Barcelona Match 3: You All Did Well
At half-time, Manager Abelardo Fernández looked reasonably satisfied with the 1-1 scoreline. “You all did well,” he told the players, offering praise. Yet there was one point he simply could not ignore. “But why aren’t you dropping into a 4-4-2 when we defend? It feels like none of you are truly following my instructions.”
A manager’s orders mattered. They represented the collective promise the team had made, and ignoring them could unravel the entire structure. Of course a manager could be wrong. But that was the nature of team play. Which was why, in defeat, the heaviest blame always fell on the man in charge.
“Honestly, if Sunmoon hadn’t come over to help me, I don’t think I could have stopped them,” Sanchez, playing as the defensive midfielder, admitted bluntly. “That first goal we conceded… it’s too much for me alone. Even if Roca drops back, it only opens space somewhere else and we end up helpless.”
“Exactly. It feels like Sunmoon stepping up quickly is the only reason we’ve held on this long,” the others chimed in, rapidly sharing what they had felt out on the pitch. They had realized that Ha Sunmoon’s free role had tilted the game in their favor, and now they openly defended his decisions.
If I say this much, he’ll have to acknowledge your play, won’t he?
Ha Sunmoon watched the manager’s reaction in silence.
Espanyol’s basic shape was a 4-3-3 that could become a 4-2-3-1, but the midfield lacked the quality to make it work. They had tried dropping into a 4-4-2 at the start, with Sanchez and Roca attempting to mark Messi, yet the moment other Barcelona players found space the center collapsed. The old tactics simply could not win this match.
“So you’re saying what we’re doing now is better?”
“At least for the moment… yes.” Lopez added his voice to support Sanchez.
“Sunmoon roaming freely is genuinely helping the team right now. When we stuck to the original shape we fell apart far too easily. Honestly, if Barcelona had enjoyed just a little more luck, we could easily be four goals down already.”
“Hmm.”
Abelardo recalled the earlier moment when Ha Sunmoon had ignored instructions and drifted inside. Back then the youngster’s movement had been poor, so he had substituted him without much fuss. Today, however, Sunmoon’s movement was completely different, and the manager found himself in a genuine dilemma. On top of that, this was a match Sunmoon had been forced to play after pressure from his agent. Bench him now for tactical disobedience and the fallout would be ugly.
“Then we’ll keep the current setup if you all believe it’s best. But several of you picked up cards late in the first half, so stay aware of that and play smart.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Understood.”
Embarba and Tomás, who had been booked during the late skirmishes, answered together.
Looks like he’s giving you permission to run free. Lucky you. Harrison smiled to himself.
The second half began.
Abelardo had told them to take it easy, but the moment the players stepped back onto the pitch they forgot the request entirely.
Both sets of players came out flying. The tension Ha Sunmoon had ignited in the first half had not cooled; instead, the second period exploded into outright physical warfare from the opening seconds. Barcelona manager Valverde tried to calm his own men, but it was hopeless. A brutal tackle on Espanyol’s left winger Vargas right at the start proved the final straw; Barcelona players stopped holding back.
Good. Let’s keep it like this.
Harrison felt only a faint dissatisfaction with Sunmoon’s current play. If the boy could launch crisp long-range passes to break lines, he would become a nightmare for any defense. Unfortunately, Sunmoon still could not deliver those passes with consistent quality.
Still, it can’t be helped. His crosses around the penalty area are razor-sharp. I’ll have to be satisfied with that for now.
When Barcelona pushed forward, Ha Sunmoon tucked into midfield and pressed relentlessly. Three against four. As soon as they began losing the midfield battle, Barcelona’s Busquets looked for another solution.
Thump!
Busquets immediately released the ball to Dembele. Sensing the midfield was outnumbered, he chose to stretch the play wide.
But—
Swish—
Cabrera! The center-back had already read the pass and cleared it. Covering the space Ha Sunmoon had vacated, the tall defender won the aerial duel and headed the ball away. Yet it dropped straight to de Jong, who quickly played it into Messi’s feet.
The ball’s heading there. Shift right and cut it off!
Harrison read the lane instantly. Ha Sunmoon ignored everything else, stretched out a leg, and intercepted the pass.
The commentator’s voice rose in excitement. “What incredible anticipation! Espanyol cut it out in midfield!”
Ha Sunmoon immediately switched play down the left.
“Vargas receives from Ha! They combine with another one-two!”
This time Sunmoon took the outside route, racing up the touchline.
“Barcelona can’t handle Ha’s overlapping run—real danger here!”
Sergi Roberto, Barcelona’s right-back, tried to close him down, but Ha Sunmoon produced one extra dribble and left him behind.
“Ha beats Roberto and delivers the cross!”
Tomás rose to meet it but couldn’t direct the header on target. The ball sailed high over the bar.
Still, Tomás turned and gave Sunmoon a thumbs-up.
A shame, but it can’t be helped. Next chance.
Ha Sunmoon nodded at Harrison’s words.
“Sergi! What the hell was that?” Piqué snapped, glaring at Roberto. A single player had been skinned and handed the opponents a clear opening.
“I know, I know,” Roberto muttered, face twisting as the pressure on him mounted. Next time I won’t let him go. I’ll foul him if I have to.
He began staring at Ha Sunmoon with murderous eyes.
Hmm. That’s a little worrying. He really has it in for you now.
“Just leave it,” Ha Sunmoon said. He had no time to dwell on Harrison’s warning—the ball had reached Messi again.
From the halfway line Messi dribbled forward with terrifying speed, looking certain to beat Sanchez. Sensing danger, Ha Sunmoon sprinted to help.
Sliiide—thump!
The moment Sanchez was beaten, Sunmoon launched a thunderous sliding tackle. Messi went flying.
The fallen superstar rose in fury and immediately clashed with Sunmoon. Players from both sides swarmed in, grabbing jerseys and shouting. The confrontation dragged on, eating up precious seconds. After several more shoves with Messi, Ha Sunmoon calmly extracted himself and jogged back toward his defensive position.
“Ha! Over here!”
Referee Lahoz summoned him.
“Yes. Whew.” Sunmoon jogged over, still breathing hard.
Lahoz showed him the yellow card. “That tackle was extremely dangerous.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you disputing the decision?”
“No. No complaints at all.”
For a second Lahoz looked almost stunned by the calm reply.
“Then may I go? I need to get back to defending.”
“Go on.”
Ha Sunmoon flashed the referee a thumbs-up and sprinted back into position.
Well done. That attitude stops them from making a big deal out of it. And you cut that pass brilliantly just now. It was very risky.
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
Ha Sunmoon wiped sweat from his brow with his jersey and glanced at the clock. It already read eighty-seven minutes. Countless turnovers and end-to-end action had made the time melt away.
Time’s almost gone. From here it’s a test of concentration. The side that tires first will lose.
Both teams were locked in a fierce physical battle, so neither manager felt confident making substitutions. The game continued with the same twenty-two players.
“Oh! Messi’s free-kick crashes against the crossbar! Barcelona miss a golden chance for a dramatic winner!”
The ball rebounded off the woodwork and dropped perfectly in front of Ha Sunmoon.
Run!
He took off like a man possessed. Roberto narrowed the angle, determined to stop the breakthrough this time.
“Ha! What an astonishing dribble! He turns it outside and leaves Roberto behind!”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Ha Sunmoon’s heart hammered wildly in his chest.
“Ha looks like he’s going to have a one-on-one chance!”
He reached the edge of the penalty area and prepared to cut inside.
Sunmoon! Danger—behind you!
Still furious from being beaten twice already, Roberto came flying in from behind with studs raised in a vicious tackle.
“Aaaargh!”
The brutal challenge sent Sunmoon crashing to the turf and knocked the ball loose. He heard nothing—no whistle, no crowd, only the furious pounding of his own heart. Rage flared white-hot.
Yet in that split second Harrison’s earlier words flashed through his mind: Don’t act like a petty fool.
The ball was still in play, rolling slowly toward the byline but not yet out. It was unfair. It was maddening. But Ha Sunmoon refused to look at the referee. He gritted his teeth, planted both hands on the ground, and somehow pushed himself upright even as he fell. Then he exploded forward again.
After such a savage foul he should have been in agony. Instead he felt nothing. His chest simply ordered him to get up and run, so he ran.
Sunmoon, are you—wait, what?
“Ha! He’s been fouled but he’s back on his feet and chasing the ball!”
His eyes never left the ball. With every ounce of strength left in his body, he whipped in the best cross he could produce.
“What incredible passion! The cross is in—and Tomás is there! Tomás—GOOOAAAL!”
The ball arrowed straight to Raúl de Tomás, who had made a late surge into the box. It flew perfectly into his path and bulged the back of the Barcelona net.
Amid the roaring cheers of the home crowd, Ha Sunmoon collapsed forward onto the grass.
That’s exactly it! Well done!