The ball was back on the center spot, the score was 2-2, and the San Siro was a roaring, trembling cauldron of raw emotion.
Leon stood there, his heart pounding, not with anxiety, but with the thrilling, ice-cold clarity of a hunter who had just spotted a fatal weakness in his prey.
[Optimal Attack Zone identified: Right Flank.]
The message from his 'Manager Mode' was a flashing, neon sign in his mind.
The Sassuolo right-back, a player who had been run ragged by Dimarco and Palmer all game, was on a yellow card and was physically and mentally exhausted.
He was a walking mistake, a ticking time bomb.
As the referee blew his whistle to restart the game, Leon didn't sprint forward.
He jogged over to Cole Palmer.
"Cole," he said, his voice a low, urgent murmur. "Their number 22. He's finished. His legs are gone. Every time you get the ball, I want you to run directly at him. No mercy."
Palmer, his face a mask of cool composure, just gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.
