Please vote to show me your support for the story. The higher we climb in the rankings, the more motivated I will feel. Mass releases will be rewarded for each 10 rankings we manage to climb.
#More than 10 chapters ahead on my : /TrikoRex
{!!!Please leave a review, it helps me a lot and lets me know how many people are invested in the future of this novel!!!}
[Home Deluxe Arena, Paderborn | 19/01/2020 | Game week 18 | Minute: 76]
The momentum, Baumgart had hoped to stop refused to shift as Kai Havertz seemed to tap into the Zone. Playing further up, he let Demirbay take up his defensive duties and started connecting the midfield like a tank maestro. He wasn't delicate in his passes like De Bruyne, nor were his passes short and controlled like Xavi, but he controlled the team's tempo like a prime Champions League Modric with the warrior spirit of Nedved.
The Paderborn players quickly had a problem, especially when he lifted the ball between two defenders, breaking through their attempt to sandwich him. One grabbed his arm, and the other tugged his shirt, but Kai remained upright despite the slight imbalance. Pulling the ball back before another defender could interfere, he lifted a quick pass over Gerrit to the area around the corner flag.
Rakim was already in motion, breaking past the turning Gerrit, jumping into the air, his right foot snaked behind his left leg and deftly touched the ball down as he faced Gerrit. The Paderborn substitute Gerrit Holtmann, fresh into the match, squared up instantly. Rakim didn't give him the luxury of adapting as he performed a stepover, then faked a cutback, only to burst down the line, cutting so tightly along the by-line that even the touchline seemed to lean out of his way. With a flick of his toe, he nutmegged Holtmann, who attempted to make up for his mistake.
Snaking past him, he sent a driven pass out to the area in front of the front post, causing the players to quickly turn their heads as they urged their legs to reach. Volland got there first, his shot coming off the outside of his boot, low and angled, but Zingerle somehow managed to get a foot to the ball.
The ball bounced free, chaos erupting in the six-yard box. Amiri arrived next, trying to poke the rebound in, but his shot slammed into Schonlau's thigh and ricocheted out for a corner. "That was it! That was the equaliser!" Derek Rae exclaimed. "How on earth has that stayed out?!"
Stewart Robson also intoned as the away supporters clutched their heads in disbelief. "Phenomenal from Zingerle—he's the reason Paderborn are still clinging on. And you have to give credit to Rex again. Every time he's isolated a defender, he's wreaked havoc."
The ensuing corner kick saw Amiri raise both arms, signalling a rehearsed set piece. He curled the ball toward the near post, where Tah stormed in with brutish momentum. He met it with a glancing header, but the angle was tight, and the ball skimmed just over the crossbar, landing on the roof of the net.
On the touchline, Peter Bosz could be seen muttering under his breath in Dutch, clipboard now discarded at his feet. He clapped rapidly, gesturing to the players to keep pushing. "Amiri, get back and control that midfield, faster transitions, gentlemen."
Meanwhile, Steffen Baumgart had gone from barking orders to crouching low beside the dugout, sweat beading down his temple despite the January chill. His substitutions had done little to stem the tide, and he needed to figure something out quickly; thus, he sought advice from his coaching staff. "Boss, it might be time to go ultra-defensive and hunker down."
"I would like to do that, Tim, but I fear that if we retreat that much, it might spur them to bombard us indiscriminately," Steffen voiced as they watched the Red Lions launch yet another long-range attempt from the area outside the box. "They simply have too much firepower for us to just sit back, and their wingers are particularly slicing through us like knives through hot butter."
"Then, how about a deep counter-attacking strategy, which will have Michel and Srbeny ready to explode forward at any moment using their speed and individual brilliance to create something?" Tim offered, after taking a moment to think about it, his suggestion stemmed from the disparity in player quality that existed, even though they still held the lead.
Steffen rubbed the back of his neck, eyes narrowed on the far sideline where Diaby was preparing to re-enter after receiving brief treatment for a cramp. "Alright, let's go with that then. Tell the boys to stay compact when out of possession, but the moment we win the ball, I want Pröger and Srbeny sprinting like their jobs depend on it. We'll use the width of the pitch and hit long balls for them to run onto."
Tim nodded and jogged toward the sideline, pulled over a nearby player and relayed his instructions. The instructions were immediately relayed to the rest of the team and caused an immediate chain reaction. The home team fell back into the final third, practically guarding their box like the wall of China.
Despite the adjustments, it was Leverkusen who came closest next. Rakim found himself isolated again on the right with Holtmann clinging tightly to his back. He spun off him with a slick Cruyff turn and took off down the channel. This time, he didn't even think of crossing. He paused just outside the box, and dragged the ball back, letting Holtmann slide past him in desperation.
He feinted outside, but his foot was more honest, dragging the ball inside as he fired a curling shot aimed at the top corner. The ball curled venomously, and this time it was on target, but Zingerle had already taken flight, fingertips doing just enough to send the ball clipping the top of the bar and bouncing behind. "He's on fire, Derek. Absolutely terrorising them. You'd think he's the senior man on this pitch with the way he's playing," Stewart noted, half incredulous.
"And he's only seventeen," Derek added. "It's the confidence to try that in a tight game that does it for me. You can't teach that."
Paderborn were now operating like a siege camp under storm—bodies behind the ball, Srbeny left alone up top like a decoy, and every clearance treated like a gold nugget. Ritter and Vasiliadis chased shadows in midfield as Kai Havertz orchestrated like a composer at full tempo.
Amiri switched play out to Sinkgraven, who quickly sent it up the flank to the feet of Diaby. The winger's first touch was immaculate as he laid it off to the surging Havertz in the central lane. The midfielder snaked past Vasiliadis with a dip of the shoulder before driving the ball forward to the feet of Volland.
The striker, with his back to goal, held off Kilian before laying the ball off to Diaby, who had continued his run, letting Havertz act as a decoy. Continuing his run, Diaby swept up the ball as he pierced the box with Dräger glued to his side.
Diaby didn't blink, and with Dräger clinging to his shoulder like a life vest, he dragged the ball forward with the outside of his left boot. He feinted a body shift right, then cut sharply back, body checking the leach as he cut back slightly onto his stronger foot. The momentum unbalanced Dräger, who stumbled, leaving room for Diaby to angle a shot toward the far bottom corner past the on-rushing Zingerle.
The keeper who had his body lowered in preparation lunged to his left, trying to intercept the ball that was skidded across the turf like a ground snake. (CLANG) The ball cannoned off the inside of the post causing a split-second of silence to engulf the arena.
Zingerle was already beaten. The away fans had risen, arms half-raised in celebration. Diaby had already started to turn, expecting the net to bulge. But instead of rippling twine, the ball ricocheted cruelly across the goalmouth, passing just behind the incoming Amiri, who had lunged, inches away from a tap-in.
A chorus of gasps erupted around the Home Deluxe Arena. For the home fans, it was divine intervention. For Leverkusen, it was another dagger to their hearts as causing them to question God and everything that was holy to them. "My enemies have succeeded in plotting against me, my friend." A Nigerian man wearing a Havertz kit exclaimed as he clutched his phone, which was illuminated on a betting app with an 18-game betting slip which had all been completed safely for the match he was watching.
"The Devil is a liar, Adebayo, my boy Rakim finna dance on all these fools any moment now." His friend, who looked like he walked straight out of the gym, stated as he rubbed his bare chest, feeling the January chill.
"Sabe a beg put on your top no gayl be checking for you at a football game when they got millionaires running around on the pitch." Adebayo retorted in mock annoyance, only to look up in shock as a sea of blue Paderborn players surged up the field for a counter.
"Michel surging up the flank, and he's got help from Srbeny and Antwi-Adjei, can they go all the way?" Derek Rae's booming voice resounded as the spectators jumped to their feet in anticipation.