Leon instantly aborted his deep run, staying higher up the pitch.
On the sideline, he saw Chivu's eyebrow raise a single, questioning millimeter.
The commentator, oblivious to the silent, high-level chess match unfolding, was just enjoying the spectacle. "A cagey opening ten minutes here in Pasadena! Both teams are showing immense respect for each other, like two heavyweight boxers in the first round, content to just feel each other out!"
On the pitch, Leon knew they couldn't just "feel them out." Chivu's trap was designed to neutralize him. He needed to change the game. He jogged past Florian Wirtz, the other new boy.
"Florian," he murmured, his voice low and urgent.
"Change of plan. Forget the False 9. You stay in the pocket, find the space between their lines. I'm going to make runs to drag them wide. The space will be for you."
Wirtz, a player with a footballing brain as sharp as his own, just gave a single, intelligent nod. He understood.
