Nunemmtn - WONDERKID : THE CHOSEN ONE

MATCH: High School Montevideo vs. Club Maldonado

Formation: Montevideo 4-4-2 | Maldonado 4-3-3

MONTEVIDEO STARTING XI:

MALDONADO STARTING XI:

SUBSTITUTES (MONTEVIDEO): Che Hernandez, plus six others

Che sat on the bench fifteen meters from the touchline, positioned between two other substitutes who were already deep in conversation about something unrelated to the match. His hands rested on his knees, fingers pressed into the fabric of his shorts. The bench was aluminum, the kind that absorbed heat and reflected it back through your legs. The sun was direct overhead now, approaching mid-morning intensity.

Ramón stood at the technical area, clipboard held but not consulted, his attention fixed on the pitch. The referee—a man in his forties with the weathered face of someone who'd spent years adjudicating youth matches—checked his watch and raised his whistle.

The whistle sounded. 10:00 AM exactly.

Maldonado kicked off.

Their striker Machado touched the ball back to the attacking midfielder Romero, who immediately played it sideways to Peralta in the center circle. The pattern was established in the first three seconds: Maldonado intended to control possession from the opening moment.

Montevideo's front two—Torres and Benítez—pressed forward immediately, trying to force Maldonado backward. But Peralta had already anticipated this. He played the ball back to the center-back Ramos, who took one touch and immediately switched play to the right-back Acosta.

Acosta received the ball thirty-five meters from Montevideo's goal, with space in front of him. Montevideo's left midfielder Silva was tracking back, but he was still eight meters away when Acosta pushed the ball forward. The space opened. Acosta drove ten meters upfield before playing an inside pass to Peralta, who had dropped deeper to create a passing option.

This was the pattern: Maldonado moving the ball quickly, horizontally and vertically, creating triangles that always offered the ball-carrier at least two passing options. Montevideo was pressing, but the press was reactive rather than coordinated. Individual players committing without support, which meant Maldonado could bypass them with simple combinations.

Peralta received the ball in the center circle and immediately played it to Romero, who had dropped from his attacking midfielder position to collect possession. Romero's first touch was clean—the ball stuck to his boot like it was magnetized. Matías closed him down immediately, covering the six meters between them in aggressive strides.

Romero didn't panic. He shifted the ball to his left foot, drawing Matías another step forward, then played a simple pass backward to Suárez, the defensive midfielder. The pass bypassed Matías completely, leaving him out of position. Montevideo's defensive shape had a gap now—Matías was too far forward, and the space between him and the center-backs was exposed.

Suárez played it immediately to Romero again, who had already repositioned himself in this newly opened space. Now he was twenty-five meters from goal, facing forward, with options in front of him.

"Close him!" Fernández shouted from the center-back position, his voice carrying the edge of someone who recognized danger developing.

But Montevideo's midfield was already stretched. Romero had time—not much, maybe two seconds—but enough to assess. He played a ball into the channel between Montevideo's right-back Esteban and center-back Fernández. The pass was weighted perfectly for Maldonado's left winger Costa, who was making a diagonal run from the left side toward the center.

Costa controlled it with his first touch and was immediately one-on-one with Esteban. The right-back had to make a choice: commit to the challenge or hold his position and wait for support. He chose to commit, stepping forward aggressively to close the space.

Costa took the challenge as an invitation. He pushed the ball past Esteban's left side with the outside of his boot and accelerated around the defender's right side. Esteban tried to recover, his legs scrambling, but Costa was already gone. Now he was in the box, twelve meters from goal, with only goalkeeper Rodríguez and one recovering center-back to beat.

The shot came quickly—a low drive toward the near post. Rodríguez read it, diving to his right, getting a hand to the ball. It deflected out for a corner. The Maldonado players raised their hands in frustration. The small crowd of maybe fifty spectators—mostly Maldonado families—applauded the effort.

Che's hands tightened on his knees. Two minutes in, and Maldonado had already created a genuine scoring chance. The pattern was visible now: Romero was the hub, the player everything moved through. When he dropped deep, he linked defense to attack. When he positioned himself higher, he became the creative outlet.

The corner kick was taken short. Maldonado working another combination instead of sending the ball directly into the box. The ball went from the corner taker to Peralta, who was positioned just outside the penalty area. Peralta took one touch to control it, then played it back to Romero, who had positioned himself at the top of the box.

Montevideo's defense was compact now, everyone drawn toward the ball. Romero surveyed the arrangement, his head moving left to right, calculating angles. Then he played a simple ball backward to Suárez, who was in space thirty meters from goal.

Suárez struck it first time—a long-range effort that was more about keeping pressure than genuine scoring intent. The ball sailed over the crossbar, and Rodríguez waved his defenders to reorganize as he collected the ball from behind the net.

The goal kick came out to Fernández, the center-back, who was positioned thirty meters from his own goal. Maldonado's striker Machado pressed immediately, closing down the space before Fernández could settle. The center-back played it quickly to his right—a pass intended for Esteban but weighted slightly too heavy.

Maldonado's left winger Costa read it immediately. He intercepted before Esteban could reach it, controlling the ball and immediately turning upfield. Now Maldonado was in transition, moving from defensive positioning to attack in three seconds.

Costa drove forward five meters before playing a pass inside to Romero, who had already positioned himself in central space. Romero took one touch forward, drawing Matías toward him, then immediately played a through-ball between Montevideo's center-backs. The pass was weighted perfectly, splitting the defense and finding striker Machado, who had timed his run to stay onside by maybe half a meter.

Machado was through. One-on-one with Rodríguez. The goalkeeper came off his line, making himself large, reducing the angle. Machado struck it with his right foot, aiming for the far post. Rodríguez got a hand to it, deflecting it just wide. The ball rolled across the goal line and out for another corner.

The Maldonado players shouted in frustration. Their coach on the sideline—a man in his fifties with gray hair and a weathered face—was gesturing for patience, for continued pressure.

On Montevideo's bench, Ramón's jaw was tight. His team was being suffocated. The ball was spending ninety percent of its time in Montevideo's defensive half. Every time they won possession, they lost it within seconds.

Maldonado's second corner was delivered with more intent. A driven ball toward the near post, where Ramos—the center-back—had positioned himself for the flick-on. He made contact with his head, redirecting it toward the center of the goal. Fernández, defending at the near post, managed to head it clear. The ball went out to the edge of the box, where Romero was waiting.

Romero controlled it with his chest, the ball dropping to his feet like he'd practiced the movement ten thousand times. He was twenty meters from goal now, with Matías closing him down from the left and Vargas approaching from the right. The defensive pressure was finally coordinated, two players converging.

But Romero had already seen the option. He played a first-time pass with the outside of his right boot, curling it around Matías's positioning and finding Ortiz, the right winger, who was unmarked on the right side of the box. Ortiz took one touch to control it and struck it immediately with his left foot.

The shot was powerful, rising slightly, aimed at the top corner. Rodríguez leaped, his arm fully extended, and managed to get fingertips to it. The ball deflected upward and over the crossbar. Another corner.

Maldonado's players were starting to show frustration now—not anger, but the kind of controlled annoyance that came from creating multiple chances without converting them. Their body language suggested they believed a goal was inevitable. It was just a matter of time.

The third corner was cleared more effectively. Santos, Montevideo's center-back, won the aerial duel cleanly, heading the ball out beyond the penalty area. It landed at the feet of Cabrera, Montevideo's right midfielder, who was positioned forty meters from Maldonado's goal.

This was Montevideo's first genuine possession in the attacking half. Cabrera controlled it and immediately looked upfield, searching for Torres or Benítez, the two strikers. But both were marked tightly by Maldonado's center-backs. No passing lane existed.

Cabrera played it backward to Matías, who was positioned in the center circle. Matías took one touch forward, and immediately Romero was pressing him. The Maldonado attacking midfielder closed the space in quick strides, forcing Matías to make a decision faster than he wanted.

Matías played it sideways to Vargas, his midfield partner. Vargas took one touch and tried to play it forward to Benítez, but the pass was intercepted by Suárez, Maldonado's defensive midfielder. The interception was clean—Suárez reading the pass before it was played, positioning himself in the passing lane, and cutting it out with his first touch.

Now Maldonado had possession again, and they were immediately attacking. Suárez played it forward to Romero, who had dropped to receive. Romero's first touch took him away from Matías's press, and he immediately played a ball out wide to Costa on the left.

Costa received it thirty-five meters from goal and began driving forward. Esteban, Montevideo's right-back, was tracking him, but Costa had momentum. He pushed the ball forward with his right foot, accelerating into the space. Esteban stayed with him step for step, not committing to the tackle but not giving Costa room to cross either.

Costa tried to cut inside, but Esteban's positioning forced him wider. Eventually, Costa played the ball backward to Peralta, who was supporting from deeper. The attack reset, but Maldonado maintained possession.

Peralta played it back to the left-back Ibarra, who had pushed high up the pitch during the attack. Ibarra received it and immediately played a long ball across the field to Ortiz on the right side. The switch of play was accurate, covering forty meters and bypassing Montevideo's midfield entirely.

Ortiz controlled it cleanly and immediately cut inside, moving from the right wing toward the center of the pitch. Silva, Montevideo's left midfielder, tracked him, but Ortiz had a yard of space. He played a pass into the box, aiming for Machado, who was making a run between the center-backs.

Fernández read it. He stepped forward, cutting off the passing lane with his body, and the ball deflected off his shin and out for a throw-in.

Maldonado's throw-in was taken quickly—Acosta throwing it down the line to Ortiz, who was positioned near the corner flag. Ortiz controlled it and immediately crossed it into the box. The delivery was dangerous, curling away from the goalkeeper but toward the penalty spot where Machado and Romero had positioned themselves.

Rodríguez came off his line, attempting to punch the ball clear. He mistimed it slightly, the ball glancing off his fist rather than being cleanly cleared. It dropped toward Romero, who was five meters from goal with the goal gaping in front of him.

Romero struck it with his right foot, but Santos had recovered into the goal line. The shot hit Santos directly in the chest, and the ball deflected out toward the edge of the box. Vargas cleared it desperately, sending it forty meters upfield and out of danger.

Montevideo's defense was scrambling now. The players were communicating in short, urgent bursts—"Mark up!" "Stay tight!" "Close him!"—but the organization was reactive rather than proactive. They were responding to Maldonado's movement instead of anticipating it.

The clearance from Vargas landed near the halfway line, where Torres managed to win the header. He directed it toward Benítez, who was positioned ten meters ahead of him. Benítez controlled it with his chest, trying to turn and face Maldonado's goal.

But Ramos, Maldonado's center-back, was immediately on him. Physical pressure, a hand on Benítez's shoulder, body positioning that prevented the turn. Benítez tried to shield the ball, but Ramos was stronger. The center-back got his foot in, winning possession cleanly, and immediately played it to Suárez.

Maldonado was attacking again. Suárez played it forward to Romero with a driven pass that covered twenty meters. Romero controlled it facing his own goal, then immediately turned, using his first touch to pivot 180 degrees. Now he was facing Montevideo's defense, with space in front of him.

Matías was closing, but he was three meters away. Romero had time. He played a ball into the channel—the same channel they'd exploited in the fourth minute—where Costa was making another run. The left winger was timed perfectly, staying onside by inches, accelerating into the space behind Esteban.

Esteban was caught between pressing forward to intercept the pass and dropping back to cover the run. He chose wrong—committing forward, trying to cut out the pass. Costa accelerated past him, collecting the ball in stride, and now he was in the box again.

This time, Fernández didn't commit. The center-back held his position, forcing Costa to make a decision. Costa tried to cut the ball back to Machado, who was arriving at the penalty spot, but Fernández read it. He stuck out his foot, deflecting the pass just enough to change its trajectory. The ball rolled to Rodríguez, who collected it with relief visible in his body language.

Rodríguez held the ball for a moment, looking upfield, trying to find a passing option that would relieve pressure. Maldonado's forwards had pushed high, pressing Montevideo's defenders, making the short passing lanes dangerous.

Eventually, Rodríguez played it long—a goal kick that sailed over the midfield and toward the right side of the pitch, where Cabrera was positioned. The right midfielder jumped for the header, competing with Ibarra, Maldonado's left-back. Ibarra won the duel, heading the ball back toward the center circle where Peralta was waiting.

Peralta controlled it and immediately looked for Romero. The attacking midfielder had positioned himself in space again, always available, always demanding the ball. Peralta played it to him with a short pass that covered eight meters.

Romero received it with his back to goal. Matías was pressing from behind, trying to prevent the turn. But Romero didn't try to turn. He played a simple one-touch pass back to Peralta, who had continued his run forward after making the initial pass. The one-two combination bypassed Matías completely.

Peralta now had the ball twenty-five meters from goal, with space in front of him. He drove forward three meters before playing a pass to Ortiz on the right. Ortiz controlled it and immediately crossed it into the box. The delivery was low and driven, aimed at the near post.

Machado made the run, arriving at the near post just as the ball crossed the six-yard line. He got his foot to it, attempting to redirect it toward goal. The contact was good, but the angle was too tight. The ball deflected off Machado's boot and went across the goal face, rolling just wide of the far post.

So close. Maldonado's players held their heads. Their fans behind the goal groaned collectively. Romero clapped his hands, shouting encouragement: "¡Vamos! Keep going! It's coming!"

Montevideo's goal kick was taken by Rodríguez, who played it short to Santos. The center-back controlled it and immediately looked upfield, but every passing option was covered. Maldonado's press was relentless—three forwards pushing high, their midfield cutting off the central passing lanes.

Santos played it backward to Rodríguez, resetting the play. The goalkeeper collected it and held it for a moment, trying to waste time, trying to give his team a breath. But the referee gestured for him to play on—no time-wasting allowed this early.

Rodríguez played it long again, another hopeful ball toward the right side. This time, Torres managed to get his head to it, directing it toward the left side of the pitch where Silva was positioned. But the header was weak, lacking power and direction. Acosta, Maldonado's right-back, collected it easily.

Acosta played it inside to Suárez, who immediately moved it forward to Romero. Another attack building. Romero received the ball in the center circle, turned, and played a diagonal pass toward Costa on the left. The left winger controlled it thirty meters from goal and began driving forward.

Esteban was there again, tracking the run, but his positioning was deeper now. He'd learned from the previous attacks that committing too high left him exposed. Costa drove to the edge of the box, then cut inside, trying to create a shooting angle. Esteban stayed with him, forcing Costa wider.

Eventually, Costa played the ball back to Ibarra, who had pushed high again. Ibarra crossed it into the box from deep, a looping ball aimed at the far post. Rodríguez came off his line, calling for it, and managed to punch it clear. The ball went out to the edge of the box, where Matías was positioned.

Matías controlled it and immediately played it long, a clearance that was more about desperation than tactical intent. The ball sailed fifty meters downfield, out of play for a Maldonado throw-in near the halfway line.

The whistle blew for the throw-in. Ten minutes had elapsed.

On the bench, Che's hands were still pressed into his knees. His eyes tracked every movement, every pass, every positioning adjustment. The System was processing data continuously, analyzing Maldonado's patterns, Montevideo's defensive struggles, and most importantly: Romero.

Chapter 10 - Nunemmtn