Chapter 282: [282] "INTENTION"

Pinto walked out of his goalmouth. The Valois backup goalkeeper held the football securely in both of his gloves. The deafening noise of Stade Phocéen crashed down from the tiers, a relentless wave of hostility and celebration following Fresko’s acrobatic overhead kick. The scoreline read 2-1. The momentum had shifted in their favour.

Pinto did not look up at the stands. He kept his eyes locked on the grass ahead of him, stepping over the white chalk of the box. He reached the edge of the eighteen-yard area and spotted Hugo Blanc retreating up the pitch.

Pinto threw the ball. The throw was precise, bouncing once on the pitch before finding Hugo’s feet.

The teenager trapped the ball with the sole of his boot. He then simply rolled the ball forward, pushing it toward the center dot where Luc Beaumont was already waiting.

Luc placed his right boot on top of the ball.

He stared at the Phocéen half. The opposing players had finished their chaotic celebration and were jogging back to their respective positions. Fresko walked past the center circle, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion of the overhead strike, his eyes fixed on the turf. The Phocéen striker did not offer a glance toward Luc.

He didn’t need to. The scoreboard did the talking.

And he now had thirty-one goals.

The referee stood ten yards away, checking his watch. The digital boards around the stadium indicated the forty-second minute. Three minutes of regulation remained in the first half, plus whatever stoppage time the official decided to tack on for the goal celebration.

The whistle blew.

Luc tapped the ball backward to Hugo.

SC Valois initiated their possession. They trailed by a goal in one of the most hostile environments in Ligue Alpha, but panic was not embedded in their framework. Hugo received the kickoff and immediately pushed a grounded pass backward to Klaus Becker.

Klaus trapped it, sweeping his vision across the pitch. Stade Phocéen did not employ a reckless high press to hunt for a third goal. Empowered by the lead and aware of the looming halftime interval, the home side dropped into a highly disciplined, compact block. They compressed the middle third of the pitch, establishing a wall of blue shirts designed to stop any central progression.

Klaus pushed the ball wide to Gabriel Assis on the right back flank.

Gabriel controlled the pass, stepping forward cautiously. The Brazilian winger looked up the touchline. Bachra Goza was marked tightly by the Phocéen left-back, the defender leaving zero yards of separation. Gabriel did not force a pass into the contested channel. He dragged the ball backward and cycled it inside to Cillian Doyle.

Cillian received the ball. The Irishman’s jersey was soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to his broad shoulders. He had spent the last forty minutes engaged in an exhausting press with Neji, attempting to disrupt a playmaker who refused to hold onto the ball long enough to be tackled. Cillian took a heavy touch forward, inviting pressure.

A Phocéen central midfielder stepped up to engage. Cillian used his frame to shield the ball before laying a short pass off to Amadou Fall.

The possession rotated horizontally. Amadou to Hadj. Hadj up to Sordell on the left touchline.

Sordell attempted to drive forward, accelerating past the halfway line, but the Phocéen right-winger tracked him relentlessly. Sordell was forced to stop his momentum, chopping the ball onto his right foot and playing it backward to Zack Florez.

The clock ticked past the forty-fourth minute.

"Keep the ball!" Klaus barked from the center of the pitch, his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the stadium. "Do not force it! Make them shift!"

Valois adhered to the command. They utilized the entire width of the turf, stretching the Phocéen defensive block side to side. Hugo drifted into the half-spaces, offering an outlet, playing quick one-touch passes back to his defenders to keep the rhythm active.

Luc remained high up the pitch, hovering near the edge of the final third. The two veteran Phocéen center-backs stayed glued to his back. They leaned their frames into him, applying constant pressure, ensuring he could not receive a pass and turn comfortably.

The fourth official stepped up to the touchline, raising the electronic board.

Two minutes of stoppage time.

SC Valois had exactly one hundred and twenty seconds to manufacture a final attack before the referee halted the match for the interval.

The ball found its way back to Hugo in the center circle. The teenager trapped it flawlessly, his head on a swivel. The Phocéen midfield line had flattened out, content to block the passing lanes and bleed the remaining seconds off the clock.

Luc recognized the static nature of the opposition’s block. He realized that retaining possession and waiting for a gap to open organically was no longer viable. The clock was expiring. He had to force the gap himself.

Luc dropped deep, stepping away from the two center-backs and abandoning his high central position. He moved into the pocket of space just ahead of the Phocéen midfield line.

He locked eyes with Hugo.

The distance between them was fifteen yards. Luc did not wave his arms or shout for the ball. He offered a single, sharp nod, communicating a direct instruction through the established chemistry they shared.

Watch me.

Hugo understood the command without a fraction of hesitation. The teenager wanted to play a safe lateral pass to Cillian...that was before Luc’s silent instruction. Instead, he bypassed the holding midfielders by drilling a hard, grounded pass vertically through the center of the pitch, aiming for Luc’s feet.

The pass was weighted, skimming across the grass with serious velocity.

As the ball traveled, the Phocéen defensive structure reacted. Neji, operating as the central anchor for the home side, recognized the danger of the Valois captain receiving the ball in the pocket. The playmaker abandoned his zonal coverage and stepped up to engage.

Neji intended to close the distance before Luc could turn.