The ball struck Carl with full force.
Thud!
He immediately collapsed sideways.
'Come on, that's an exaggeration…'
At most, it just hit his shoulder.
If it had hit his face or solar plexus, he might have had to be carried off on a stretcher.
'I did hesitate a little until the very end, though.'
But since this was an event showcasing the Gucci collaboration, I barely managed to restrain myself.
"Arghhh!"
He screamed as if he had suffered some outrageous foul.
Of course, the game was halted, and the referee approached us.
"Are you alright?"
"Ahh! He kicked me on purpose! I'm sure of it!"
Why? You do whatever fouls you want.
Did you think I'd just take it like a gentleman?
Heh.
Save that whining for your own house.
With me, it's real life and real competition.
'Isn't that right?'
I was looking down at him when—
"Did you kick him on purpose?"
The referee's question.
I responded without a moment's hesitation.
"Yes. I kicked him on purpose."
"What?"
"I assumed my opponent would block if I made a kicking motion, so I factored that in and kicked."
"But he didn't react?"
"No."
"So he got hit inevitably?"
"That's correct."
At that—
"You're lying!"
Carl, still lying down, yelled out.
The guy was still on the ground just because he got hit on the shoulder.
Whatever.
"We have differing opinions, so I'll leave it to the referee's judgment. I will humbly accept the decision."
No sooner had I finished speaking than the referee blew his whistle.
Beep!
"Both teams, prepare for the scrum!"
That wasn't the end of it.
"If you're too injured to continue, make the substitution now."
At this point, Carl had no choice but to get up.
Sure enough, he exhaled sharply and forced himself upright.
Carl did not participate in the scrum.
As expected, Ralph took the center position, with two massive teammates flanking him.
Compared to them, Jack, Tennessee, and I looked rather small.
Maybe that's why—
Smirk.
Ralph's lips curled into a sly grin.
A look that said, 'Three seconds is all I need to crush you.'
'Oh, is that so?'
We squared our shoulders together.
Behind my back, I held up three fingers.
A signal to push forward the moment the game resumed.
It was a tug-of-war with the ball at the center.
As both teams braced for the clash, sizing each other up—
Beep!
The game resumed.
We had practiced this scrum countless times.
"Lower your stance!"
At my order—
Whoosh.
Everyone instinctively dropped their center of gravity as one.
"Now!"
We immediately stepped forward, launching our offensive.
Flinch.
The opponents clearly wavered.
Caught off guard by our aggressive start, they showed signs of panic.
But still—
"Hold your ground!"
They had played together for over a year, and it showed.
"Back foot! Hold it!"
The moment Ralph shouted, their formation stabilized.
They were experienced.
Not only were they physically strong, but their teamwork was solid.
Even so—
'They're no Cambridge.'
Recalling yesterday's first-ever scrum victory—
Roar!
We charged forward like raging bulls.
"Hold the line!"
Screech.
That smug confidence about lasting three seconds? Gone in an instant.
"Hold it! Can't you hear me?"
The frustration and blame started seeping in.
"I said, hold the line!"
Their previously firm backline—
Wobble.
Finally, it gave way.
The match was already decided.
But I didn't stop there.
"More! Push harder!"
To crush their spirit completely from the start.
Step. Step. Step.
We kept advancing without pause.
And as a result—
Thud! Crash.
The opponent collapsed right where they stood.
With our enemies completely down—
Tap.
Leo, waiting at the back, swiftly scooped up the ball.
Their entire defense had been knocked over.
Leo didn't waste a second—he sprinted straight into enemy territory.
And then—
Dash!
Carl, covering the backline, came charging in furiously.
His expression said, 'Try getting past me.'
Leo isn't the type to take reckless risks.
He doesn't care about flashy plays for the cameras.
Whoosh.
Instead of forcing his way through, he safely sent a back pass in my direction.
Anticipating a counterattack—
Thud!
Leo stepped in front of me, setting up a screen and handling the dirty work.
Thanks to him, when I caught the ball—
"..."
Carl hesitated to charge in.
Annoyed by Leo's presence, he kept his distance, waiting for an opening.
'Guess he forgot something.'
Plop.
I dropped the ball to the ground.
Step.
And took a firm step forward.
'I've got Steve's kicking game, after all.'
Boom!
A cannon-like sound erupted—
Whoosh!
The ball soared toward the empty corner of the opponent's field.
Maybe they weren't expecting that pass.
In their moment of hesitation—
Dash!
Jack was already sprinting after the ball at full speed.
Already incredibly fast, Jack had spent countless nights pushing himself to build explosive power.
So naturally—
"...!"
No one got to the ball before him.
Snatch.
Seizing the ball, he—
Dash!
Kept up his momentum and charged toward the goal.
"What are you doing?! Stop him!"
Carl shouted desperately.
But—
Hesitation.
Jack, now at full speed, was unstoppable.
With over 20 meters between him and the defenders, he breezed past the goal line.
Waaaaaah!
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"Yeahhhh!"
While Jack roared in the middle of the enemy's territory, I approached Leo.
My pass and Jack's breakthrough might have seemed like the biggest contributions to the score, but—
"...."
This entire attack had started with Leo's screen, without a doubt.
I really wanted to tell him it was an absolutely brilliant play.
But—
Now that I was face-to-face with him, the words felt too embarrassing to say.
Oh well.
I simply gave him a thumbs-up before quickly scurrying back to my position.
We had managed to score an early, unexpected first goal.
It would be great if the opponents got flustered and rushed in recklessly, but—
"...."
Unfortunately, they took their time reorganizing their formation.
Even Carl, who had been screaming his head off earlier, had now calmed down completely.
Until now, we had been leading the attack, but now the turn had shifted to them.
'We might have to focus solely on defense for a while.'
Just then—
Dash!
Carl suddenly surged forward.
His gaze, completely different from when he was defending.
In just a brief moment, he scanned our formation—
Whoosh!
Then, as if he had already spotted a weak point, he took off toward Jack.
"Hoo."
Jack kept his weight back, waiting patiently.
He planned to observe until the last moment before reacting.
It was a textbook-perfect decision, but—
"...!"
Carl's offense was on a whole different level from the start.
It looked like he was about to slow down—
Whoosh.
Then, without any feints, just a single sharp turn—
Stumble.
He slipped past Jack effortlessly.
And that wasn't all.
Even Leo's well-timed tackle—
Swish.
Carl adjusted his stride slightly and dodged it with ease.
In terms of breakthrough ability alone, he might even be better than Steve!
Which was precisely why—
Whoosh!
Carl didn't even consider passing.
With professional-level offensive prowess, he embodied both explosiveness and elegance, showing no intention of retreating.
In less than ten seconds, he had already taken over half our territory.
At that moment, Gary and James rushed in together.
Even if the two moved in perfect sync, stopping Carl was nearly impossible.
They knew that better than anyone.
Still—
Even if they were bound to get beaten, they played exactly as they had practiced, without hesitation.
They formed a triangle with Carl at the center.
"Distance!"
"Check the back!"
They communicated constantly, maintaining their spacing.
Tat-tat-tat!
Instead of blindly trying to block him—
"Right side!"
"Cut off his retreat!"
They focused on steering his breakthrough in a specific direction.
Of course—
Whoosh. Swish.
Carl pretended to engage in a physical clash before suddenly changing direction.
"...!"
The two of them were clearly thrown off in an instant.
Even so—
"Hnngh!"
"Block him!"
They burned with determination, trying to slow him down for even 0.1 seconds.
And that was enough.
No—more than enough.
Because thanks to them, I was able to step in front of Carl.
"Hoo."
Carl's eyes gleamed with confidence, as expected.
Getting past me was a given.
The only thing on his mind was how to do it in style.
That wasn't arrogance.
The odds of me stopping him were less than 1%.
If I wanted to increase my chances, even slightly—
'I have to rule out the possibility of a pass.'
At least against me, he wouldn't pass.
'It's going to be a pure breakthrough.'
Alright, then. Let's assume nothing but a direct charge.
And then—
Dash!
As if daring me to stop him, he charged straight at me.
'He's fast.'
But speed wasn't the real problem. His ability to change direction was far more terrifying.
Sure enough, he feinted as if pushing his shoulder right—
Tap.
Instantly shifting his center of gravity—
Whoosh!
His directional change was smooth and rhythmic.
Just as I reached out my arm—
Swish.
He spun in that motion, widening the distance between us in an instant.
Then—
Smirk.
He pulled up the corners of his mouth into a smug grin.
'This is what sets us apart.'
That's exactly what his eyes were saying.
But there was one thing he had overlooked.
'Do you realize just how far to the right you've drifted?'
I couldn't stop you.
But honestly, I never planned to.
Why?
'Because Tennessee is right behind me.'
At that moment—
Carl's body lifted into the air.
Tennessee's perfectly timed tackle—
"...!"
Completely swallowed him up!
An elite-level attacker—
Thud.
Now lying flat on the turf.
Caught off guard, Carl fumbled the ball out of his hands.
Snatch.
I immediately scooped up the ball and—
"Let's go!"
Called out to Tennessee.
"...?"
"Counterattack!"
His face said, 'Why do I have to go, too?'
Did he expect me to sprint across the entire field alone?
'Come on, man. I'm a defender!'
No matter how much his eyes protested, it was pointless.
"Run!"
Finally—
Dash!
Tennessee took off running.
'Yes, this is it!'
We sprinted at nearly identical speeds, maintaining perfect distance.
We weren't trying to match each other.
By simply running at full power, we naturally reached the same points together.
And so—
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
We became the ideal partners for a passing play.
We didn't weave through defenders with elegant dribbles like Carl Bernstein.
Instead, we stuck to the fundamentals—pass and go, exploiting every gap in the opponent's formation.
And the finishing touch—Tennessee.
Just when it looked like he was about to pass to me—
Dash!
He cut straight into enemy territory—
Tap.
And sealed the goal with a perfect finish.
"Waaaaaaaah!"
The stadium erupted in cheers.
"Tennessee! Tennessee! Tennessee!"
The crowd chanted his name at the top of their lungs.
Even so—
'Why'd you drag me into this?'
Tennessee was still grumbling about it.
Oh, come on.
'They're losing their minds over you. Just wave at them.'
'Why should I?'
Why?
'I told you, didn't I? You're the star of this match.'
'Tch. This is so annoying.'
Still, unable to resist, Tennessee finally raised a hand toward the crowd.