, but the vibration of the goal still hung in the air.
anwhile, Eddie took advantage of the mont to shout instructions. "Lucas, control the middle! Denis, drop back a bit more, close the gaps! They'll have to co up!"
The ball went back to Brentford, who imdiately adopted a more aggressive stance to equalize. Their players pushed forward, searching the flanks with insistence.
However, Brighton, buoyed by the goal and the ticulous organization of Lucas and Felix, was ready.
Denis fell back a bit to close the gaps with Felix. Raphael moved to the middle, to intercept any low passes.
In the 22nd minute, a dangerous attack began on the right. One of their midfielders received the ball from Rory, the goalkeeper, and laid it off to a teammate in the middle. Two touches high, Brentford was in Brighton's half.
A deep pass found the opposing striker, who controlled with skill. He faced defenders Daniel and Luiz.
Felix ran to cover, anticipating the danger. He stretched out his right arm and shouted: "Luiz, hold the line!"
The striker feinted to his left, fooling Daniel for a mont, but not Felix. With a precise movent, Felix glided across the pitch in a neat cart, snatching the ball from his opponent's feet. He stood up quickly, looking around to restart the move.
"Raphael, go! Miguel, open up on the right!" shouted Felix, raising his hand and pointing.
Daniel received the quick pass and did exactly what Felix had in mind when he asked the wingers to run, launching a long ball that found Miguel at speed.
Miguel took it in his stride and sprinted down the right flank, using his explosiveness to outpace his marker. The back line was approaching, but Miguel had other plans. He cut inside, leaving two defenders behind, and crossed low into the area.
Arthur was in position, but a Brentford defender got there first, deflecting the ball for a corner. It was a missed opportunity, but the move raised Brighton's spirits even more.
From the bench, Eddie shouted: "Yes, yes! That's it! Keep pressing!"
At the corner, Lucas calmly walked over to the ball. His eyes swept the area like a general inspecting the battlefield.
Denis positioned himself near the penalty spot, while Daniel and Arthur jostled with the Brentford defenders.
Lucas raised his left arm, signaling the rehearsed move. He took two steps back and hit the center of the ball. The cross was closed, with a curve that ssed up the defense and surprised the goalkeeper, who was ready to catch the ball in the middle of the penalty area.
'Son of a bitch,' thought Rory.
Lucas had practically shot at goal, as if he was trying to score an Olympic goal, which forced Rory to back up quickly and make a great save. However, the fact that he hadn't grabbed the ball was to the great detrint of the team, which was compressed in defense.
Rory fell to the ground as the tussle in the box began. By coincidence or luck, the ball fell into Arthur's lap, who just had to tuck it away and shoot it into the air and into the back of the net.
[Brighton 2-0 Brentfort.]
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