The 21st Century Empire
The large TV screen in the Toulouse FC clubhouse lobby was broadcasting nonstop analysis of the upcoming match. [Toulouse FC vs Paris Saint-Germain]
Grayson Lee leaned against the wall, staring one by one at the faces of the PSG players flickering on the blurry screen. Not a single name among them looked easy.
A striker battling for the top spot in transfer market value, a midfield trio hailed as Europe's best at the moment, and an ironclad back four whose members all captained their national teams. Monsters who had either already graced the Ballon d'Or podium or were destined to do so had gathered in a single club.
It was the very empire of 21st-century football forged by Qatari capital. A squad where every single one of the eleven players could only be described with the label world-class, an Earth's defense force that evoked memories of Real Madrid's first Galácticos era.
'It's six years ago now… the time when Paris was flying high.'
Grayson dug through his memories of his previous life.
He knew exactly what kind of path Paris Saint-Germain had walked during this period.
They had already won the Champions League the previous year. On top of that, they were the terrifying side that would sweep the Champions League trophy consecutively this year and the next, matching the historic record of three straight Champions League titles once achieved by Zinedine Zidane's Real Madrid.
The most fearsome version of PSG, right on the verge of swallowing all of Europe whole, was standing right in front of them now.
“Grayson, what's with the face? Don't tell me you're scared just because it's Paris.”
Bouard had sidled up beside him at some point and gave his shoulder a playful jab, chuckling.
In truth, Toulouse's current atmosphere wasn't bad at all. If anything, it was so good that it had become a problem. They had secured a convincing win in their previous match and visibly climbed into fourth place, and contrary to concerns, Grayson's inclusion in the starting lineup had shown quite a destructive impact.
Among the players, there was an unspoken sense that “With how we're playing now, we might even stand a chance against PSG at home.” They had their own reasons, but those reasons weren't quite enough to fully support that level of confidence.
Yet Grayson, who knew all too well how terrifying these opponents were, felt his stomach twisting with tension. The gap in quality between them might be hard to grasp at this moment, but he understood it perfectly.
'Everyone else probably just thinks this PSG is a strong team, but two years from now, this era's PSG best eleven will be regarded as one of the top ten teams in European football history.'
Of course, aside from Grayson, not a single person knew that fact.
On matchday, media outlets and football communities across France covered the matchup extensively. The burning question was whether Toulouse's surge would hold up against the league's strongest side.
But the cold predictions from experts and bookmakers were overwhelmingly one-sided.
[Toulouse's left flank is intriguing, but PSG's right side is anchored by the world's best full-back and midfielder. This will be the true test for the Grayson Lee and Tete Kwasi combination.]
[The surge ends here. The difference in class is glaring across every position. A comfortable Paris victory is expected.]
The internet football communities were also dominated by rational judgment.
While everyone predicted a Paris Saint-Germain victory, the referee's sharp whistle blew and the first half began.
And just five minutes into the match, the Toulouse players on the pitch had to realize with their entire bodies how naive and foolish their optimism had been.
The game was one-sided. In fact, it unfolded as a perfect one-sided affair where even the word “one-sided” felt insufficient. PSG's possession rate began exceeding 80% right after kickoff.
Throughout the first half, Toulouse's players could barely even touch the ball, let alone get a proper look at it. Whenever pressure came, PSG's players escaped it with effortless one-touch passes, and when Toulouse's defense dropped deep, they circulated the ball patiently while probing for openings.
'They play football like it's nothing.'
The thought crossed Grayson's mind as he sprinted to contest a second ball.
When he moved to intercept passing lanes, PSG's midfielders mocked him by spraying accurate long balls to the opposite side. Tete Kwasi threw himself into challenges time and again, but PSG's winger eventually found space and delivered a cross.
This was what it meant for all eleven players to be world-class. There were no holes. It wasn't a problem that could be solved by marking any single player.
They didn't play flashy, circus-style football. They stuck to the fundamentals and simply executed the most correct choice as quickly as possible. The problem was that all eleven of them did it.
Grayson gritted his teeth. He couldn't just stand up front waiting for the ball that never came. He dropped all the way below the halfway line to receive possession, but the situation didn't change much. PSG erased the next passing option before Grayson could even secure the ball.
Tete, too, couldn't overlap as freely as he had against Le Havre. The moment he took even one step forward, PSG's midfielders ghosted into the space behind him with pinpoint passes. Under the overwhelming possession, Toulouse's once-proud left flank was completely shut down and forced to hold its breath.
[There it is, Paris Saint-Germain's suffocating possession football! Toulouse players still haven't properly crossed the halfway line even after 15 minutes!]
[This is PSG's football. They don't do anything particularly flashy, yet they control the entire pitch perfectly. Toulouse is completely caught in their rhythm right now.]
At the 25-minute mark, PSG's midfielder collected the ball once again inside Toulouse's half. Toulouse's center-backs rushed out to close the angle, but he casually used a body feint to shift their attention before sliding a precise pass into the feet of the winger bursting into the open space on the opposite side.
The winger who received the ball calmly pushed it forward once more to create a shooting angle.
Thwack—!
Fortunately, the goalkeeper's desperate dive managed to get a fingertip to it. The ball, slightly deflected, skimmed past the post and rolled out for a corner.
[He saved it! A save that keeps Toulouse alive on the edge of the cliff!]
But the danger wasn't over. After surviving several desperate defensive stands, Toulouse finally crumbled before Paris's organization, and the counterattack that began in the 39th minute produced a sequence that could only be called art.
The ball, cleared from a corner, dropped inside Paris's box. Paris's center-back collected it without panic and slipped a simple long ball forward. The striker waiting in midfield cushioned it on his chest and spun away from Toulouse's first line of pressure with ease.
Keeping the momentum, he slid a through ball out to the right flank, where Paris's winger took it in stride. Tete gritted his teeth and tried to cover, but the winger feinted down the touchline before sliding a perfectly measured lobbed pass to the attacking midfielder cutting inside.
“Get back! Everyone drop!”
Bouard shouted desperately as he sprinted back to the defensive line, but it was already too late.
The attacking midfielder who received the ball didn't shoot. Instead, he drew the defenders' attention and gently nudged the ball to the opposite side. Waiting in that space was Paris's striker, who had already dismantled Toulouse's offside trap and made his run.
At the final moment, the goalkeeper rushed out to narrow the angle, but Paris's striker remained calm. He took a fraction of a second longer and slotted a right-footed inside finish that robbed the keeper of his timing. The ball slipped between the goalkeeper's arm and body before crashing into the corner of Toulouse's net.
[TFC 0 : 1 PSG]
[GOAL!!! Paris Saint-Germain! They finally take the lead! 39th minute of the first half, a perfectly executed counterattack!]
Grayson stared hollowly at the ball rolling inside the net.
“There's just no answer to this…”