"Watch out for Ganso's mid-range shots."
Right before kickoff, Ho-young gave a quick tip to Casemiro, who was playing as a defensive midfielder.
"Because he pushes the line forward?"
"That too, but the guy's got a powerful shot."
Ho-young looked over at Ganso, speaking with certainty in his voice.
[Ganso]
[Possessed Talents: Football Prodigy (B+3), Excellent Passing (B+2), Solid Fundamentals (B), Powerful Mid-range Shot (B-)]
(You can obtain one talent by meeting the required condition.)
(Condition 1: Win the match)
(Condition 2: Do not concede a mid-range goal to Ganso)
If your opponent specializes in mid-range shots, of course you need to be extra cautious about them.
It was only natural.
'If things go well, I might be able to acquire Neymar's talent at the same time.'
To obtain Neymar's Football Prodigy (S-), all Ho-young had to do was meet the hidden condition.
The hidden condition was: Win the Golden Ball in the national league.
In other words, they had to win this round.
'I can do it.'
Ho-young and the boys of São Paulo FC were burning with determination.
Only they knew how much training they had put in up to this point.
None of them were planning on going home until they'd poured everything out on the pitch.
Their determination paid off in the 10th minute of the first half.
"Tch. Damn it."
Unable to hold back his frustration, Ganso spat out his anger.
He had repeatedly attempted daring mid-range shots whenever he found a good opportunity, but every single one was blocked by Casemiro before they even reached the goal.
It felt like his mind had been completely read.
"For f**k's sake!"
Eventually, he opted to switch tactics, abandoning the threatening mid-range efforts and going for direct passes instead.
Calling them "direct passes" was putting it kindly. In reality, it was just kick-and-run football.
This marked the beginning of São Paulo FC's tactical shift.
As Santos FC's ball distribution was cut off in midfield, São Paulo exploited the loosened central area, launching a midfield bombardment in a 4-3-3 formation.
Leading the charge was Ho-young.
"Run!"
The second act had begun.
With the opponent's throat tightly squeezed, São Paulo FC finally opened their eyes.
Like a burst of water from a faucet, a wave of white jerseys flooded the field.
They were the players of São Paulo FC.
"Go! Gooo! Goooo!"
At Ho-young's shout, Douglas sprinted down the left flank, making full use of his pace and excellent off-the-ball movement.
Behind him, Ho-young and Oscar exchanged passes several times, laying the foundation for the attacking buildup.
Caught off guard by this unexpected counterattack, the Santos players were visibly shaken.
Just moments ago, they had dominated possession, but the tide had suddenly turned.
Flustered, Santos's defenders allowed space to open up.
'Slow down.'
Ho-young took control of the ball in the second line and moved it calmly.
Slow buildup.
He slowed the tempo deliberately, keeping an eye on the entire field.
Reading one or two steps ahead was a given.
Like a craftsman delicately threading embroidery, he built up the play with careful touches.
The hallmark of São Paulo FC's tactic was to cut in from the flanks to the center.
"Phew..."
Exhaling slowly, they regained control of the match.
It was a different style compared to the earlier aggressive tempo and bold attacks.
This shift was intended to break down the defensive wall that Santos had meticulously prepared.
The double pivot.
Santos FC deployed two defensive midfielders as their first line of defense.
Renato, who supported the back four.
And Motta, who acted as the first barrier against the opponent's attack.
The two shared a silent exchange as they positioned themselves.
'Close down the space and focus on cutting off the ball. I'll cover any surprise breakthroughs from behind.'
Renato's eyes conveyed the message.
The two had undergone special training under Coach Pamela in preparation for this match.
Morning and night, they poured all their time and effort into stopping Ho-young's playmaking.
Now it was time to see the results.
Motta, the first wall, took a step forward.
Twitch.
Brimming with confidence, the corners of his mouth curled slightly.
He stood his ground, facing Ho-young's dribble with swagger, daring him to come forward.
His eyes gleamed sharply.
In that brief moment, he even felt a thrill.
In a way, this was the biggest youth match of the season in Brazil.
Scouts from all over the country were surely watching.
If he could stop Ho-young, who was leading the scoring charts, he would instantly be in the spotlight.
It was a golden opportunity.
'I can stop him.'
Motta's confidence stemmed from the training he'd endured.
It had been the most intense regimen he'd ever gone through.
'We trained so many times against Neymar and Gabriel.'
Motta extended his leg carefully, keeping a good distance while staying ready for all possibilities.
'He'll either try to dribble or pass.'
Motta narrowed the angle to minimize passing options between himself and Ho-young.
That left only a dribble.
All he had to do was stop that.
'Even if he breaks through, Renato is behind me.'
All in all, it was a safe situation.
Still, just in case, he had to block this with everything he had. As the first line of defense, he had no choice.
Tap, tap.
Ho-young tempted him with short dribbles, but Motta held his ground.
He didn't stick out his foot carelessly. He waited.
Gulp.
A heavy silence fell between them as they fought over the ball.
Quiet footsteps.
One.
Two.
And then, it happened.
Ho-young's stride suddenly widened.
Motta immediately reacted.
'Now!'
Motta had watched Ho-young's highlights countless times over the past few days.
Even when lying in bed at night with the lights off, his mind replayed Ho-young's movements.
He had trained endlessly to recognize this exact moment.
Yet Motta was still beaten.
Smack!
He thought he had it covered, but Ho-young pulled off a lightning-fast breakthrough.
Motta could only stare blankly at Ho-young's back as he disappeared ahead.
"F**k!"
'Why couldn't I stop him even though I knew it was coming?!'
With Motta's first line of defense broken, Santos's defensive shape began to collapse.
Now, their last hope was Renato in the back.
'Renato. Please.'
Sure enough, Renato sprinted in to intercept Ho-young.
His face was set with grim determination.
'I will stop him. No matter what.'
His eyes blazed with resolve.
He had the right mindset.
And that was the problem.
Whoosh!
A flash of genius technical skill followed by a storm-like dribble.
Ho-young slipped past Renato as if cruising through an express toll gate.
"Ha."
The unthinkable had happened, twice in a row.
It was a breakthrough that rendered all of Santos FC's special training completely meaningless.
Now only the last line remained.
Felipe, the centre-back who had been embarrassed by Ho-young last time, stood in his path again.
Though he felt like crying, he forced himself to face Ho-young.
But that changed nothing.
'I... I can't stop him.'
Felipe was already afraid before he even engaged.
To support Felipe, Coach Pamela had deployed two barriers in front of him.
But both had been torn apart.
All Felipe could do now was hope for a miracle.
Flinch.
Meeting Ho-young's predatory gaze, Felipe froze.
The pressure was overwhelming, born from the stark difference in skill.
'No...'
He tried to focus on defending, but it was already too late.
Mixing in a body feint, Ho-young slid the ball between Felipe's legs, completing his third clean breakthrough.
Felipe, paralyzed by fear, didn't even react.
He was worse than a cardboard cutout.
His mind half gone, he chased after Ho-young in vain, only to stumble and fall.
He looked like he might burst into tears at any moment.
'Almost there.'
Finally, Ho-young entered the box and paused.
In that brief moment, he scanned the field.
The key to this tactic was to slowly circulate the ball while the two forwards roamed freely, pulling apart the opponent's defensive line.
Douglas, on the left, was doing exactly that.
Just one step away from scoring.
As long as the finish was solid, it would likely result in a goal.
'I need to end this properly.'
It was a crucial match.
At that moment, two defenders rushed in to take the ball from Ho-young.
Simultaneously, Ho-young flicked his ankle to the right.
Smack!
The ball was passed to Oscar, who was completely unmarked.
A perfect shooting angle had opened up.
"...!"
But Oscar held back from shooting.
The defenders, having lost their heads, had already begun closing in on Oscar.
Glance.
Oscar looked at Ho-young.
Seeing that he was unmarked, he immediately passed it back.
A soft lobbed pass off his toes.
"...!"
Gulp.
With a sharp glint in his eye, Ho-young locked onto the falling ball and twisted his body.
Volley.
Without even trapping the ball, he fired a one-touch shot.
The posture was slightly awkward, but he was confident.
He had been steadily polishing the Decent Finishing Ability he had taken from Pato.
And then.
Thud!
The net rippled violently in response.
"Wooooooohhh!"
Ho-young let out a thunderous roar as he unleashed a powerful uppercut into the air.
"Uwooooh!!"
Like lava erupting, his emotions exploded.
He had been under enormous pressure for such a crucial game but had kept it inside so as not to affect the team.
Now, that burden had finally been lifted.
It was only the first goal, but...
'This is definitely different from the last match.'
All anxiety vanished.
But there was no time for complacency.
The match had only just reached its second act, and the clock on the field hadn't even hit the halfway mark.
"Woo!"
Oscar, who had assisted the goal, ran over and hugged Ho-young.
"Get back! Reset the line!"
Ho-young's voice echoed across the field.
One goal was enough to change the mood of the match entirely.
After taking the lead, São Paulo, with Ho-young at the center, calmly managed the tempo and stifled Santos's hasty offense.
They maintained possession and controlled the pace to avoid giving up chances.
Still, the match remained tightly contested.
Neymar was as dangerous as ever, capable of flipping the game on its head at any moment.
Likewise, Ho-young occasionally showcased explosive plays.
He didn't overdo it. His restraint stood out.
Young players often overuse their signature skills out of pressure to stand out.
Sharp turns, flashy dribbles, long shots.
Many had crashed and burned that way.
But Ho-young was different.
Despite his age, he knew how to hold back and only exploded when necessary.
'He understands the flow of the game that well.'
That was the thought of a middle-aged man watching from the stands.
Carles Rexach.
The Spaniard thought he saw glimpses of a young Zidane in Ho-young, or perhaps the commanding presence of Michael Ballack.
That was if he were being generous.
'In just 30 minutes, he's made over nine successful breakthroughs.'
The fact that Santos FC had only conceded one goal so far was a miracle.
'What a find.'
Carles Rexach had recently come to São Paulo to scout Pato and Neymar.
But in the report he was currently drafting, another boy's name had taken the spotlight.
/
[Player Report: Ho-young]
[Summary: Outstanding. Extraordinary.]
[Top Speed: 10]
[Acceleration: 10]
[On the Ball: 9.5]
[Off the Ball: 9.5]
[Agility: 8.5]
[Jumping: 7]
[Mental Attributes]
[Mental Strength: 10]
[Patience: 10]
[Focus: 10]
[Selfishness: None]
[Personality: —]
/
Just as the report suggested, Rexach was deeply impressed by Ho-young's play.
'He's Asian, but he definitely has the potential to grow into a world-class player.'
Right place, right time. He had come to find raw gems but ended up discovering a brilliantly shining diamond.
In fact, the stands were packed with scouts besides Rexach, and every time Ho-young touched the ball, they scribbled furiously into their notes.
Neymar, Gabigol, and even Ganso, who were supposed to be in the spotlight, had been pushed to the sidelines.
"This is... quite the dilemma."
Carles Rexach, the same technical director who had brought Lionel Messi to Barcelona four years ago.
Now, he couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency.
(To be continued.)