Soccer System: All the Skills, One Player!

"Look around you, kid."

Willian raised his head, brushing his bangs away from his sweaty face. His dark eyes scanned the field, stopping at each teammate.

They were motionless, scattered, but the message was clear. Javier had his hands on his hips, staring at the ground, as if silently going over Willian's harsh words.

Simon stood with his arms crossed, a slight frown on his forehead that showed dissatisfaction.

Even Ethan, who normally didn't care about anything but himself, seemed divided, biting the corner of his mouth in discomfort.

Willian felt a slight tightening in his chest, but his expression remained firm. He believed in what he was saying, in the cold, objective logic that had always guided him. "Work comes first," was the mantra he had repeated to himself ever since he had played.

Lucas took a step back, still facing Willian, but then turned around, showing his back to the striker.

"You can have the best players on your side, Willian, but you'll never get 100% out of them. Do you know why?" Lucas paused briefly, without looking back. "Because soccer isn't just about technique or physique. It's heart. It's will. And that, my fellow youth player, is what you need to understand."

The silence on the pitch was absolute.

The icy wind blowing through the surrounding trees seemed to amplify the tension.

Willian remained still, his gaze fixed on Lucas' back as he walked back to his position in midfield. The number seven's words echoed in his mind, challenging everything he believed in.

On the B-Team side, Raphael approached Lucas, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Man, that was intense. Are you okay?"

Lucas nodded, taking a deep breath. "I am. I just can't stand people with high egos."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Raphael smiled. "Yeah, but now we have to get back to the match. They're still ahead."

Denis, who had overheard the conversation, crossed his arms. "That's it, guys. Let's focus. They've got the score. It's 2-1, but this game isn't over yet."

The whistle blew, and the match resumed.

The B-Team's attitude was obvious: collective struggle, effort on every inch of the pitch. No ball would be wasted, no opportunity passed up.

On the opposite side, Team-A had the lead on the scoreboard, but discomfort was showing in their expressions. They could feel their opponents' growing momentum.

In midfield, Lucas watched the A-Team players. He analyzed their postures, gaps, and patterns. They formed a puzzle.

The ball rolled out to Raphael, who received it under pressure and immediately played it back to Denis. The A-Team's marking was intense, but not enough to break up the B-Team's control of the ball.

After a pass from Lucas, Denis shielded the ball with his body, turned and found Miguel free on the right wing with a low pass.

Miguel ran, the ball glued to his foot, while Simon approached at high speed to block his onslaught. He advanced the ball with a subtle touch and sped up even more, leaving Simon behind.

When it looked like Miguel wouldn't reach the ball before it went out of play, he slid across the pitch, stretching out his leg and keeping it in play. A muffled sound of applause came from the B-Team bench. Experience more tales on empire

"Nice one, Miguel!" shouted Felix, dropping back to support the right flank.

The passing followed meticulously.

Arthur moved to receive, Lucas dropped back to the center to set up the attack, and Denis kept cover.

Team-B's possession increased, forcing Team-A to run more, to cover spaces in a hurry and, above all, to spend energy.

"Close the gaps! Tighten up in the middle!" Javier shouted.

Lucas, ever attentive, noticed the fatigue that was weighing on the A-Team's legs as the first half drew to a close.

With a quick gesture, Lucas called Felix for a quick pass and took control of the ball. He raised his head and saw the field in front of him as a detailed map, where each player occupied a position that connected to him as multiple lines. Each of these lines had its potential, its dangers, but Lucas, with his experience, saw the best option.

"Go, Miguel!" he shouted, playing the ball accurately to the right-back.

Miguel shot again, now with more freedom. He ran to the by-line with the ball and, with a strong, low cross, sent the ball into the box.

The ball flew past Arthur and Ethan in a blur of movement. An attentive defender tried to clear, but only managed a touch that left the ball floating on the edge of the box.

Coincidentally, the ball fell in front of Lucas. He saw Simon appear to block any attempt at a shot. Lucas took a small touch to the side and then executed the <Mirage Feint>. His body indicated that he was going to shoot to the right, but at the last second, the ball slid to the left, completely fooling Simon.

"How did he...?" Simon barely finished the thought, already spinning around to recover, but it was too late.

Lucas straightened up and shot left-footed. The ball came out like a missile, traveling in a straight line towards the angle.

Mark, A-Team goalkeeper, launched himself into the air with impressive reflexes. His fingers touched the ball, deflecting it by just a few centimeters. The ball bounced off the crossbar before sailing over the end line.

"Ahh, Lucas! It almost went in!" shouted Denis, close enough to Lucas to be a good passing option instead of Lucas shooting, yet he didn't complain to his colleague.

Lucas smoothed his sweaty hair, still panting. He looked at the A-Team goalkeeper, who was on the ground, recovering.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there," Lucas said as Denis passed him to take the corner.

"Nah, it's okay!"

Denis adjusted the ball for the corner kick. He took a deep breath, watching his teammates move around the area.

Felix went to the far post. Arthur and Raphael stood near the center. Lucas stayed a bit further back, ready for any leftovers. The stiff wind was blowing again, raising the flags in the pitch's corner and making the players' socks flutter.

"Come on, this is our chance..." muttered Denis, as he raised his right hand, the signal for a close cross.

*Thooof

The ball flew and made a beautiful arc. Felix rose higher than anyone, but it was Kevin, the A-Team defender, who got a slight deflection on his head, sending the ball out of the box. The danger seemed to be averted, but Lucas was there again.

He took the ball on his chest with the calm of a conductor in full concert, letting it fall gently in front of him. Two A-Team players rushed out to mark him, but Lucas already knew what to do. With a light touch, he took the ball to his right, escaping the tight marking.

"Shoot!" shouted Raphael, from the middle of the confusion.

But Lucas was patient. He didn't shoot under pressure; he shot when he was sure. And when he saw Arthur move a few steps to the right, he found his opening.

With a low, metered pass, he laid the ball at Arthur's feet. The striker controlled it with the inside of his hand, adjusting for the shot. He looked up for a second, seeing Mark already closing down the space. It was a striker versus goalkeeper duel in the penalty area.

Mark had the advantage of closing the angle and being big, but Arthur, as a striker, had a huge goal with dozens of options as targets.

Arthur shot.

The ball sailed hard, low and low, towards the left corner of the goal. Mark threw himself at it, stretching out as if he were made of rubber. His fingers touched the ball, but this time it wasn't enough. The unmistakable sound of the net rattling echoed across the pitch.

"GOOOOL!" shouted Lucas, raising his arms as he ran towards Arthur.

Raphael and Denis followed, and the three of them hugged the striker, who smiled, relieved to have scored his second goal.

Arthur laughed, panting. "It was only a matter of time. Thanks, Lucas, for the pass."

"You did the rest, my friend. That's what I'm talking about!" replied Lucas with a smile.

At first, Lucas didn't like Arthur very much. He thought he was overbearing in a disguised way, but after training together, Lucas understood Arthur was just the classic striker with a desire to win by scoring goals, and yet Arthur wasn't selfish or ungrateful. Arthur understood a striker couldn't score goals without depending on his teammates.

The score was now 2-2. Team-B felt their morale rise. Team-A looked disconcerted, with players arguing among themselves.

Willian was gesturing furiously at Ethan, Javier was shaking his head, and the others were angry.

Outside, Eddie, the coach of Team-B, smiled discreetly. "Well done, boys. Now let's turn it around."

Alex, the assistant coach, approached him. "Denis, Felix and Lucas are dominating the midfield. I think they'll need to do something fast to break our rhythm."

"Yes, but trying something new will make them make mistakes."