Chapter 150: Volume 2, - 150: The Day Before Goodison

Chapter 150: Volume 2, Chapter 150: The Day Before Goodison

After lunch and a short recovery window, the squad returned to the training pitch for the final football block before Goodison. The midday air carried the sharp, damp scent of cut grass and northern mud. Friday’s match-eve session was structured with the calibrated precision of a senior European setup. Deliberate, high-tempo, but entirely devoid of the bruising exhaustion of a full mid-week battle. There were no lung-bursting endurance blocks or reckless tackles. Every drill was mapped to shape, tactical recovery, and the precise physical management required the day before kick-off.

Further up the pitch, the midfield groups engaged in crisp, two-touch rondos, the ball snapping across the wet turf under the watchful eye of Rui Amorim and his coaching staff. Once the activation moved into defensive shape work, Antonio Adal marshalled the backline, barking sharp instructions as Eduardo Quaresmo, Ousmane Diamande, and Gonçalo Inásio slotted through coordinated defensive slides.

Rayan jogged through the initial exercises, his temporary training kit carrying #82, another reminder that he was still part of the travelling group rather than an established senior starter. He was on the pitch, but he was not anchoring the first-choice patterns.

When the squad progressed into direct-ball reactions, the tactical framework from the morning meeting immediately came alive.

"Drop!" Diamande shouted from the heart of the defensive block as an assistant coach whipped a long, diagonal ball from deep toward the penalty spot.

On the opposite side of the drill, a bibbed striker rose to contest the aerial flight against Quaresmo. Remembering the video clips from the basement tactical review, Rayan resisted the instinct to stand flat-footed and watch the ball hang in the air. Instead of staring upward, he anticipated where the knockdown would break, shifting his weight early and sprinting two yards into the central channel to collect the loose second ball ahead of an oncoming midfielder.

He secured the touch cleanly, flicking a quick pass wide toward Geni Catano.

"Good anticipation, Rayan!" an assistant coach called out.

Rayan exhaled sharply, feeling a brief surge of vindication. The morning theory had translated directly onto the pitch.

Ten minutes later, during another second-ball simulation based on Everton’s direct play, Rayan attempted the exact same movement. Another long ball launched from deep; the first header glanced off a defender’s shoulder, and Rayan anticipated the drop zone with absolute conviction, darting forward before the ball had even started its descent.

He had gone too early. The ball caught a gust of wind, died abruptly in the damp air, and clipped the back of another player’s head, squirting out sideways into the half-space behind him.

"Runner!" Daniel Braga roared from deep midfield.

Before Rayan could pivot, Mateus Reiz surged past him into the vast, unattended space he had just vacated, collecting the recycled possession with ease.

"Too early, Rayan!" Rui’s voice cut across the pitch like a starter’s pistol, sharp and immediate. "Don’t guess. Read the contact first. You leave that space before the second ball is settled, the runner goes straight through."

Rayan bit the inside of his cheek, dropping his head for a fraction of a second as he scrambled back into position. The mistake stung, a stark reminder that understanding a tactical problem on a screen was entirely different from executing it live against senior athletes.

When the drill reset moments later, another long clearance hung in the air. This time, Rayan forced himself to anchor his feet until Quaresmo and the striker collided in the aerial duel. Only as the ball glanced downward did he break his stance, stepping cleanly across pitch to intercept the knockdown before the supporting midfielder could arrive. It was a small adjustment, but it kept his shape intact and his defensive screen sound.

The session rolled forward through controlled finishing blocks, brief tactical accelerations, and set-piece organisation. Francisco Trincano and Pedro Gonsalves worked the flanks with fluid rotation, while Viktor Gyoker provided the focal point up front, repeatedly demanding early service into the channels. At one point, during a tight flank duel against Quaresmo, Rayan attempted a quick, sharp step-over to create separation on the wing. Quaresmo read the movement effortlessly, planting his weight, blocking the outside lane, and forcing Rayan backward into a safe, lateral recycle.

Rayan didn’t force it. He adjusted his approach, releasing his passes earlier and relying on quick one-two combinations rather than trying to beat senior defenders on individual flair.

"Set!"

"Inside!"

"Again!"

The vocal commands echoed across the grass in a continuous stream of football communication. Hidemasa Morino anchored the core of the session, dictating tempo with short, economical passes that kept Sporting moving away from the heavy pressure zones.

As the session wound down into a structured cooldown and light stretching, the intensity dropped away. The players gathered near the touchline, grabbing water bottles while performance staff circulated with hydration checks and recovery trackers.

Rayan wiped the sweat from his forehead with his training bib, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. His legs felt remarkably light, packed with the loose, sharp energy of a player primed for action. Yet his stomach felt entirely hollow, tied into a hard, cold knot that had nothing to do with physical fatigue and everything to do with the unknown.

The match-day squad list had still not been pinned, and Rui had offered no private assurances during the morning review.

"All right, gather your kit," a fitness coach announced, clapping his hands to draw the group together. "Towels and recovery shakes inside. Full travel tracksuits on in twenty minutes. We are moving directly to the team coach for the trip to Goodison Park for stadium familiarisation. Let’s keep the focus sharp."

The squad began trudging toward the tunnel in a tight, tired pack. Inside the warmth of the training facility changing rooms, the pace shifted again. Players stripped off their damp training gear, dropped their boots into canvas bags, and collected chilled recovery shakes from the staff station. Shouts echoed off the tiled walls as towels snapped and players swapped dry shirts, the tension of the impending stadium visit humming beneath the routine banter.

Within twenty minutes, the transformation was complete. The squad emerged through the facility doors in matching club-issue travel tracksuits, moving towards the waiting team coach.

Rayan filed onto the vehicle, sliding into a window seat near the middle. As the engine rumbled to life and the coach pulled out into the grey Liverpool traffic, he rested his forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the midday streets began to narrow, flanked by rows of dark, weathered Victorian brick terraces and slate roofs that tightened around the vehicle as they drew closer to the district. A couple of senior players up front lowered their phones, looking out across the bustling pavements as the industrial atmosphere of North Liverpool closed in around them.

His legs felt light, but his stomach remained a hard, cold knot. The coach turned a final corner, and the looming, four-sided structure of Goodison Park rose into view against the overcast northern sky. Massive, historic, and waiting.