If anyone who had been at the game between Ryusei and Lida Alto claimed that it was boring, then they were either lying or knew nothing about football. That was the general consensus that most of the audience had after Ryusei's second goal.
In barely thirty minutes, there had already been two goals, along with constant action that kept the spectators on their toes. The latest goal was no exception—especially since it had come from a defender.
With the momentum completely against them, Alto looked worn out, clinging to the hope of holding out until halftime. At first, they managed it well, stopping attacks before they could become truly dangerous. But under the steady pressure, small cracks began to show.
Ren, in particular, had been constantly marked. It was difficult for the ball ever to reach him, and when it did, every attempt he made was always blocked or deflected.
That was such a nice goal by Taiga…
Although Ren was happy his team scored, there was nothing that felt better than scoring the goal himself.
This next one, I'll score for sure!
He had pumped himself up, yet the clock was already creeping toward the fortieth minute, and he still hadn't scored. Ryusei continued to dominate possession, refusing to give Alto any chance to turn the game around. In a sense, Ryusei had been lucky until now. If it weren't for Ryo's goal at the beginning of the half, they would've likely been the ones struggling to stay afloat. And considering they had begun the game without some of their starting players, their current dominance only became more striking.
Still, the ball lurked in the middle, and Ren's impatience grew. He had been running around, shaking off his marks, and supporting the midfield, yet the goal continued to elude him.
All I need is one quick break.
If that happened, maybe he'd be able to score. He watched the ball like a hawk, ready to surge forward at the slightest hint of a play.
A minute passed. Then another.
By the time the referee signaled three minutes of stoppage time, Ren felt his chances of scoring slipping away. Despite the chaos in midfield, he had felt useless where it mattered most.
Then, as if by chance, right when he started looking away from the ball, a midfielder broke free with the ball. Ren instantly turned on his heels and sprinted forward, completely losing his mark. He glanced back mid-run, just in time to see Tomoya lob the ball to him.
He was basically free, with only two defenders in front of him, but he could handle that. After all, he'd done it many times before.
Unfortunately for him, the two were composed. The first one was Alto's number four, whom Ren remembered because of how tall he was. The second one was a bit shorter, but was just as good as his teammate.
How should I get past them? They don't seem like they'll fall for simple tricks.
Ren quickly contemplated how he would get past the two. If he used some fancy footwork, he could probably dribble past them, but it would take so long that the rest of their team would attack him from behind. On the other hand, if he tried forcing a shot too early, he would end up missing or having it blocked, as his earlier attempts had.
Ren kept his eyes forward, choosing to try to dribble closer, until he caught something moving in the corner of his eye. His eyes widened for a split second.
Ryo… How did you get here faster than the striker?
Two choices presented themselves to Ren: either hold on to the ball and try scoring himself, or pass it to Ryo, who had a wide-open shot. On one hand, Ren might get the goal he craved, but on the other, Ryo would guarantee a goal.
But Ren had already made up his mind.
After all, how could he keep the ball to himself when one of his teammates is wide open? From his perspective, there was no reason for him to risk keeping the ball.
So Ren kicked the ball to the left, aiming it to match up with Ryo's stride. All that Ryo needed was to swing his left foot through, and the ball would be in the back of the net. The goalie could try all he wanted, but nothing would stop the ball from entering the goal.
Maybe I'll be able to score in the second half.
Ren smiled as the ball hit the back of the net.
Ryo took control of the first half, and I didn't get to do anything. The next half will be mine.
Even though he wasn't able to score in the first half, watching the ball go past the goalie felt good all the same.
I guess getting assists isn't too bad either.
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"Unbelievable! Ryusei scores for the third time just before halftime!" The commentator, Sakamoto Hiroshi, announced. "We saw number 18, Aoyama Ryo, score his second goal of the day, securing an overwhelming lead against Alto."
"Absolutely," Inoue Sayaka agreed. "That play especially showcased his excellent teamwork with number 10. Number 10 has shown tremendous skill so far, and that pass was a perfect example that demonstrates his awareness of his teammates."
"Right—and while he's known as the best scorer in his group, it doesn't mean that he doesn't assist his teammates' goals."
The two of them continued their animated and slightly opinionated commentary. When commenting on plays and tactics, it was much more entertaining and fulfilling for them to comment on fun and exciting games rather than slower games. Of course, it made sense; after all, there is only so much someone can comment on when teams are in a deadlock.
Even as the whistle signaling halftime rang out, their commentary continued all the same. From recapping key moments in the game to going off on random tangents, they kept the distant audiences engaged.
Below them, the players trudged back to the sidelines, exhaustion painting their faces. Even among the Ryusei Elementary players, who had been ahead the entire half, several players were dragging their feet.
However, if there was some good news for Ryusei, it was that the rest of their team had shown up during the first half. They were not subbed in immediately, so as not to waste their substitutions, but now most of them were ready, especially Nakano Ken, the left forward, and Eguchi Hideki, the right midfielder.
Though they had been delayed by the traffic, causing them to miss the start of the game, they spent the rest of the half watching the game and warming up. And now they were ready—and Coach Matsumoto was likely to be subbing them in for the second half. The two players who started in their place had performed well, though Hideki and Ken were a cut above, and their absence had been felt. Without Hideki behind him, Ren had more difficulty receiving the ball and going on the offensive. Similarly, without Ken in front of Ryo, the left line was lacking its typical aggressive playstyle.
Though in the eyes of someone like Matsumoto, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The thoughts of "that wasn't a fair game," or "we were missing our best player," were excuses for a team's lack of skill. Whether a player gets injured, doesn't show up, or has a bad day in general, situations like today were bound to happen throughout any player's career. They would have games where they lacked their finishers or their trump cards, and would have to find ways to work around that.
So now, in a similar situation, both the reserve players who were suddenly put in as starters and the rest of the team had to find a way to power through and come out on top. In Matsumoto's mind, the best players usually thought, "So what if we're missing some of our best players? We're going to win despite that."
To him, that's what separates a good team from a great team. A great team makes everyone say, "Wow, even though they didn't have their best lineup, they still managed to triumph over their opponents." Not because of luck or because the other team was weak, but because they figured out how to win with their own skill.
And even in defeat, they should still be able to reflect and say, "We played our best and still fell short. We were beaten because we were weaker. How could we improve our play based on that?"
That, to Matsumoto, was an essential mindset for a great team. Thus, in a situation like today, where two crucial players were replaced with reserves, the rest of the team all experienced how their play suffered. Likewise, the reserve players realized in what ways they were lacking with respect to the teammates they replaced. From this, they would all be able to grow both as individual players and as a team.
Those thoughts followed Matsumoto throughout the half and would eventually lead to what he would say to the team at halftime. If the players came back lamenting about their situation or acting arrogantly over their lead, then he would intervene and set them on the right path. However, if they came back, reflecting on the first half, wondering why sometimes the plays didn't go their way, and if the plays did go their way, why they worked, then… maybe he wouldn't have to say anything at all.