Chapter 89: Second Half Collapse
"We’re changing everything now," Yves declared, his voice slicing through the halftime silence.
Players lifted their gazes from their boots, hands, and the floor where they had been staring for the past ten minutes. The dressing room felt like a funeral. Cold concrete walls surrounded them, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the smell of defeat hung heavy in the air.
"Formation changes to three-five-two," Yves continued, grabbing a marker and wiping the tactical board clean. "Givet drops back. Rothen and Evra push higher. We need to flood their box."
Alonso raised his head. "Coach, they’re picking us apart on the counter—"
"I know what they’re doing." Yves’s marker squeaked against the whiteboard. "But we can’t play it safe anymore. Two goals down against Lyon? You don’t come back with patience."
The Spanish midfielder’s jaw tightened. He had been dominated by Juninho for forty-five minutes, made to feel ordinary. That hurt more than the scoreline.
"Emmanuel." Yves turned to Adebayor, whose eyes were red-rimmed and close to tears. "You’re not dropping deep anymore. Stay high. Force their center-backs to make decisions."
"They’re too strong, coach. Too fast."
"Then be smarter." Yves crouched down to meet the teenager’s gaze. "Speed isn’t everything. Movement is. Make them think."
In the corner, Michel worked quietly, checking hamstrings and ankles. Professional preparation continued even as dreams crumbled. That’s what separated elite football from everything else—the show must go on.
Giuly stood near the door, the captain’s armband feeling like a weight around his bicep. His face was stone, betraying no emotion or panic, but his knuckles were white as he gripped his water bottle.