Bluelock x OC:The Oracle's game

Part 9:Liverpool U-20

Without hesitation, Bianchi sent a no-look pass to Riccardo, who exploded down the left wing. Frances darted forward to receive a lofted chip, but before the ball could settle at his feet, Hiroshi was on him like a shadow.

"Fast, isn't he?" Frances muttered under his breath, managing to shield the ball despite the pressure.

With his options limited, Frances grinned and muttered, "Alright, Luca, do your thing." He slid the ball through Ivan's legs, sending it straight to Luca.

"Nice read there, Frances," Luca said, already racing down the center of the pitch. Marco and Frances mirrored his movement on the wings, spreading Liverpool's backline.

As Luca charged forward, I drifted closer, pulling my marker, Lorenzo, out of position. Enrico stayed locked on the center-backs, drawing them further back and creating space in midfield.

Luca's head swiveled constantly, scanning for options. He sent a precise pass my way, and instantly, Lorenzo closed in.

"You're not getting past me, Asian boy," he taunted, his grin confident.

I kept my composure, giving him a calm response. "Football could be a 1v11 if I wanted it to be. But it's 11v11—make sure you remember that."

With a subtle shift of my head to the left, I sold a fake, then used a side-heel to send the ball to Shion. Lorenzo was left flat-footed as Shion delivered a perfect through-ball to Frances, now surging down the wing.

Frances squared up against Hiroshi, using his speed and quick feet to get past him. As Hiroshi stumbled to recover, Frances darted a cross outside the box.

Lorenzo, confused by our movements, was marking Luca. "When... when did they switch?!" he muttered to himself, realizing too late that Luca was now free in space.

The ball soared through the air, headed my way. Dante rushed straight at me, closing the gap aggressively.

"What's it gonna be, huh? A shot off the cross? A direct one-on-one? Doesn't matter—you're not stopping me!" Dante's thoughts were written all over his intense gaze as he tried to smother my space.

I shuffled the ball quickly at my feet, forcing him to hesitate. When he lunged, I nutmegged him cleanly, leaving him chasing shadows.

With a clear sight of goal, I faked a shot, throwing Marco completely off balance. But just as I went for a pinpoint drive-shot, Ivan flew in out of nowhere, deflecting the ball wide.

"Corner!" the referee signaled as the crowd erupted in applause for Liverpool's defense.

I stood there for a moment, hands on my hips, a grin forming despite the missed opportunity. This was going to be a battle.

As the players took their positions for the corner, the tension in the air became almost suffocating. Luca stood at the corner flag, the ball under his foot as he surveyed the chaos in the box. Liverpool's defenders were sharp and organized, marking every one of our key players tightly.

I planted myself near the edge of the six-yard box, my eyes darting between Ivan, the towering center-back who had just made the crucial block, and Marco, the goalkeeper who stood ready to command his territory.

"Alright, let's make this count!" Luka shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.

Bianchi hovered near the edge of the box, ready to pounce on any rebounds, while Sandro and Shion crowded near the back post, trying to shake off their markers. Riccardo, on the other hand, drifted to the edge of the box for a potential short pass.

Luka raised his hand, signaling his intent.

"Stay sharp, lads!" Marco yelled to his defenders, clapping his gloves loudly.