Pulse of the game

When the ball hit the net, Amani didn't celebrate.

He stood there as he analyzed.

As Utrecht's striker sprinted away to the corner flag, fists pumping, and as his teammates swarmed him in celebration, Amani's eyes weren't on the goal scorer.

They were elsewhere.

His head turned instinctively, scanning the field. His mind moved faster than his body, not the euphoria of the moment but the consequences — the shift, the cracks forming.

And there it was.

Ajax was rattled.

For the first time in this match, their movements weren't as sharp. Their shape, so disciplined before, now had gaps — tiny ones, barely visible, but enough.

Amani's gaze locked onto Sofyan Amrabat first.

The anchor. The wall. The backbone.

Amrabat wasn't celebrating with rest of his teammates. Instead, he retreated and stood tall in the center of the pitch, scanning the field like a general preparing for the next battle. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, nodding to himself.

Reset. Refocus. Prepare.

Because this wasn't over, they were still behind.

Then he looked at Tijmen.

The right-side engine, Utrecht's tireless right midfielder. He jogged back into position, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. A knowing smirk. A dangerous smirk.

He had felt it too.

The match had cracked open.

This wasn't just a goal. This was a warning shot.

Amani turned toward the Ajax defense, studying their reaction.

Doubt. It was small, but he saw it.

Their center-backs exchanged a glance — nothing obvious or dramatic — but enough to tell Amani their certainty was gone.

Before, they had been invincible. Untouchable. Moving with the confidence of a club that expected to win.

Now?

Now, they were questioning. What would they do?

Because suddenly, Utrecht had the key out of nowhere.

For fifty-seven minutes, Ajax dictated the rhythm. They squeezed the life out of Utrecht, forced them to play reactively, suffocated them into rushed decisions, and closed every passing lane before it could even exist.

They had looked unshakable.

But now?

Now, for the first time all match, Ajax was the one scrambling to adjust.

Now, Amani, Amrabat, and Tijmen were the architects of something else... something different.

A comeback.

And they weren't done yet.

The ball rolled beneath Amani's foot, his studs barely grazing the surface as he surveyed the field. The energy had shifted, and he could feel it in the rhythm of the game, in the hesitation creeping into Ajax's movement. They were still dangerous, still disciplined, but now they were uncertain. Now, they were questioning themselves.

Amani exhaled sharply, resetting his stance. Utrecht had momentum, but momentum alone wouldn't win them this match. They needed to be clinical. They needed to be relentless. And Amani needed to dictate everything.

Before Amani had stepped onto the pitch, Utrecht had been drowning.

Their classic Dutch 4-3-3 formation, usually a shape built for possession, control, and fluidity, had turned into a trap. Instead of dictating play, Utrecht had been stretched, pulled apart, outnumbered, and overwhelmed.

Ajax's midfield rotations had been surgical. Their quick, one-touch passing, their constant switches, their movement between the lines — it had shredded Utrecht's structure like paper.

Utrecht's midfielders were being played around, their defensive line forced to react late to every switch of play, their forwards stranded without service.

But the moment Amani stepped on the pitch?

Pronk had made adjustments that suited him and made use of his strength.

The shift was subtle. A quiet evolution.

On the tactics board, it was still a 4-3-3.

But on the pitch?

It became something entirely different.

Amrabat dropped deeper, forming a double pivot alongside Utrecht's other central midfielder. This extra body anchored the midfield, cutting off Ajax's passing lanes and preventing them from finding space between the lines. No more easy through-balls. No more automatic superiority.

Amani stepped into the No. 10 role, playing just ahead of the pivot, slipping into spaces between Ajax's defensive and midfield lines — the dead zone where defenders were afraid to step up, and midfielders couldn't track fast enough.

Tijmen moved from CAM to right midfielder and the left winger dropped down to left midfielder stretched the field, hugging the touchlines, pulling Ajax's fullbacks wide, and ripping apart their compact press. Suddenly, gaps appeared. Pockets of space that didn't exist before.

It was still a 4-3-3 on paper, but in reality?

It played like a 4-2-3-1.

Utrecht wasn't just holding on now. They were breathing.

They were controlling.

And now?

Now, Ajax was the team adjusting.

At the 73rd Minute, Ajax's press had softened, just slightly, but enough for Amani to exploit. He received the ball near the halfway line, and instead of rushing it forward, he let it breathe. A small touch. A pause. A hesitation that forced the two Ajax midfielders in front of him to make a choice.

They chose wrong.

Amani feinted left, dragging his foot over the ball, forcing the nearest Ajax player to lean in. The moment his opponent shifted, Amani rolled the ball right, accelerating into open space. La Pausa was in full effect.

The field opened up, and he spotted Tijmen making a diagonal run down the right flank. Amani's pass was inch-perfect, curling into Tijmen's stride without him needing to break pace. He took one touch, then another, before whipping in a low cross to the near post.

The Utrecht striker lunged in. A flick of his boot.

The ball kissed the outside of the post and skidded wide.

A collective groan rippled through the Utrecht bench. So close. Too close.

Amani clenched his fists, forcing down his frustration. They were breaking Ajax down piece by piece, but the equalizer still eluded them. He locked eyes with Sofyan, who gave him a single, knowing nod.

They were getting there.

By the 78th Minute, Ajax's coach barked orders from the sideline, his voice cutting through the cold night air. Urgency. Sharpness. More movement. More control.

But it wasn't that simple.

Utrecht's new shape had disrupted everything. The fluidity Ajax once had; the effortless rotations, the suffocating press, the crisp passing sequences... were all fading.

Their fullbacks, once aggressive, were hesitant now, wary of the space being left behind. Their midfield, once a well-oiled machine, was misfiring, searching for passing options that no longer existed. Their attack, once methodical, now felt rushed. Forced. Panicked.

They weren't playing their game anymore.

They were reacting.

And Amani could feel it.

Trigger.

He drifted into space just outside the box, his eyes locked onto the play unfolding in front of him. The ball was loose, bouncing awkwardly between two players. A hesitation. A scramble. A chance.

Amani read it first.

He exploded forward, his heart hammering, his mind already constructing the next move.

The ball skipped toward him, spinning in place, waiting.

This was his moment.

His right foot pulled back, muscles coiling. Instinct told him to hit it clean, to go for raw power, to drive through the ball with everything he had.

But no.

This wasn't about force.

This was about precision.

Visionary Pass whispered to him, revealing angles never seen, calculating trajectories, and mapping out the perfect shot.

Then, Dipping Shot urged him forward.

***

Legendary Skill Dipping Shot - Activated.

***

Not a blast.

A stroke of genius.

A strike that would fall from the sky like a meteor, a strike he hadn't yet tested in a match in Europe.

Amani planted his left foot and swung through with his right.

Not too hard. Not too soft. The perfect balance of power and control.

The ball rocketed off his boot, spinning violently, cutting through the air with an unnatural curve. It rose like a rocket — too high, too ambitious — until it wasn't.

The drop came suddenly.

A wicked, unnatural dip.

The Ajax keeper leaped, arms outstretched... he was helpless.

The ball was past him.

A perfect arc.

A goal fit for legends.

And then...

CLANG!

The sound ripped through the stadium.

The crossbar shuddered as the ball cannoned off the woodwork, the impact shaking the frame, a moment frozen in time. The Ajax keeper, still in mid-air, turned his head in disbelief, watching as the ball ricocheted violently away from goal.

Amani's heart dropped. It had been perfect.

So, so perfect.

But not enough. Not yet.

82nd Minute, a breakthrough arrived, the ball zipped across the midfield as Utrecht patiently built their attack. Amani drifted into a pocket of space, checking over his shoulder before receiving a crisp pass from Amrabat.

Two Ajax defenders closed in fast, expecting a quick turn.

Trigger.

Amani paused, dragging his foot over the ball, freezing them in place. One leaned forward, preparing to lunge.

Trap.

Amani shifted his weight at the last second, cutting between them with a sharp burst of acceleration. The sudden movement sent one Ajax player stumbling, the other turning too late to recover.

Payoff.

Amani didn't hesitate.

His vision narrowed. His pulse steadied. His instincts took over.

Visionary Pass activated. He saw the space before it even existed. He felt where the ball needed to go before the run had even begun.

A perfect touch forward.

A perfectly weighted through-ball.

The pass sliced through Ajax's defensive line, curling into open space in the penalty area, bending just enough to evade the desperate outstretched foot of the last center-back.

And Tijmen was there.

Exactly where he needed to be.

One touch.

A controlled, effortless finish, slotted into the bottom corner.

The net rippled.

For a second, the world held its breath.

Then...

Explosion.

GOAL.

2-2.

The Utrecht bench erupted.

A roar of pure adrenaline, players leaping off their seats, fists pumping, voices crashing together into a wave of deafening celebration.

Sofyan sprinted to Amani, slapping his back, shaking his shoulders, and screaming. The rest of the team swarmed Tijmen, pulling him into a huddle, bodies colliding in the chaos of the moment.

But Amani?

Amani didn't celebrate for long.

As his teammates drowned in the euphoria of the equalizer, he turned, his eyes locking onto the Ajax players regrouping near the center circle.

Their faces told the real story.

This wasn't just shock.

This was fear.

The certainty they had played with in the first half, the quiet arrogance, the unwavering belief that they would win — was now gone.

They looked at each other, waiting for someone to lead, someone to command, someone to fix this.

No one stepped up.

Amani took a slow breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

They weren't in control anymore.

And they knew it.

He jogged back into position, rolling his shoulders, and shaking out his arms.

There was only one thing left to do.

Time to finish this.

***

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