When the players left for the break, the scoreboard on the big screen showed a surprisingly one-sided result for Wushia College. 3 a 0.
As Lucas walked to the front of the group, he heard sparse praise from his teammates. He was panting, tired, with sweat running down his face because he had given his all throughout the first half. However, the satisfaction of seeing the opposing team bewildered was surprisingly pleasurable.
As soon as the Wushia College players entered the dressing room, Mr. Yamamoto arrived shortly behind. He waited patiently until everyone was settled and said:
"Attention, everyone, we’re playing! Congratulations, everyone!"
The excited players started clapping, but Mr. Yamamoto was a very experienced coach and knew how dangerous confidence could be.
"However, don’t think we’re close to winning. Yes, the score is 3-0, but two of these goals were lucky strikes, and the other Lucas pulled off a miracle in attack. We’re scoring well, but a big part of that is because, at that mont, the Colégio Gekokujou players weren’t ntally present on the pitch.
I’m sure that will change when we co back for the second half, because they have a psychologist on their coaching staff and so they will deal with this scoreline. In fact, I think they’ll co back with even more verve than at the start of the first half."
While Yamamoto was talking to the rest of the team about keeping up the pressure in the second half, Lucas couldn’t help but notice the leering looks Tsukada was giving him. He tried to disguise it, but it was clear that sothing was bothering him. Lucas began to suspect what it might be, but he didn’t want to pay any attention to it at the mont.
He preferred to focus on the ga and the fact that they were on their way to an important victory.
"We’re playing well, but we still have a lot of work to do." Yamamoto continued, looking each player in the eye. "Gekokujou are a dangerous team. We need to be on our toes and keep up the pace. No slacking off."
The players nodded in unison, absorbing the coach’s words. Yamamoto then looked at Lucas and said:
"Keep it up, Lucas. You’re being more offensive than ever, and that’s breaking down their defense. I want to see more of that in the second half."
"Roger that, coach!" Lucas replied with a discreet smile forming on his lips. It was nice to hear recognition, especially coming from Yamamoto, a coach known for being demanding and rarely handing out complints.
As the team prepared to return to the field, Lucas felt Tsukada’s eyes on him once again, a heavy, uncomfortable energy. The number 10, who was usually an egocentric person, was quieter than usual.
The players began to get up to return to the pitch. Lucas, already prepared, adjusted the laces of his boots, but it was then that he heard Tsukada’s voice calling his na.
"Lucas."
He stopped, turning to face his teammate. Tsukada was standing with his arms crossed and a serious look on his face. The other players continued to leave the changing room, but the silence between the two of them was like an isolated bubble.
"Do you have a problem with ?" Tsukada asked abruptly. "Or are you angry about sothing?"
Lucas blinked, surprised. "What are you talking about?"
For a mont, bewildernt took over his expression. He really hadn’t understood what was going on. But then it all started to make sense. The way Tsukada had watched him during the ga, the way he seed to avoid direct contact, and now, this question. It was clear. Tsukada was feeling threatened.
He was afraid of losing his place as the star of the midfield.
Lucas took a deep breath, thinking about how to respond without aggravating the situation. He knew that in soccer, players’ egos and confidence were delicate aspects, especially when it ca to players like Tsukada, who had always been the team’s attacking highlight alongside Nishida.
"Tsukada, you’re thinking too much." Lucas said, looking back over his shoulder. "I’m not trying to steal your place. I’m not here to compete with you. We’re on the sa team. If I’m playing well, it’s because I’m trying hard, just like you. What I need is for you to accompany and Nishida.
If the three of us are on the sa page, you’ll score your goals too. We just need to play as a team."
"So... you’re not trying to get out of the team?" Tsukada asked.
Lucas shook his head negatively. "You think that because I took your place that ti, right? You worry too much about these things. When Yukihiro can co back for the next ga, I’m sure Mr. Yamamoto will find a way to keep everyone together. Now, co on, the second half is about to start."
Tsukada nodded, finally showing a small, albeit crooked, smile. They left the changing room together.
Indeed, the second half was about to begin, and Wushia College had a clear mission: to keep up the pressure and secure victory.
The conversation with Tsukada brought to light sothing that Lucas had known for a long ti, but had only now really understood. Soccer, as individual as it could be at tis, was a team sport. It wasn’t enough to be good; you had to be in tune with the others. And Lucas saying he didn’t like Tsukada or sothing like that wouldn’t help, so he supported his colleague.
The ball was placed in the center of the pitch and the referee started the second half. Gekokujou, as Yamamoto had predicted, were trying to mount a desperate coback, and they were indeed doing better. However, the Wushia College team were still better in midfield.
When Kenji made a tackle just behind midfield, he laid the ball off to Lucas, who shot forward. He waited for the ball to bounce a voice on the ground and then took it in his stride.
"Tanaka! Over here!" Nishida shouted, and Lucas saw a passing opportunity between the defense.
However, just as he was about to make the pass to Nishida, sothing unexpected happened.
Suddenly, Lucas felt the impact. It was as if the world around him exploded in pain and shock. A high, brutal, underhand tackle had hit his right ankle. He barely had ti to react before he was knocked to the ground. The green, damp grass of the pitch t him hard, and he felt the impact reverberate throughout his body.
A scream escaped his lips before he could stop it, and he imdiately grabbed his ankle with both hands.
The pain was intense, sharp, as if sothing inside his foot had been crushed. Lucas tried to move, but the pain was too strong.
As he lay on the ground, Lucas looked up and saw the figure of the player who had knocked him down getting up. It was one of the Gekokujou defenders, a burly young man with a hard expression and eyes full of contempt. He began to walk backwards without the slightest concern, as if the act he had just committed was sothing trivial.
With a cold expression, he spat on the ground, a few centiters from Lucas’ face, and said with a tone full of disdain:
"I did well. You’re thinking you’re winning. But we’re in charge here, you bumpkin bastards."
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