MTL NOVEL Chapter 61: 61
At the 37th minute of the first half, Pirate Ship executed a fast and beautiful midfield combination play.
Captain Albert, wearing the No.10 jersey, used his body to shove off Bohr, who had been marking him closely. He suddenly accelerated, sprinting into the right-side area of the final third, positioning himself perfectly to receive a lofted diagonal pass from his teammate.
The ball landed precisely in the most vulnerable spot of the Stags' defense—behind their left-back!
Bohr frantically chased after Albert, and Temp spun around and sprinted back in desperation.
But both were a step too slow in reaction, another step too slow in turning, and yet another step too slow in accelerating.
By the time they were truly running at full speed, Albert had already sliced through the Stags' left-wing defense like a red-hot arrow!
The Manchester students erupted into a frenzy, screaming in wild support!
Albert was about to reach the ball first when Temp, in a last-ditch effort, stretched out his hand to grab Albert's jersey!
But—he missed!
Albert stopped abruptly and cut inside, shaking off Temp effortlessly!
Before Bohr and Rust could charge in for a last-second block, Albert calmly whipped a cross into the penalty area!
Inside the box, a Pirate Ship striker shoved Painter aside, gained control of the ball, and slotted a precise low shot toward the near post!
Goalkeeper T-Rex roared, diving to his left!
The ball brushed past his fingertips and rolled into the net!
GOAL!
The referee raised his arm, pointed to the center circle, and blew his whistle—GOAL CONFIRMED!
Pirate Ship 1:0 Southampton Stags!
The Manchester students went wild, fists pumping, shouting at the top of their lungs!
On the sidelines, the cheerleaders danced with even greater enthusiasm, shaking their bodies, high-kicking, and whipping the crowd into a frenzy.
Pirate Ship players huddled in celebration, but Albert merely shrugged.
As he ran toward his teammates, he yelled dismissively, "No need to celebrate. This match is easier than our training drills. Celebrating a goal like this is embarrassing."
"Haha! The captain is right!"
"Yeah, celebrating against these country bumpkins? That's beneath us!"
"They should be the ones celebrating—we're giving them a free football lesson!"
The Pirate Ship players all laughed arrogantly.
The Stags players clenched their fists, eyes burning red.
Even the players on the bench were seething with rage!
"Ding~ Ding ding ding ding~"
A wave of bubbles appeared on the bench area—most were white bubbles, but Coach Carter and Pretty Boy had blue skill bubbles beneath them.
Gu Ran forced himself to stay calm, focusing on choosing his last pickup of the day.
There was only one slot left, so he had to make the right choice.
Carter's blue skill bubble might be tactical knowledge.
Pretty Boy's blue skill bubble might be a powerful long-range shooting ability.
On the surface, Pretty Boy's skill seemed more practical.
But…
Long-range shooting was useless for Gu Ran at the moment.
Even if he got subbed in, he'd be playing left-back, with zero chance to take shots.
Besides, a +1 Long Shot skill wouldn't even guarantee accuracy.
If he was going to play…
Gu Ran's gaze locked onto Albert, who was still celebrating smugly on the field.
If he got on the pitch, then Albert's blue skill bubble would be the ultimate prize!
Gu Ran took a deep breath and ignored all the surrounding bubbles.
If his prediction was correct, then in the second half, he would get his chance to step onto the field!
On the pitch, the match continued.
With a one-goal lead, Pirate Ship repeatedly attacked the Stags' left flank.
The left-back position was getting torn apart.
As the first half approached injury time, Pirate Ship's winger and Albert executed a perfect 2v2 combination play on the left wing.
Albert broke free from the now exhausted Bohr, dribbled inside the Stags' penalty area.
Both Pirate Ship strikers moved into position—one cutting to the middle, the other running to the back post—
Inside the penalty box, it was now a 3v2 situation!
Goalkeeper T-Rex bellowed, bracing himself for a save. Rust charged at Albert, while Painter tightly marked the central forward.
Albert's best option was to pass to the back post.
But—
He didn't.
Instead, he cut in even further, and before Rust could close in—
he unleashed a deadly low-driven shot!
T-Rex was a tall keeper, strong against high balls, but struggled with ground shots.
Worse yet, he was positioned closer to the back post—while Albert aimed at the near post.
T-Rex stretched out his leg desperately—
Too late.
The ball rolled into the net.
GOAL!
The referee blew his whistle and pointed to the center circle—GOAL CONFIRMED!
Pirate Ship 2:0 Southampton Stags!
The Manchester students lost their minds, celebrating wildly. Some guys even popped champagne bottles, spraying it all over the cheerleaders.
The entire crowd went insane, partying as if they had already won the tournament.
Albert, basking in the moment, stood before the home crowd with his arms spread wide, soaking in their adoration.
On the touchline, Pirate Ship's head coach smirked confidently.
Leading 2-0 at halftime, the match was basically decided.
After three minutes of injury time, the first half ended.
The Stags players trudged back to the locker room, heads hanging low.
They had played terribly, and everyone was bracing for a brutal dressing-down from Carter.
As Carter entered with the halftime stats report, the air inside the locker room became suffocating.
"The first-half stats—let me read out some key points."
"Possession: We had 25%. They had 75%."
"Pass Accuracy: We had 45%. They had 72%."
The players lowered their heads in shame.
"Total Shots: We had 3. They had 14."
Their heads dropped even further.
"Shots on Target: We had 1. They had 8."
"Shots Scored: We had 0. They had 2…"
They wished they could dig a hole and bury themselves in it.
Carter, expressionless, continued:
"Our player ratings—apart from Bread, who got a 6, everyone else is below 6."
"The best player on the pitch? That little bastard Albert. His rating so far is 7.8."
"Shots on target: 3—1 goal. Most on the field."
"Dribbles attempted: 11. Most on the field."
"Successful dribbles: 6. Most on the field."
"Touches: 41. Most on the field."
"Passes: 22. Most on the field."
"Pass completion rate: 85%. Most on the field."
"Key passes: 5. Most on the field."
"Duels: 9 won out of 7 attempted."
"Ball losses: 4. Fouled: 5 times."
Then—Carter suddenly chuckled, tossed the stat sheet onto the floor, and said:
"These stats? They're all bullshit."
"What I actually want to say is—"
"You guys did fine. You executed my tactics as planned."
The entire locker room froze.
They had been completely dominated, barely survived, and were down 2-0.
This… was considered good?
Had Carter gone insane…?!