Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Return
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As the second half kicked off, Espanyol fans checked the substituted players.
"Why the hell is that guy coming on!!"
"Send him back in!!"
"Ha... It's been ages since we made the round of 16, and we followed all this way just to watch this crap..."
The stadium erupted in chaos.
💬 Live Chat — Fan123 Lmao, they conceded one goal and already giving up? — SoccerNerd But their starters are all still on the pitch? — GoalGetter They'll probably try it out and sub him off quick if it doesn't work. — AnalystFan For a one-goal deficit, their first-half performance screamed like they were gonna ship three more. Fair to bail... Soccer fans watching the match on screen seemed understanding, having witnessed the one-sided first half.
Some even argued they should've rotated quietly from the start once they knew they were up against that kid.
"Hoo..."
Standing in midfield, Lorenzo took a tense breath.
Surprisingly, even on match day—and despite playing today—Lorenzo hadn't said a word until now.
Honestly, it felt like he might've lost his voice or something.
"You good?"
"...Huh? Me?"
Thankfully not, but he looked shocked that someone was talking to him first.
"Let's do this. I'll keep feeding you passes. Time to turn it around."
I left those words of encouragement for Lorenzo and headed back to my spot.
"...No, I have to handle this alone."
Not quite buying it, Lorenzo steeled himself inwardly.
I decided not to explain further—just return to position and prove it with actions.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ In the first 10 minutes of the second half, Espanyol mounted two attacks.
Both times, Lorenzo won aerial duels on balls lumped forward right after we stole possession in our half, sparking counters.
His individual skill was undeniably impressive.
But he couldn't finish the attacks solo—one time he was forced wide and lost the ball, the next he was dispossessed by Atlético Madrid's winger, fullback, and midfielder combining.
Failures, sure, but definite good signs.
Being pushed wide meant he'd at least broken through down the flank, and needing three players to strip him showed real threat level.
"It's that guy again! Shut him down!"
Same situation once more.
Lorenzo, waiting in midfield, won the header on the long ball forward and charged into their half.
But Atlético Madrid, burned by the same route twice already, had stationed defenders deeper this time. They were set and waiting.
"Damn it..."
The defender baited him, leaving a sliver of space on the wing, while Atlético players hustled back behind.
"Lorenzo!!!!!!"
Right on cue, from the opposite flank, fullback Lee Si-eon burst forward at top speed.
No way Atlético's players could match Si-eon's already-maxed-out pace.
Suddenly, Lorenzo had a pass option.
The defender waiting for him couldn't ignore Si-eon's infiltration.
"Hup—."
"Crap!"
Lorenzo spotted the split-second gap, chipped the ball long ahead, and sprinted.
The defender whirled to chase but, off-balance, couldn't keep up.
Open space ahead.
Si-eon cutting in centrally.
Espanyol fans sensed a goal—the stadium swelled with roars.
"Loren...!"
I called for a cross, but Lorenzo folded early to shake a trailing defender. He escaped that one but not the pack behind.
"Damn it..."
The ball sailed out; Lorenzo trudged for the throw-in.
I sprinted his way.
Spotting me barreling in way too fast, Lorenzo sounded flustered.
"Huh?"
"Listen up. Pass to me, and I'll return it guaranteed."
"..."
I snatched the ball from his arms, shoved him fieldward.
Eyed the ref, got the quick-throw nod, and hurled it to Lorenzo.
"Find space!"
By then, Atlético had everyone back, defensive shape locked in.
I bolted into the box.
Lorenzo took the throw and again tried beating Atlético's right back one-on-one.
And succeeded.
Along the line, nearing the box.
Atlético's defender Natalie faced another Sophie’s choice: Lorenzo or Si-eon.
But with data piling up, Natalie felt confident.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Coach's halftime instructions, relayed via subs:
Left winger Lorenzo Torres stubbornly insists on solo dribbles over passes—account for it.
Natalie took it as reference, not gospel.
Just prefers dribbling to passing, that's all.
But now he knew better.
'Greedy even in that spot?'
Opponent No. 18's run was perfectly timed—no one saw it coming.
Defending deep to delay Lorenzo's break left an easy pass lane forward.
Lorenzo holding the ball at distance.
No. 18 infiltrating at insane speed.
Natalie, alone between them, smelled goal.
Then Lorenzo went solo again.
Unforeseen, so even at distance, he broke through—but Natalie inwardly relaxed.
Flank conceded, but swapped 1v1 for numbers advantage. Defensive win.
So this time, he'd steal it clean—confident, he stepped up to block.
Thud—
"What?!?"
No hesitation: as Natalie closed, Lorenzo cut back to Si-eon.
Space opened instantly.
Si-eon nudged right, then whipped his right foot.
Top right corner in his sights.
"Block it!"
Two players dove into his shooting lane.
Thud.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Lorenzo had beaten one defender and passed to Si-eon.
Si-eon had encouraged him first, joined his attacks uniquely, and promised a return pass no matter what.
All that tipped him to trust once.
"Ha..."
Si-eon took the ball, rolled it opposite himself without looking his way.
"Again..."
New way to mess with him?
Betrayed as expected, Lorenzo despaired, head dropping.
Slide—
Thud.
"Huh?"
The ball at his feet, inexplicably.
Panicked, no time to eye the goal—he swung on memory alone.
"Ah."
Worst shot he'd ever struck.
Easy ball like that? Bound to be blocked.
Splash...
"Whoa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The stadium thundered.
Dazed, frozen, Lorenzo got a pat from approaching Si-eon.
"Congrats!"
"...Yeah."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "There! Lorenzo feeds Si-eon!"
"Oh! Poor pass quality though. Didn't control it clean."
Lorenzo's cutback—his first pass in forever—was awful.
But instead of settling, Si-eon one-touched ahead into space.
This moment? My favorite.
We're attacking, but no one thinks I have the ball.
'Leg out, he could at least nick it?'
Perfect distance to bait that thought.
I charged the ball, wound up—
Thud—.
Right before slamming my right, pivoted left-base, just clipped it.
Defenders fooled by the fake, sprawled on turf.
Even the keeper dove the way I eyed.
Open net for Lorenzo—keeper AWOL.
Everyone on pitch, every fan in the stands, just watched the blind shot rip into goal.
⚽ GOAL! ⚽ 1 : 1 70' Lorenzo Torres