(A/n: Hey guys sorry for the late chapter. Honestly, a lot of shit is going on in my life but I am trying to update this book the best I can. Also, I will try to follow new update schedule:
For this site: Updates on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday
On P@tre0n: Updates as above and bonus updates whenever I get free time.
Again guys, I am sorry.)
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Hoffenheim Training Base.
"Alright, Ollie, Frenkie, you can take a break now," Assistant Coach Kramer called out to the two.
Sweat continuously streamed down Oliver's face, dripping onto the turf. He and De Jong had just finished their last combined training session. Walking side by side, Oliver savored the telepathic runs and passes they had exchanged during the final small-sided game. Suddenly, a cold notification sound rang in his mind without warning:
[Detected Host's interaction with Frenkie De Jong reached 100%. Skill Unlocked: Space Decompressor. Skill Match Evaluation: 83%]
A concise textual description followed, etching itself into Oliver's consciousness:
[Within a small, dense area, use precise foot touches and feint combinations to break free from entanglement, create narrow gaps, and generate opportunities for forward progression. Core: touch accuracy, balance, and instantaneous decision-making.]
Oliver's steps paused for a moment.
"What's wrong, Oliver?" De Jong noticed his slight hesitation and turned his head to ask Oliver.
"Nothing," Oliver quickly adjusted his expression, trying hard to force a relaxed smile, but fatigue made it appear somewhat stiff.
"It's just... I'm too tired, my legs feel heavy." He lightly stomped on the turf.
De Jong nodded understandingly, his deep blue eyes also showing signs of exhaustion.
"I understand. With today's intensity, Kramer must be trying to squeeze every last drop of oil out of our bones." He raised a hand to wipe away the sweat that was about to run into his eyes, and took a deep breath.
"But, the coordination felt really good today, didn't it?"
"Of course, Frenkie." Oliver looked at De Jong, an indescribable light in his eyes, and said to him,
"It's really great to have you as a teammate."
De Jong smiled and fist-bumped Oliver. As soon as the training session ended, Oliver said he had something else to do and declined his teammates' invitation to play games. After returning to his dorm, Oliver immediately locked the door. He didn't even bother to take off his mud-stained training clothes, merely wiping away the almost dry sweat on his face with a towel. Without even untying his shoelaces, he collapsed onto the sofa, his body trembling slightly from exhaustion. Closing his eyes, his consciousness remained perfectly clear. Oliver entered the system space, intending to try out this new skill from De Jong right away. He stood near the center circle of the virtual turf.
A system prompt projected directly in front of him:
[Simulation initiated: High-density pressing environment, 3 defenders, intensity: Bundesliga mid-table]
As soon as the thought flashed, a flicker of light and shadow appeared in his vision. Three expressionless, mechanically moving humanoid shadows instantly generated, rushing towards him in a triangular formation with a precise sense of pressure. Oliver's body instinctively tensed, and his instep touched the virtual ball in front of him, attempting a simple push-and-change of direction. The shadow on the left almost immediately took a large lateral step as soon as the ball left his foot. Its long leg acted like a precisely calculated gate, blocking the ball effortlessly with a "thwack."
"Tsk!" Oliver's brows furrowed as he watched the ball on the ground get absorbed by the virtual field, only to reappear in its original spot. The sensation of being blocked just now seemed to linger on his instep. He stared at the re-formed orb of light, not rushing to move, forcing himself to recall the rhythmic details of De Jong's breakouts during training. Was De Jong quick to accelerate? Not particularly; he actually had pauses. Oliver tried again to control the ball and approach the area surrounded by the shadows. Just before the opponent extended a leg to intercept, Oliver's body suddenly dipped to the left, a small movement that shifted his center of gravity slightly. Then, he pushed the ball to the right with the outside of his right foot.
The center shadow, which was marking him tightly, indeed had its center of gravity slightly thrown off by his feigned shoulder drop. He followed up with his right foot, dribbling the ball, and squeezed past the shadow's unadjusted body. As soon as he squeezed past one person, the shadow on the left, covering the gap, had already blocked the breakthrough path. Oliver failed again.
The skill Space Decompressor is truly difficult to perform. Oliver stopped, resuming ball control in place, dribbling the ball in small circles, repeatedly pondering the successful shoulder drop and feint he had just executed.
"When the opponent's weakness appears, the body connection must be quick, but the touch on the ball must be controlled..." Oliver muttered softly, his right foot instinctively miming different directions of pulls and pushes, searching for that subtle ankle tension when the ball left his foot.
He began to make targeted adjustments. In one simulation, instead of going forward immediately, he first used a very small horizontal push with his left foot, attracting a slight shift in the right defender's center of gravity. In that almost imperceptible moment, he used a highly concealed brush with the outside of his right foot. The ball hugged the turf, precisely sliding past the person's supporting foot, while he simultaneously took a small hop to get around. This time it worked! This time he broke free from the double-team and advanced two steps.
Thus, the virtual turf beneath his feet was like a giant green sandbox, densely imprinted with the transparent stud marks left by his repeated stepping, sudden stops, and reversals. Relying on his own contemplation and the system's replays, Oliver had more or less familiarized himself with the skill, but he still lacked some of De Jong's essence.
"It's... it's so hard... De Jong's skill... is much harder than Amiri's," Oliver said, leaning on his knees and panting heavily.
Indeed, although both Amiri and De Jong are midfielders, their skills are not of the same type. Amiri's midfield skill focuses on vision, while De Jong's midfield skill focuses on breaking free and advancing. Therefore, the difficulty of the two midfield skills is not on the same level at all.
"After training tomorrow, I must ask De Jong for clarification." After making up his mind, Oliver continued to practice.
...
The scene shifts to the tactical analysis room at Colney Training Centre, where all the players had gathered. Professor Wenger stood in front of the tactics board. Today he wasn't wearing a suit jacket, only a dark V-neck sweater, and his expression was more serious than usual. The newly arrived Aubameyang and Mkhitaryan sat in the front row, their eyes showing a newcomer's curiosity and a hint of imperceptible nervousness. Ramsey, Xhaka, Čech, and other familiar faces were also present. Wenger wasted no words, directly tapping the tactics board:
"Gentlemen, the meeting is starting. Time is short, so I'll get straight to the point."
He picked up a marker and drew a large number "6" behind the red magnet representing Arsenal, then drew a "4" next to it, connecting them with a thick line and marking it "-6."
"We are currently sixth in the League," Wenger's voice was not loud, but every word resonated in the quiet room.
"We are six points behind Tottenham, who are in fourth place, and there are thirteen League rounds left. From now on, we have only one goal: to break into the top four and secure Champions League qualification for next season. There are no other options."
He surveyed the room, his gaze sharp: "To achieve this goal, we must change immediately."
"First, tactics." Wenger quickly moved the magnets on the tactics board.
"From today onwards, we abandon the 'beautiful football' style of play. That style is not efficient enough at this stage. We need to be pragmatic; winning comes first, performance second."
Wenger quickly adjusted the magnet positions and continued:
"On the defensive end, we abandon the high defensive line. The overall formation will drop deep. The backline must be like an iron barrel."
Then, the Professor placed Granit Xhaka and a magnet representing a young player in the defensive midfield position, and spoke to him.
"Xhaka, you need to take on more sweeping and interception duties. If necessary, I will use a three-man defense." He arranged the magnets for Mustafi, Koscielny, and Chambers.
"Increase coverage in the box and aerial ball protection. The core idea is to compress space, reduce mistakes. Our possession rate can be low, but our defensive line must be stable."
"On the attacking end," Wenger pointed to the recently arrived Aubameyang,"Pierre, you are our spearhead. Your speed is our greatest weapon. Our tactical core is to play the ball in behind you."
He then pointed to Mkhitaryan and Özil's positions,"Your task is to get the ball into his sprinting path immediately. Simple, direct, fast. Use his speed for single-point breakthroughs. Don't get bogged down too much in midfield."
"Next is set pieces," Wenger emphasized, "Both offensive and defensive ends must be strengthened. On the defensive end, there must be no more elementary mistakes giving away points! Man-marking, jumping, clearing, must be done with 100% focus. On the offensive end, Mustafi or Koscielny, your height is an advantage. Corners, free kicks, must create threats."
After the tactical briefing, Wenger put down the marker, leaning slightly forward with his hands on the edge of the podium, his gaze sweeping over every face: "I know, the term 'top four race' is something many of you are tired of hearing, but this time it's different."
His voice suddenly rose, carrying an unprecedented severity: "This time, there's no turning back in the top four race. Top four is the bottom line! It's a death order! Failure to achieve it is failure! Absolute failure!"
You could hear a pin drop in the meeting room. Even the usually relaxed Aubameyang sat up straight.
"I have only two words for you: fight for it!" Professor Wenger's gaze was like a knife.
"Every minute on the pitch, every challenge, every run, you must show a desperate fighting spirit,"
His gaze lingered for a moment on the faces of star players like Özil,
"Remember, certain star players, if they truly don't perform as expected, then their fate will be the bench, or even the stands. I will no longer hesitate. Team interests are above everything!"
Wenger softened his tone slightly, but the pressure remained undiminished.
"Wilshere," the Professor looked at Wilshere, "If you are physically fit, I need you to step up. The midfield needs your fighting spirit, your link-up play. This is your team; perform like a key player!"
"Iwobi, Maitland-Niles," he then looked at the young players, "Your running and energy are crucial. If you lack technical skill, make up for it with running and tackling! The opportunity is right in front of you, seize it!"
Wenger finally emphasized, "From now on, most of our focus will be on the League. Although our qualification situation in the Europa League is good, we cannot rule out the worst-case scenario. The FA Cup will face strong opponents like Manchester City in the next few rounds, which is more pressure than the Europa League. Therefore, compared to the two cup competitions, the League offers somewhat greater hope."
At this, a few faint gasps were heard from below.
"I know some people are unwilling," Wenger said decisively, "But the reality is here: we don't have the capital to fight on three fronts simultaneously. For the cup competitions, I will make significant rotations. The goal is only one: to ensure the health and fitness of the League's starting lineup. I want you to play every Premier League match at full strength! No excuses!"
Wenger straightened up, his gaze like a torch: "To summarize: solidify defense, rapid counter-attack, strengthen set-piece offense and defense; no fighting spirit on the pitch, zero tolerance off the pitch; moderately pursue cup competitions, go all out for the top four. Is that clear to everyone?"
"Clear, Boss!" Scattered responses rang out, somewhat hesitant.
"Louder!" Wenger slammed his hand on the table, "All of you, perk up! Tell me, what is the goal?!"
"Top four!!!" This time the voices were much more uniform and loud, carrying an ignited passion.
"Very good." Wenger nodded, still without a smile on his face, "Remember what I said. Meeting adjourned!"
The players successively rose and left the meeting room, the atmosphere heavy. Wenger watched their retreating figures, his face devoid of its usual gentle expression. He picked up the material about the next opponent from the conference table, his fingers slightly white from gripping it tightly. Perhaps due to his recent emotional outburst, he adjusted his glasses. For the top four, and even more so for crucial signings in the summer window, the Professor had already staked everything. This season concerned his entire coaching career.
...
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