Check out advanced chapters on P@treon: [email protected]/CosmicKaminari
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Atlético Madrid's narrow 2-1 away victory against Sporting Gijón had been dissected at length across every football media outlet and TV program going.
Even when Lance went out for dinner the previous evening, he could hear the table next to him deep in tactical discussion about how to stop Atlético Madrid. Real Madrid fans, by the sound of it.
"Sporting Gijón's approach was basically right. They should have used full-backs and zonal marking, with one man tight on Lance to disrupt him and another cutting off his passing and dribbling lanes."
"Exactly. Atlético rely entirely on the left flank. Our Carvajal, Casemiro, and Kroos can shut that side down."
"If the defensive block holds firm, Griezmann and Lance will struggle to do anything. At worst, you pick up a couple of yellow cards."
"Get Bale making runs in behind, let Modrić look for pockets of space, and the counter-attack writes itself."
The two Real Madrid fans were getting quite animated, while their companion, clearly an Atlético supporter, sat back with an amused smile.
"Give it a rest. Real Madrid are one draw and three losses against Atlético this season. It's done."
"Not quite. There's still a potential Champions League final. You'd better hope you can get past Manchester City and Barcelona first."
"Atlético will be fine. I believe in Lance."
Lance quietly appreciated the unknown supporter's faith, even if the confidence behind it sounded a little shaky.
Sporting Gijón had used a particularly disciplined space-denial approach, suffocating Atlético's left side while deliberately leaving the right open.
Drawing on lessons from Real Madrid, Barcelona, Athletic Bilbao, and others, they had assembled the most effective defensive template seen against Atlético all season. It would inevitably become a reference point for every team facing them next.
The most obvious candidate to copy it was their Champions League quarter-final opponent, Manchester City.
Sure enough, scrolling through Twitter that evening, Lance found reports that Manchester City had been in closed training for days, working on a new defensive shape. The midfield and defensive line of Yaya Touré, Fernandinho, Zabaleta, Otamendi, and Kompany was formidably physical.
Yaya Touré at his peak was a genuine handful for any technical player, combining raw strength in the challenge with the ability to carry the ball forward through contact like a tank.
Pair that with De Bruyne, David Silva, and the supply chain they could generate for Sterling and Agüero, and Manchester City could cause Atlético real problems at both ends of the field.
The English press had already anointed them.
"Three Tactical Keys to a Manchester City Win Over Atlético Madrid! Pellegrini Primed for the Title!" — Manchester Evening News
"Agüero: The Whole Squad Believes We Can Beat Atlético Madrid. The Goal Is the Trophy." — The Guardian
"De Bruyne Eager to Eliminate His Belgian Compatriot. Champions League Glory Is the Dream!" — Daily Mail
"Expert Verdict: Manchester City Will Win the Champions League This Season." — The Sun
After Matchday 30 against Sporting Gijón, nearly two weeks of international break followed. With no club fixtures, Lance spent some time on his phone at the airport before flying to Brussels, the capital of Belgium, to join up with his Belgian teammates.
The very first thing he did upon arriving at the national team training center was shove his phone in De Bruyne's face.
"Kevin, it says here your greatest wish is to win the Champions League. Is that true?"
De Bruyne looked slightly sheepish but didn't deny it.
"Of course it is. Who doesn't want to win the Champions League?"
"I thought The Sun was just making it up. What an outrageous headline."
"What do you mean? You think we can't win, you bastard?" De Bruyne narrowed his eyes.
"Sorry, you can't win."
"Don't you dare underestimate Manchester City! We've already been working on tactics to deal with..."
De Bruyne stopped himself mid-sentence, clocking Lance's expression.
Lance was wearing the look of a man who had already got exactly what he wanted.
De Bruyne was still too honest for his own good.
"So you really are working on something new."
"Whatever, nothing to hide anyway. Just wait and see." De Bruyne folded his arms, visibly confident.
Their Belgian teammates nearby had been following the exchange with great interest.
"Lance, want me to take Kevin out of the picture at some point? Do you a favor?"
Hazard wandered over with a grin.
De Bruyne raised an eyebrow and started to reply, but a large arm appeared from nowhere and stepped firmly in front of him. A broad, imposing figure planted itself between Hazard and De Bruyne.
"Don't even think about it."
It was Kompany, Belgium captain and Manchester City's starting center-back.
"I'm joking, obviously. I'd never actually do that."
Hazard laughed it off. He had no intention of getting on the wrong side of Kompany.
It was an unusual situation all round. Several Premier League clubs were locked in a fierce title race, with Chelsea and Manchester City both genuine contenders, and yet both were somehow being topped by a side most people had tipped for relegation in Leicester City. There was no one to blame for that.
Kompany was winding Hazard up, of course. Away from their clubs, they were still good friends. That was the nature of the national team environment. When players came back from battling each other every weekend, they generally got on well enough.
It was only when things turned genuinely personal that the atmosphere soured. The Netherlands and France had a long tradition of that particular problem.
After five days of training with Belgium, Lance made his appearance in a friendly match.
The opponents were Portugal.
Before Euro 2016, Belgium had two friendlies scheduled: Portugal on 30th March, and Switzerland on 2nd June.
"Why is it always you?! Why?!"
Cristiano Ronaldo looked as though he had genuinely been cursed. Lance seemed to appear around every corner.
"Good to see you again, Cristiano."
"WTF!!"
Cristiano Ronaldo would have quite liked a world without Lance in it. But there was nothing to be done about that. It seemed he was simply fated to spend his career in Lance's shadow.
A reluctant pre-match handshake later, both sides got underway.
It was, of course, only a friendly. The Portugal players lacked any real urgency, with Cristiano Ronaldo the sole exception, charging around at full tilt as though it were a World Cup final. Belgium, by contrast, were sharp from the off. Hazard, De Bruyne, Lance, and Lukaku all looked bright.
Just thirty minutes in, De Bruyne whipped a cross in from a 45-degree angle on the right. Lukaku attacked it at the near post and headed the ball against the post. The rebound dropped near the penalty spot, and Lance, back to goal, flicked it up to take it over Pepe's challenge, then volleyed it in off his weaker foot.
1-0.
"Shit!" Cristiano Ronaldo snatched his captain's armband off and hurled it to the ground.
He really did hate losing to Lance.
The second half brought another seamless combination between the two. No eye contact required. De Bruyne simply turned and chipped the ball from the right without looking. Lance met it outside the box, cushioned it gently with the outside of his right foot, shifted his weight to turn away from Raúl Meireles with a neat shimmy, and unleashed a fierce drive from the edge of the area.
Tiger!
Nearly two months without a system template had allowed Lance to slowly begin grasping the true spirit of Hyuga Kojiro's Tiger Shot. The essence of it was twofold: an overwhelming desire to win, and total decisiveness at the moment of striking. The stronger the conviction, the more naturally the Tiger Shot triggered.
Bang.
A thunderous strike the goalkeeper could do nothing about.
2-0.
Cristiano Ronaldo had lost to Lance again.
After the final whistle, he could manage only one parting shot.
"You had better make it to the final. I will beat you there."
"Deal. See you in the final."
De Bruyne, standing nearby, did not appreciate being ignored.
"Excuse me? Manchester City? We exist, you know."
"Cheer up, Kevin. Five days. We'll see each other in five days."
"Fuck!"
De Bruyne walked away shaking his head.
He hadn't fully registered it when they were still club teammates. But now, standing on the other side of that line, he finally understood why so many opponents left games against Lance looking completely rattled.
The man got inside your head before the first whistle had even blown.