At Ankaraspor's home ground, Osmanlı Stadium, a venue with limited capacity, it nonetheless showcased a rich Turkish flair to the visiting Villarreal.
The stadium's exterior was ancient and elegant, as if narrating the city's old legends.
Stepping inside, the enthusiastic shouts of Turkish fans rose and fell, creating a unique wave of sound.
The Villarreal players stepped onto this unfamiliar pitch, feeling the enthusiasm and pressure from the Turkish fans.
They knew this match was not just a competitive challenge, but also a clash and exchange of cultures.
Although Villarreal had just secured a resounding victory in La Liga, and their morale was high, Ankaraspor quickly taught this somewhat overconfident Spanish team a lesson in the Europa League.
Not long after the match began, in the 23rd minute of the first half, Ankaraspor's top scorer, Lucescu, demonstrated his prowess.
Lucescu received a pass from his teammate in the penalty area.
He skillfully dribbled past Villarreal's defenders, Musacchio and Pau Torres, as if dancing, toying with them effortlessly.
His movements were fluid and swift, dazzling the eye, leaving Musacchio and Pau Torres to watch helplessly as he broke through their defense.
Subsequently, Lucescu calmly slotted the ball in, giving Ankaraspor the lead.
A roar of cheers erupted in the stadium, as Turkish fans frantically waved their flags, applauding their hero.
Meanwhile, the expressions on the faces of the Villarreal players froze instantly after witnessing Lucescu's brilliant goal.
Their originally confident demeanor now turned somewhat dejected and lost, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over them from head to toe.
Musacchio and Pau Torres, as the defenders who had been dribbled past by Lucescu, now looked ashen.
They looked down at the grass beneath their feet, seemingly reflecting on their mistakes or perhaps regretting their incompetence.
Their teammates around them said little, merely standing silently in place, the atmosphere feeling somewhat heavy.
Head Coach Escribá sat on the bench, his brows furrowed into a tight frown.
His gaze was fixed on the situation on the pitch, his hands clasped tightly together, as if praying for the team to quickly adjust their state and turn the tide.
He knew this match would not be as easy as they had anticipated; Ankaraspor's strength was not to be underestimated.
Villarreal restarted the game, the players having just recovered from the blow of conceding a goal, ready to regroup.
However, no one expected the subsequent events to be so dramatic.
Ankaraspor's forward, Lucescu, charged directly towards Villarreal's backfield like a cheetah.
His eyes were firm and sharp, as if he had already seen the opportunity for the next goal.
N'Diaye, who had just taken possession of the ball after the kickoff, appeared somewhat flustered by Lucescu's pressing.
He tried to shield the ball at his feet and stabilize the situation, but Lucescu's speed and skill exceeded his expectations.
With a nimble turn, Lucescu stole the ball from N'Diaye's feet.
After gaining possession, he unhesitatingly burst into Villarreal's penalty area again, like a flash of lightning across the pitch.
Villarreal's defenders scrambled to recover, but Lucescu was already one step ahead; he calmly shot the ball towards the goal.
Goal!
In just two minutes, Ankaraspor had scored two goals!
The fans cheered wildly, as if they had already seen the dawn of victory.
The Villarreal players, however, were stunned; they couldn't believe what was happening before their eyes.
The plot twists of this match were too fast and too sudden, catching everyone off guard.
Villarreal Head Coach Escribá, on the sidelines, witnessed the team's consecutive goals conceded, and his face instantly turned ashen, his anger evident.
He abruptly stood up, his hands clenched into fists, as if to vent all the fury in his heart.
He strode towards the sideline and yelled loudly at the players, "Concentrate!
What are you doing?
This is a match, not practice!
Pull yourselves together!" His voice was full of authority and displeasure, every word like a heavy hammer striking the players' hearts.
The players were somewhat dazed by their Head Coach's roar; they lowered their heads, not daring to meet Escribá's angry gaze.
They knew that these consecutive mistakes had exhausted the Head Coach's patience and plunged the entire team into a difficult situation.
Escribá continued to roar, "We are a strong team; we cannot be so easily defeated by our opponents!
You must pull yourselves together and find your rhythm in the game!
Otherwise, we will be utterly defeated!"
His every word was like a sobering agent, gradually pulling the players out of their despondent mood.
They looked up, refocusing on the pitch, their eyes gleaming with determination.
And so, with a humiliating score of 0:2, the Villarreal players trudged back to the locker room, looking dejected.
They hung their heads, their steps heavy, as if each step carried the weight of defeat.
The locker room was silent, with only the players' heavy breathing and occasional sighs.
Head Coach Escribá stood in the center of the locker room, his face ashen, his eyes burning with fury.
He glared at the players, as if to pierce them with his gaze.
Suddenly, he violently swung his arm, slamming the water bottle in his hand to the ground.
"Bang!" The sound of the shattering water bottle echoed through the locker room, startling the players who were immersed in their defeat.
They all looked up at their furious Head Coach, a hint of panic flashing in their eyes.
"Look at yourselves right now!" Escribá shouted loudly, "You are too complacent and arrogant!
Do you think you are invincible?
Look at this match; you were beaten by your opponents without any ability to fight back!"
His voice resonated through the locker room, full of passion and anger.
The players were shaken by his words; they had never seen Escribá so angry.
"I can accept defeat!" Escribá continued, "But I cannot accept losing a match so carelessly!
Your attitude, your fighting spirit, both disappoint me!"
Each of his words was like a heavy punch, striking the players' hearts.
They began to reflect on their performance, starting to realize their problems.
"Now, everyone, pull yourselves together!" Escribá encouraged loudly, "There's still time in the second half; we still have a chance to turn it around!
I don't demand perfection from you, but I want to see your effort and fighting spirit!"
His words were like a torch, igniting the fighting spirit in the players' hearts.
They looked at each other, their eyes gleaming with determination.
They knew it wasn't time to give up yet; they had to pull themselves together and fight for honor and victory!
------------------------
Thank you for following the story this far.
If you want to read the later chapters in advance, I've uploaded more chapters to Patreon.
You can find them here: [patreon.com/Greyhounds]