The match continued, and somehow, our team managed to hold on.

Our players were starting to find a rhythm, slowly adjusting to the relentless momentum of Mujin High.

They were learning the patterns, adapting to the tempo of the game.

But we were still on the defensive, barely keeping our heads above water.

There were only 15 minutes left in the first half, and I could see Mr. George moving toward the referee.

My heart started to race.

With the referee’s whistle, the substitution was made.

I stepped onto the field, replacing one of the midfielders.

The weight of the moment pressed down on me—this was my chance to turn the tide.

“Mr. Felix,” I called out as I jogged into position.

“Yes? Did you figure anything out?” he asked, his voice taut with anticipation.

I nodded, taking a quick breath. “I need you to follow my lead. We’re going to disrupt their rhythm—force them into a corner.”

Felix’s eyes sharpened with understanding.

He nodded back, ready to execute.

We didn’t have time for doubt or hesitation; we needed to act.

The match resumed, and I felt the electric buzz of the crowd around us.

Nolan had the ball, effortlessly passing it to one of his teammates.

I quickly closed in, but as I had anticipated, the ball was passed away again, seamlessly continuing the flow of their game.

Another of our players rushed in to intercept, but I signaled him to hold back.

The confusion began to ripple across the field.

Mujin High's players were executing their quick passes as usual, but each time they did, our players would stop suddenly at my signals, positioning themselves in seemingly odd places.

To the untrained eye, it might have looked like chaos—our players freezing in place, not committing to the attack.

But there was method to the madness.

The crowd was beginning to murmur in confusion.

Our supporters were tense, leaning forward in their seats, while Mujin High’s fans were buzzing, trying to figure out what was happening.

The air was thick with anticipation.

The ball moved around like a pinball between Mujin High players, but we weren’t falling for their traps anymore.

Instead, we were forcing them into new, uncomfortable positions.

And then, it happened.

The ball found its way to Darry, the captain and mastermind of their plays.

Darry stopped, his eyes darting around, searching for his usual passing options.

But there was nothing—no clean path, no open man. All the passing lanes were blocked.

The other players were too far, or too closely marked.

His confidence seemed to waver, a hint of panic flickering across his face as he realized his carefully orchestrated formation was unraveling.

I had been waiting for this moment.

All this time, I wasn’t chasing the ball—I was closing their exits, cutting off their lifelines.

The star formation they loved so much was now becoming their cage.

A gasp erupted from the crowd, a collective intake of breath as they sensed a shift in the game.

The pressure was mounting on Mujin High, and the energy was flipping in our favor.

If their formation was a star, then it didn’t matter how beautifully they played or how well-oiled their system was—I could disrupt it with an equal number of calculated blocks.

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It wouldn't be feasible to cover them all as defenders; we simply didn’t have enough players.

But as a midfielder, I had more flexibility.

I could be the one to weave through their lines, to shift their strategy off-balance.

Darry hesitated for a split second, unsure of his options, before deciding to make a quick pass.

That hesitation was all Mr. Felix needed.

He lunged forward, and with a perfectly timed slide, intercepted the pass.

The ball spun off course, not where Darry had intended it to go.

The moment the ball deflected away, Gunther was on it.

He moved with a predatory instinct, clearing it with one powerful kick that sent it flying down the field.

The crowd gasped, realizing the tables were turning.

The ball landed at Donovan’s feet, and he didn’t waste a moment.

With a burst of speed, he surged past the scattered midfielders, threading his way through their broken formation with a series of clever tricks and feints.

His feet moved like magic, a blur of calculated steps and deception.

The defenders tried to reorganize, but they were caught in the aftermath of our disruption.

Their positions were in disarray, and they couldn’t recover quickly enough.

Donovan spotted the gap and passed the ball forward to our strikers.

The forwards had their eyes on the goal now, and with the midfielders scrambling to fall back into position, there was no stopping us.

The defenders, thrown off by the sudden turn of events, were a step too slow.

Steve received the pass and charged ahead, his focus narrowing to a single point—the net.

He dodged the defenders with swift, sharp movements, feinting left and right.

The goalkeeper braced himself, anticipating the shot.

But Steve, with a cool and calculated calmness, launched the ball with precision, sending it sailing past the goalkeeper’s outstretched hands.

The ball hit the back of the net. A goal.

For a moment, there was a stunned silence from the crowd, and then an eruption of noise.

Cheers and gasps, cries of shock, and roars of approval—all colliding in a chaotic symphony of emotion.

Our supporters went wild, disbelief turning into sheer excitement.

On the other side, Mujin High’s fans were stunned, their confident cheers dying down into a murmur of disbelief.

No one had expected this sudden turnaround.

Not them, not us.

But there it was—one to one.

As we gathered on our side of the field, catching our breaths, I could see the bewilderment in the eyes of our opponents.

They hadn’t expected this.

They hadn’t expected us.

But Darry seemed to have figured out what had changed—how we had managed to break through their seemingly invincible formation.

His eyes were already scanning the field, calculating, adapting.

To be honest, we were lucky.

They weren’t taking us seriously, not in the beginning, and that allowed us to catch them off guard.

But now, after this unexpected blow, things would be different.

They would come back stronger, more focused, more determined.

The second half was going to be a different story altogether.

I could feel it—the intensity in the air.

The crowd, the players, the field itself seemed to be buzzing with a newfound energy.

We had gotten this far, but the battle wasn’t over.

In fact, it had just begun.

We moved back toward our room, our minds still buzzing with the energy of the first half.

The air was thick with adrenaline, but there was a sense of determination settling in as well.

"Very good, everyone. Especially you, Michael," Mr. Samuel said, his tone filled with genuine praise as we gathered around him.

"Thanks, but I think the second half will be a lot more difficult," I replied, still feeling the weight of what was to come.

"I know," Mr. Samuel nodded, a glint of strategy in his eyes. "That’s why I got an idea after watching you all play."

I leaned in, intrigued. "What is it?"

"They play exceptionally well as a team," he said.

"Their strength is in their unity. So, the best way to disrupt that might be to break them apart, forcing them into one-on-one battles."

I thought about it for a moment. "Hmm... I think that's a great idea."

His suggestion was brilliant.

While Mujin High’s strength lay in their cohesive teamwork, I also believ our individual players were stronger, more skilled when isolated.

"Yeah," Mr. Samuel continued, "but creating those one-on-one situations won’t be easy. Can you handle it?"

I met his gaze with confidence. "Don’t worry. I’ll make it happen."

With that, I dove into explaining the new strategy to the team, outlining a series of plays and maneuvers that could scatter Mujin High's formation and force them into individual battles.

Everyone listened intently, nodding along, absorbing every detail.

They knew what was at stake, and the seriousness etched on their faces told me they were ready.

Soon, the time came for us to head back out.

We exited the room as a unit, feeling the weight of the challenge ahead but also the fire of determination burning within.

The sun was now lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the field, but it also brought a sharper focus.

We reached the pitch and moved to our positions, our movements calm but purposeful.

I took up a spot at the back of the midfield, my role carefully calculated to conserve my stamina for the right moments.

I scanned the field and noticed their formation had shifted.

At first glance, it looked like a diamond, but it was more than that—it could morph into a star, a pentagon, an ever-changing shape designed to confuse and outmaneuver.

It was clear they were going to adapt and evolve, just like us.

But we had prepared for this.

We weren't going to try to match them in their coordinated dance.

We were going to pull them apart, one player at a time.

The individuality of our team was our hidden strength, and we were about to unleash it.

The whistle blew, and the match resumed with the kick-off given to us.

The crowd's anticipation was almost tangible, a living, breathing entity.

My heart pounded as I watched the ball roll forward, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Mujin High was about to meet us head-on, and this time, we were ready to strike back.

Mr. Felix received the ball from the kick-off and, without a moment’s hesitation, sent a sharp pass to Donovan.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, knowing what he was capable of.

As the ball zipped across the grass, Donovan’s eyes locked on his target—Magnum, one of Mujin High's strongest midfielders, was directly in his path.

But Donovan had always been a master of deception, his feet moving with a rhythm that could lull even the best defenders into confusion.

With a quick shimmy of his shoulders and a sudden flick of his ankle, he performed a flawless feint, sending Magnum lunging in the wrong direction.

The crowd gasped in admiration as Donovan slipped by him with ease, the ball still glued to his feet.

However, Mujin High was renowned for their cohesive team play.

No sooner had Donovan slipped past Magnum than two more players appeared in front of him like shadows, closing in fast.

Their synchronization was nearly perfect.

Before Donovan could react, they snatched the ball from him with a clean tackle, and the crowd erupted in cheers and groans.

But we had a plan to disrupt their teamwork.

By breaking their formation, we forced them to play as individuals, and this was our advantage.

Before Mujin High’s players could make their next move, two of our players were already in position, anticipating the pass.

They charged forward, intercepting the ball in a flash, and with a swift exchange, returned it back to Donovan.

Donovan, regaining his momentum, pushed ahead once more.

His eyes darted around the field, looking for the next opening.

He spotted Steve making a run and sent a crisp, low pass his way.

The ball glided across the grass, but just before it reached Steve, Nolan, one of Mujin High’s midfielders, lunged in and intercepted.

A collective gasp went through the crowd, the tension hanging thick in the air.

But Nolan didn’t have time to celebrate his success.

Before he could lift his head, Mr. Felix was already upon him, cornering him with nowhere to go.

The pressure was relentless, forcing him to make a mistake.

He hesitated, and in that split second, the ball was stolen back by Felix.

The field had turned into a chaotic battlefield, a series of individual clashes and encounters.

It was no longer a single flowing game but a collection of intense one-on-one skirmishes.

Each player was fully absorbed in their personal duel, pushing their limits to outplay their opponent.

The crowd, initially confused by this new style of play, started to catch on.

Some cheered wildly for every stolen ball and quick pass; others held their breath in anticipation, eyes glued to the unfolding drama.

The intensity on the field grew with each passing minute.

Sweat poured down our faces, and our muscles burned, but we didn’t let up.

We were forcing Mujin High to abandon their formation, turning their unity into chaos.

The crowd’s energy was a mix of excitement and disbelief, their voices creating a deafening roar that echoed around the stadium.

Some were on the edge of their seats, others were shouting instructions as if their voices could influence the play.

Every touch, every tackle, and every pass was met with either a cheer or a groan.

The atmosphere was electric, and we were feeding off it, pushing ourselves harder.

This was our game now—a battle of wills and skills, where each of us had to prove ourselves against our counterparts.

And with every second that ticked by, our confidence grew.

We were no longer just holding our ground; we were fighting to turn the tide.