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"If you can't see the light to the end..."
"Then become that light yourself!"
Standing on the Camp Nou field, countless images flashed through Lance's mind. It was as if something had exploded from deep within his consciousness, almost making his head burst.
Hoo!
Hoo!
The sudden impact was too intense, and Lance nearly collapsed onto the turf, catching himself on his knees.
"Lance, you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Don't worry, Barcelona didn't score. It was disallowed."
Griezmann was about to console him, but then he realized that Lance's expression as he steadied himself on his knees was neither the relief of a lucky escape nor the frustration of conceding. Lance's eyes had become uncharacteristically deep, as if staring out at a night sky, the entire universe reflected in them.
"Lance?"
"Antoine."
"What is it?"
"From here on out, be bolder when you pass. Send it wherever you think is right."
"But..."
Before, when Lance's off-ball movement wasn't a strong suit, Griezmann had made a habit of passing to Lance's feet, letting him use his world-class ball control and dribbling to create danger. Recently, those passes to his feet were being cut off far too easily. But passing into space or behind the defense was risky too. Lance might not get there in time. They had tried it plenty in training. Lance's positional awareness had improved a lot, but it wasn't world-class yet, and in high-level matches those balls into space kept getting intercepted.
So Atlético Madrid's newer tactic, leaning on Lance's off-ball movement to find chances, had been shelved for now. Today, Lance's role in the system was more about disruption, drawing Barcelona's attention and creating space for his teammates. Lance also wasn't the type to contradict the tactical setup mid-game, and he rarely said things during a match that went against the plan.
But Lance never joked during a game. And his reading of a match was the sharpest Griezmann had ever seen. There had to be a reason behind what he just said.
"No problem! Leave it to me!"
Griezmann nodded and jogged back to his position. He didn't know what had just happened to Lance, but today's Lance felt different again. Was there a surprise in store?
Griezmann couldn't help but smile. If there really was a surprise, then sorry, Barcelona.
...After the brief exchange with Griezmann, Lance quickly checked the system.
There wasn't enough time to properly study the characteristics of the new template. Since it had only been equipped at the last second before kickoff, he might as well use this title-deciding match as live training.
Template: Isagi Yoichi (S) | Fusion Value: 25%
Skill: Space Perception
Rage Value: 0%
With no time to set anything else up, the equipment slot currently held just this one template. The other characters could still be accessed through Muscle Memory, and one template should be enough.
The template rewarded by the system upgrade, just like the original Nagi Seishiro, came with a skill right out of the gate. He hadn't watched the anime, so he wasn't entirely sure what Space Perception actually did. No time to think about it now.
Goalkeeper Oblak took the free kick from deep, and the match resumed.
Barcelona pressed high. Oblak's long ball into midfield was headed down by Busquets to Rakitić. Possession went back to Barcelona, and Atlético Madrid dropped into their defensive shape, retreating into the 30-meter zone and doing their best to hold firm.
Saúl, Gabi, and Koke were already at the edge of the penalty area, working hard to contest and intercept Barcelona's build-up. Even Griezmann dropped back to help defend, leaving Torres and Lance to roam up front, waiting for any opportunity.
"Barcelona's possession is suffocating as always. Rakitić, Iniesta, Busquets... Ter Stegen, Alba, Rakitić, Busquets, Rakitić, Messi..."
Pass after pass, back-pass after back-pass. Barcelona's usual game. The ball moved smoothly across every pair of feet. Even goalkeeper Ter Stegen functioned as a node in the passing network. Every three players formed a triangle, and as they overlapped and moved, new triangles were constantly being created, layer after layer, ensuring whoever had the ball always had at least one option.
Atlético Madrid had no intention of pressing high and getting drawn into a midfield battle where they would burn energy and be toyed with. Instead, every player simply stood in a flat defensive line in front of the penalty area, cutting off Barcelona's passing and movement.
With the Camp Nou crowd behind them, Barcelona grew more and more comfortable, operating smoothly and with complete control.
"Messi, Suárez, Messi, Iniesta..."
Messi tried to break through, but Atlético Madrid's shape was solid. Godín had already been caught out once nearly allowing a goal, and he was defending with far more caution now, denying Messi any clean shooting angle. Messi wasn't bothered. If a good chance wasn't there, he passed back and recycled. As long as the ball stayed at Barcelona's feet, they would always control the game.
Atlético Madrid was stuck reacting, shuttled left to right and right to left by Barcelona's orchestration. Whether the coaches were getting dizzy was hard to say, but the viewers at home almost certainly were.
"Barcelona is playing so ugly."
"What do you know, this is football art."
"Art my foot, I'm half asleep."
Plenty of the barrage comments came from newer fans who had been drawn in by Lance, and teams like Barcelona were exactly the kind they found most frustrating. New fans tended to gravitate toward the Premier League, with its pace, directness, and physical battles. No tricks, no endless recycling.
Atlético Madrid wanted to hit on the counter, but they hadn't touched the ball in nearly 10 minutes.
"Barcelona are very composed today. The disallowed goal at the start didn't shake them at all."
"That's right, these Barcelona players are seasoned veterans."
Instructor Zhang chuckled.
"The bigger the occasion, the better they manage themselves. As long as they keep the ball, Atlético Madrid will struggle to threaten them."
The analysis was accurate. You could see it in the coaches' body language on the touchline. Luis Enrique looked relaxed, everything going to plan. Simeone stood with his arms folded, jaw tight.
He could see it now. Barcelona had come prepared. Since Lance was the key weapon, they would neutralize him tactically, using La Masia's collective chemistry and team structure to cut off every passing lane to him.
And it was working. Every time Atlético Madrid tried to find Lance during a rare counter, there was already a Barcelona player blocking the route. Atlético Madrid were forced to pass to someone else. Griezmann, Koke, and Saúl couldn't connect with the attack, and the space on the field kept getting carved up by Barcelona's shape, creating local numerical disadvantages and handing possession back.
"How do we play this?"
Simeone could see that everything they had prepared before the match had been completely neutralized. If Lance was silenced, Atlético Madrid's whole offense was silenced. Winning or losing now depended entirely on whether the defense could hold out. And judging by that disallowed chance at the start, holding out for 90 minutes was going to be very hard.
Simeone and the players on the field all felt the same helplessness, mechanically defending, waiting for something to change.
Only Griezmann, as the match unfolded, suddenly felt something was off.
"Wait... did I just see that?"
During Barcelona's last spell of possession, Griezmann had noticed that Lance's positioning kept looking strange. He hadn't registered it at first, but now, watching more carefully...
"Hiss... when did this guy...!"
Griezmann's eyes went wide.
Because Lance's position was always at exactly Barcelona's weakest defensive point.
If Barcelona were a knight clad in full armor, then every one of Lance's runs was like an arrow aimed straight through the eye slit of the helmet.
And this was without possession. What about when they had the ball?
As long as Griezmann passed to the right spot, it would be a golden chance. Every single time.
Terrifying.
In the space of one match, Lance had gone from a below-average off-ball mover to a world-class one. That was what stunned Griezmann most.
"Holy shit!"
"Antoine!!"
Just then, Atlético Madrid won the ball back in their own half. Neymar's step-overs were stripped away by Juanfran and Koke working together. Koke shifted it left immediately, and Gabi threaded a through ball to Griezmann.
At that exact moment, Griezmann's peripheral vision caught Lance already making his run, tiny adjusting steps, easing himself into position.
Just pass it there. Just send it to that spot.
"Oh my god. Oh my god."
Griezmann had never been this nervous during a pass. He remembered what Lance had said and made the decision.
He was taking the gamble.
"Lance! Go!"
"Give the world a little more shock!"