AN: Next two weeks my updates will be erratic due to exams. It will resume normally from February
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The roar that erupted at kickoff was almost tangible, crashing over the pitch like a powerful wave.
Agia Sophia was alive from the very first moment, a massive wall of sound enveloping the players as if it was the twelfth player of the team. Black and yellow flags danced behind the goals, flares still flickering in the corners, and every touch from Tenerife was met with sharp whistles that felt like a sting. Patience was clearly not on the agenda here.
AEK wasted no time in showing their intent. The ball was an afterthought. Neymar was the focus.
Just thirty seconds in, Bakakis came in late on him by the touchline, a quick clip to the ankle that sent Neymar off balance. The referee let it slide. The crowd cheered in approval. Three minutes later, Galo came in from behind as Neymar tried to twist away in midfield, his studs raking down Neymar's calf.
Laurence was already on his feet.
"Count them," he yelled toward the fourth official, his voice slicing through the din. "That's two in four minutes."
The fourth official didn't react, his gaze fixed ahead, but Laurence knew his words had made an impact. He always made sure they did.
The third challenge came up quickly. Neymar got the ball with his back to the goal and attempted to roll past his defender. Galo moved in, crashing into his hip and thigh. This time, the referee blew the whistle. A yellow card was brandished high in the air.
The reaction was immediate and intense. The ultras behind the goal erupted, throwing insults and paper cups onto the pitch. The whistling morphed into a relentless roar. Neymar slowly got back on his feet, brushing grass off his socks, his expression unreadable.
Laurence allowed himself a tiny smile. He had chatted with the referee before the match, calm and polite, highlighting patterns rather than making threats. He wasn't looking for special treatment; he just wanted consistency. This was the first indication that the line had been drawn.
The game shifted into something resembling a battle rather than a football match.
Midfield turned into a chaotic mix of bodies, elbows tucked in tight, boots crashing into tackles with barely concealed intent.
Casemiro thrived in this environment. He roamed the central areas like a guard, stepping into challenges shoulder-first, scooping up loose balls, and barking orders at anyone who strayed out of position. Every clearance and interception earned a nod of approval from Laurence.
Kanté was everywhere else.
He zipped between pressure points, snatching possession without fuss, threading passes into safer areas, always on the move, always an option. Where Casemiro asserted himself, Kanté neutralized threats before they could fully develop. It was effective, and control was the only thing that mattered in this match.
AEK pressed high, fueled by the crowd, but their pressure was uneven. Laurence noticed it from the sidelines almost instantly. Their right side surged forward aggressively, while their left hesitated for just a moment too long.
In the nineteenth minute, Tenerife took advantage of that.
Quaresma made a clever move, drifting inside and drawing two defenders with him before sending a precise switch to the right. Cancelo was already on the move, perfectly timing his run. He took a quick touch to steady himself and launched an early cross that arced toward the far post, catching the AEK defense off guard.
Natalio charged at it with determination.
He leaped between two defenders, his neck muscles straining, and connected with the ball cleanly. The header shot low and hard into the far corner before the goalkeeper could even react.
For a brief moment, there was silence. Then, disbelief washed over the stands.
Tenerife players rushed to Natalio, sharing brief, restrained celebrations until the referee whistled a warning.
Laurence gestured to the bench with a slicing motion, emphasizing the need for discipline. An away goal wouldn't mean much if they lost their composure.
AEK responded in the only way they knew how.
They pushed forward, tackles becoming more aggressive, and crosses coming in quicker. The noise from the crowd doubled, then tripled, with every challenge celebrated as if it were a goal. Tenerife's defense held strong, but the pressure kept building, wave after wave crashing into the same areas.
By the thirtieth minute, it took its toll.
Bellvís hesitated for just a moment too long as Sergio Araujo spun off his shoulder. Luna stepped in to cover, but Araujo was already past him. The shot came early, driven low and hard past Aragoneses.
The stadium erupted.
Laurence's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had warned them about staying focused. In places like this, even half a second could be deadly.
The rest of the half spiraled into frustration.
Neymar kept finding space down the flank, drawing fouls that often went unpunished. One near the touchline was obvious. AEK's defender clipped his trailing leg, sending him crashing into the advertising boards. But the whistle remained silent.
Neymar jumped up and kicked the ball into the stands in frustration.
The referee showed him a yellow card right away.
The Tenerife bench erupted in protest. Laurence stepped forward, arms wide, disbelief etched on his face. Victor grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back just as Kanté wrapped an arm around Neymar's shoulders, whispering in his ear and guiding him away before things could escalate.
Halftime came and went without any relief.
The second half kicked off with AEK charging forward, fueled by confidence and noise. Tenerife struggled to find their footing. Their wingbacks were pinned back, and the midfield was stretched thin by overlapping runs and late surges from deep. Laurence could see it unfolding, the structure bending under the pressure.
Then, in the fifty-fifth minute, it all fell apart.
Galo linked up with Levi García for a quick one-two down the right flank and sent in a low cross. It brushed against Luna's boot and skidded awkwardly into the six-yard box. Amrabat was the first to react, unleashing a powerful volley past Aragoneses from close range.
The roar from the crowd was deafening.
Laurence stood frozen, his eyes scanning the pitch, soaking in the moment without a flicker of emotion.
He raised his hand, signaling to the players.
Compact mid-block.
The message flowed through the team. Quaresma dropped back, tightening the center. Neymar drifted inward, moving closer to Kanté, pulling defenders with him instead of inviting tackles out wide. Cancelo and Robertson were more selective with their overlaps, choosing their moments wisely.
The game slowed down.
AEK continued to press, but the spaces were tightening. Casemiro started winning those second balls again. Koulibaly stepped out with authority, intercepting passes before they could reach the box. The crowd grew restless, with whistles replacing cheers.
Then, in the seventieth minute, a crack appeared.
Kanté snatched the ball near the halfway line and charged forward, head up. Neymar was already on the move, slipping between two center-backs who were slow to react. The pass came in low and perfectly weighted.
Neymar took one touch.
The defender took him down.
There was no arguing this time. The whistle blew immediately. Penalty.
The stadium erupted in chaos. Bottles flew through the air. The noise turned ugly, raw, and unfiltered. Laurence turned his back to the spot, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the far stand.
Neymar placed the ball with care, waiting as the goalkeeper danced on the line, waiting as the noise reached a fever pitch.
With a calm strike, he found the bottom corner to make it 2-2.
The last fifteen minutes stretched on forever for both teams.
Desperate to win, AEK left nothing in reserve. They charged forward and crossed with abandon. Tenerife met them with determination to stop them at all costs.
Bellvís relied on his years of experience to manage the tempo of the game without resorting to theatrics. He slowed down the pace of play during restarts and drew fouls when necessary.
Casemiro received a yellow card for a tactical foul to prevent a fast break from AEK.
Koulibaly jumped higher than any human should be able to, winning header after header.
Aragoneses caught and punched the ball clear from the goal even while being challenged and under severe pressure. He was a calm and steadying influence during the chaos.
The final whistle blew, and it felt as if everyone in away attendance sighed a collective sigh of relief.
The score flashed across the board for everyone to see: two away goals secured by Tenerife in a match that was filled with tension and aggression.
On the side of the field, Laurence was waiting for the players to finish the after-match formalities, and he clapped for each one as they passed him. In a low and steady voice, Laurence said to each player, "Good fight; we are halfway done."