#93 The Loach (1)
Over a lifetime of playing soccer, I've run the pitch alongside more than a hundred teammates, easily. There were all sorts of players, but the type that gave me the highest satisfaction playing with were the selfless ones who loved making sacrificial plays.
They'd receive the ball and quickly pass it to another teammate. When that teammate got swarmed by pressure, they'd drift over, take the ball back, and send it to an open space where the marking was loose. In a way, it's obvious. Who wouldn't love playing with someone who feeds you passes like that? If a player fears the ball coming their way... well, they should hang up their boots and quit dreaming of being a pro.
Selfless players who can solve things on their own when needed? They're the absolute best. That's probably why, after gaining my miraculous soccer skills from the goblin, I developed this playstyle. If I'd idolized selfish players who hog everything, I'd have turned into a greedy one myself. Though... even then, my standing probably wouldn't be much different now.
Anyway. The types I hated? Predictably, the opposite: selfish players. To be honest... there's a bit of jealousy mixed in. Those ego-driven guys are usually the ones who can actually handle the ball better than most.
A player with mediocre skills who's just selfish getting chances nonstop? Even in amateur leagues where the coach's word is law, that almost never happens. One bad selection like that can tank the whole team.
Gustavo Hosa, tapped as Maurinho's replacement, at least had solid individual talent. The problem was he didn't fit Jordi Calavera's team color at all.
They won 4-2 against Racing Santander, but Hosa posted the team's lowest rating with a dismal performance. He showed off some nice dribbles to escape pressure and push forward a few times... but honestly, he lost the ball and turned it over way more often.
The sentiment wasn't great locally or even on Korean forums. It really drove home how much of a team player Maurinho had been.
They say even whales dance for praise, and seeing my own always feels good. But this goes beyond praise into outright worship... yeah, still not used to it.
19 goals in 7 games. Even I think it's insane. That's 2.71 goals per game on average. Two more and it'd be a hat-trick every match. That tiny bit of humanity I left behind.
"Theo, got a minute?"
Ahead of the Round 8 clash with Levante UD, during the first training session, Jordi Calavera pulled me into his office. Since Maurinho's injury, the coach's face had been perpetually stormy. Even after the win last game, he'd looked thoroughly displeased—I suddenly remembered that.
"As you know, with Maurinho out, we've lost a pillar holding up our team play."
His voice low and heavy, Jordi Calavera continued. "But luckily, thanks to you, we've kept the seven-game win streak alive. That was your fourth hat-trick this season already, right? Last one?"
FC Barcelona Athletic, RCD Espanyol, Burgos CF, and Racing Santander. The teams that gifted me hat-tricks.
"As a coach, running a team with a player as outstanding as you is a massive stroke of luck."
"You're too kind."
"Too kind? You know it's not overpraising."
He poked my side with a lifeless smirk, like cut the humble act. "I know you. Giving you praise like this won't make you slack off in arrogance. You're no fool."
"Of course not."
I nodded confidently. Sure, sometimes excitement gets the better of me, but I always reel it in. These skills came like the wind one day. They could vanish just as quick. So I play every game like it's my last, giving it everything.
Even if they disappear, I won't collapse overnight. Add my effort, and I can make some of it my own. ...Though replicating this monster level would be damn tough.
"One more thing I'm grateful for."
Jordi Calavera smiled brightly. "You don't play to be the hero."
My head nodded on its own again. I'm still learning with every game. Focusing solely on hero ball means no growth. That's why I melt into the whole match, not just attacks. Him noticing and appreciating that? I'm the grateful one.
"Talented players like you usually fixate on being the star. Coaches bend over backward to make it happen. Pro soccer's commercial—stars sell."
"Makes sense."
"But not me. And not you. That's why our meeting feels fated."
His eyes turned serious. "Last game got me thinking. One missing player like Maurinho, and my whole tactic shakes. Seeing that..."
"Hm..."
"I always say it: I want the eleven on the pitch to become one. Anyone can score, anytime. That's my goal."
He cleared his throat. "No more Maurinho. Among the backups, Gustavo's got the best talent. We use him. We need promotion."
"Right."
"Tactics change. Not a total overhaul, but details shift."
I nodded slightly instead of answering.
"From next game, Gustavo starts as attacking midfielder."
That meant switching from 4-3-3 to 4-2-3-1. And telling me first...
"My role gets bigger, huh."
Jordi Calavera wants to maximize Gustavo Hosa's attacking gifts. Can't overhaul his style overnight, so build new routes around his strengths. He gave an awkward smile at my read.
"Some might call me crazy. Building another attack line with a striker like you? Laughable."
There'd be trial and error. But if Hosa gels with the new setup and synergizes with me...
"End of season, we'll see who's really ridiculous."
We'd keep performing despite the Maurinho gap.
"Attack might wobble. You hold the center. Including... your scoring."
I nodded with confidence, then shrugged with a grin. "You know me. I thrive on that pressure."
Jordi Calavera finally cracked a real smile after ages. And from that day...
His tactical experiments kicked off in earnest.
Round 8 home game vs. Levante UD.
As expected, Jordi Calavera rolled out 4-2-3-1. Gustavo Hosa in central CAM, sliding Pierre Mvubu up from defensive mid.
Before the game, he'd drilled our link-up play relentlessly for coexistence. Hosa, getting his spot back, joined without complaint. Practice connections looked decent. Coach even fine-tuned our runs to avoid overlaps.
The new tactic had clear pros and cons. Pro: extra attacker boosts firepower. Con: no dedicated DM shielding the backline.
Beep-!
The game kicked off. Second line suited Hosa like a glove. With pressure magneted to me, he got space, touching the ball often under loose marking. Fewer turnovers than last game.
Keep the link-ups crisp like in training, and we'd win smooth. But...
Thud-!
Wishful thinking. Hosa forgot practice like a goldfish. No connections. He grabbed the ball and went solo selfish every time. The space from my pressure? It fueled his ego.
Worse, when he dragged it side to side, it clashed with wingers Miguel Amaro and Nico Salaberria's lanes. They cut central? Zero impact there.
Our attack wasn't disastrous. Hosa had strengths; as he held possession, pressure shifted to him. I exploited the gaps...
Clang-!
22nd minute, first goal. Hosa, pressed, panicked a side pass to Nico Salaberria, who laid it to Enrique, cutback to me—finish.
More attackers definitely added punch. But soon after...
I knew Jordi Calavera would tweak the formation fast. Levante UD pushed post-goal, exposing the tactic's fatal flaw.
Hosa thriving up top meant someone else tanked hard.
Whump-!
Clang-!
The X-man who gifted the concession today.
"This spot... ain't mine. It's rough. Damn it."
Pierre Mvubu.