Claire, of course, had no idea about the high-stakes drama unfolding in the stands. On the pitch, he was a man possessed—charging toward Brighton's half with single-minded intensity.
His reputation as a team player paid off. Teammates instinctively formed a protective radius around him, subtly shielding him from Brighton's defenders. Though Ball still held possession, his eyes kept darting toward Claire, waiting for the right moment to release the ball.
But football is a game of razor-thin margins.
When Ball received a pass, four Brighton players immediately closed in. Unfazed, Ball feinted toward a gap in their defense, then glanced back at Claire—a silent command: Follow my lead.
Claire didn't hesitate. Gritting his teeth, he sprinted toward the right flank, his lungs burning.
The Stands: A War of Words
Denis Irwin scowled at QPR's interim manager, Bruno Elin.
"I sent Claire to you to learn German tactics. Why does he—and Ball—still play like English bulldozers? All brawn, no brain!"
Elin threw up his hands. "Ball's brilliant—when he's not emotional. If he fixed that, Wolves would've signed him years ago."
Ferguson, meanwhile, tracked Claire's relentless six-minute sprint with a stopwatch. "What's his average playtime last season?"
Elin glanced at Irwin, who pointedly ignored him.
Brighton's coach, Mickey Adams, smirked. "Twelve minutes. A crime for a player like him."
"His long-range stamina's exceptional. That pained expression he makes? No idea why. But if his through balls are half as good as rumored, I'd recommend him to Juande Ramos at Spurs."
Irwin's eyes lit up. "Wait—Tottenham* wants him?"*
Ferguson said nothing, but his gaze lingered on QPR's camaraderie—something his fractured United squad desperately needed.
The Turning Point
Back on the pitch, Ball's solo charge into Brighton's defense proved Irwin right.
A slick sidestep bought him space—until four defenders collapsed on him like a vise. Trapped near the penalty line, Ball kicked the ball off a defender's shin, hoping for a throw-in.
But Brighton's player dodged. The whistle blew.
Ball stomped the grass in frustration—only to see Claire already reset at midfield, hands on hips, gasping but grinning. He gave Ball a thumbs-up.
Then: chaos.
Brighton's striker launched a counterattack with a blistering sprint. QPR's defense scrambled backward, but the field was too open. A goal here would be a gift.
Irwin, however, wasn't worried.
"Claire saw this coming," he muttered, then roared: "F*ING STEAL IT, CLAIRE!"
Ferguson nodded approvingly. "Smart anticipation. Even Rooney struggles against a four-man mid-block."
System Activated
Claire's mind went blank—then lit up.
[Ding.]
His system projected three possible attack paths in his vision, each tagged with odds:
70% probability: Cutting inside toward the near post. 20% probability: A curving run to the far corner. 10% probability: A risky dribble through the center.
Claire bolted for the 70% route, shouting at Ball: "READY FOR THE COUNTER!"