Chapter 190: [190] "Vulnerability"

The home side smelled vulnerability.

The referee restarted the match with an Aquitaine throw-in deep in Valois territory.

The strategy was instant and obvious. Aquitaine abandoned any attempt to play through the center. They would avoid Hugo Blanc and Klaus Becker entirely, launching the ball wide to their wing-backs and immediately serving high, looping crosses into the penalty area.

Minute thirty-three.

An Aquitaine winger whipped a heavy cross toward the back post. Pinto hesitated. He took a step forward, realized he had misjudged the flight of the wet ball, and scrambled backward toward his goal line.

Amadou Fall bailed him out. The towering center-back stepped into the path of an oncoming Aquitaine striker, absorbing a heavy shoulder charge while rising into the air to head the ball out for a corner.

"Talk to him, Amadou," Luc said to the screen. "Organize the line."

The television feed showed Klaus Becker jogging back into the box. The German general grabbed Pinto by the shoulders, giving him a violent shake. Klaus pointed at the six-yard box, shouting instructions over the noise of the crowd. He was telling the keeper to claim his territory.

The ensuing corner was driven hard and low. It skipped off the mud at the near post. Hadj hacked it away with a desperate clearance that sliced out for a throw-in on the opposite flank.

For the next ten minutes, the fixture was gritty, it was a suffocating siege.

Valois could not string an attack together. The 4-2-3-1 structure that had carved Aquitaine open twice was suddenly pushed incredibly deep. Hugo Blanc found himself operating just ten yards outside his own penalty area, hacking clearances and throwing his slight frame in front of passing lanes.

Idriss Konaté was entirely isolated at the halfway line. The Ivorian striker spent his time wrestling with massive center-backs, trying to chest down seventy-yard clearances and draw fouls just to give his defense thirty seconds to breathe.

Bachra Goza, who had been electric in the opening fifteen minutes, was pinned against his own corner flag, forced to act as an auxiliary right-back alongside Kévin Aubert. The teenager looked exhausted, the heavy defensive shifting completely draining his explosive attacking energy.

Minute thirty-nine.

Aquitaine won a free-kick thirty-five yards from goal. The home captain, Vasseur, sprinted forward from his own net, waving his defenders into the Valois box. They were loading the penalty area with massive bodies, intent on overwhelming Pinto physically.

The free-kick was floated into the penalty spot.

Pinto finally made a decision. He burst off his line, screaming at the top of his lungs. He launched himself through a crowd of bodies, ignoring the elbows and shoulders flying around him. He formed a double fist and punched the ball with everything he had.

The ball sailed twenty yards out of the box.

Zack Florez collected the clearance, driving up the left flank and winning a throw-in near the halfway line.

The Valois away end cheered loudly. Pinto landed in the mud, scrambled to his feet, and slapped hands with Klaus. The backup keeper had survived a major test.

"Good decision," Luc nodded, checking the time on the broadcast. "Just hold the clean sheet until halftime. Get into the dressing room. Let Henri fix whatever needs fixing."

The digital clock ticked toward the forty-fourth minute. The rain intensified, turning from a steady drizzle into a driving downpour that severely limited visibility. The pitch was no longer just waterlogged, it was actively disintegrating. Massive chunks of turf were being ripped up by tackles, leaving deep, brown scars across the green surface.

Union Aquitaine realized the halftime whistle was approaching. They pushed their entire midfield line forward, mounting one final, desperate wave of pressure before the break.

The Valois defense was running on fumes. Bense Baini was limping slightly, having taken a heavy knock to his ankle earlier in the half. Klaus Becker was covered head-to-toe in mud, breathing heavily as he marshaled the space in front of the center-backs.

Minute forty-five.

The fourth official raised the electronic board on the touchline. Three minutes of stoppage time added for Blažek’s injury.

An Aquitaine holding midfielder collected a loose ball near the center circle. He looked up and saw a momentary lapse in the Valois defensive structure. Hadj had stepped half a yard too far to the right, anticipating a pass out wide to the wing-back.

The midfielder didn’t hesitate to thread a perfectly weighted, grounded through-ball directly through the center of the pitch, aimed at the gap between Hadj and Amadou Fall.

An Aquitaine striker, fresh and operating with dangerous momentum, timed his run flawlessly. He split the two center-backs, breaking the offside trap, and accelerated into the penalty area.

Hadj realized his positional error a fraction of a second too late. He turned and sprinted, but the striker had a clear step on him.

Pinto saw the through-ball break the defensive line.

Operating on pure adrenaline and the desperate desire to prove himself, the backup goalkeeper abandoned his line. He sprinted out toward the penalty spot, intending to slide and smother the ball before the striker could take a touch.

Luc sat up on the sofa, his eyes widening. "No. Stay on your line. He’s taking a heavy touch."

Luc’s tactical assessment was perfect. The saturated grass gripped the through-ball, slowing it down drastically. The Aquitaine striker, anticipating the ball to skid smoothly, was forced to check his sprint slightly to bring it under control.

But Pinto had already committed his momentum.

The goalkeeper launched himself into a sliding challenge, leading with his hands, aiming for the ball.

The mud betrayed him completely.

Pinto hit the wet turf, but there was zero friction to slow his slide. He hydroplaned across the slick grass, completely misjudging the distance and the speed of the ball. The Aquitaine striker took a deft and very intelligent touch, tapping the ball a few inches to his right, pulling it out of Pinto’s path. Pinto’s body continued to slide wildly out of control.

He missed the ball. His extended arms and chest crashed violently into the shins of the Aquitaine striker. The forward didn’t even attempt to stay on his feet. He absorbed the contact and launched himself into the air, executing a dramatic dive into the mud.

Piii.

The piercing blast of the referee’s whistle cut through the driving rain.