Chapter 8: The Farewell Match
Chapter 8: The Farewell Match
After making two crucial saves against the main team's deadly wing attacks, it was time for the U23 squad to launch their counteroffensive.
Time pressed against them like a closing fist. Aran couldn't drill the attacking patterns he wanted into his players. All he could do was whisper the senior team's defensive weaknesses into eager ears.
But the main team remained what it was—superior. Untouchable.
Every U23 attack that followed dissolved into desperate passing sequences, hoping Kiebler's predatory instincts would find the gaps. The striker's killer sense hadn't fully awakened yet. Otherwise, they'd have witnessed poetry in motion—goal after goal.
Defensively, they still faced the relentless solo runs from both wings. What kept them alive was Noah's reflexes, sharper today than usual, mixed with threads of luck.
The first half ended scoreless.
Players drifted off the pitch in separate streams, each side retreating to their corners of the world.
"Damn it," Kiebler muttered, frustration bleeding through his words. "If I had better chemistry with the passes, I could've buried two more."
He'd had chances. Multiple chances. But each ball that reached him lacked that telepathic connection. Natural, considering Kiebler had only recently stepped up to the U23 squad, still learning the language his teammates spoke.
"Easy now," Julian said, captain's authority wrapped in encouragement. "We did good. Leading at halftime without conceding—teams better than us can't manage that."
"Alright, rest up," Aran said, clapping his hands in appreciation before stepping back, giving his players space to breathe.
"I think we've got this if we keep defending smart," Noah spoke up. "My hands felt blessed today. Could've made a few more spectacular saves."
"Defense should hold," Peter added. "Patrick and I took some burns early, but we're adapting. Second half shouldn't be so rough on Noah."
"The problem is our attack..." Kiebler's jaw clenched. Goals. He needed goals. Insurance against the inevitable.
Silence settled over them like dust. Eyes turned toward Aran's back as he stood studying the pitch.
Nobody dared interrupt. Nobody dared ask.
They'd sparred with the main team ten times before. Ten times they'd been demolished without mercy.
Now they led by one. Clean sheet intact. The game looked competitive, not the usual one-sided massacre. Victory felt possible if they could maintain this.
Everything that brought them to this moment came from Aran's planning. His guidance.
Yesterday, he'd been their teammate. Today, they saw him as their manager. Trusted. Respected.
"Everyone want to win this?" Aran asked, returning with five minutes left in the break.
"What kind of stupid question is that?" Kiebler shot back. "Who the hell wants to lose?"
Aran scanned his team. Nods all around, echoing Kiebler's sentiment.
"Their situation isn't great either. This match challenges them too. Second half won't differ much from the first. Rudy and Rains will keep alternating their attacks, but they'll come harder. Sharper."
"So our defense needs to sharpen too. More aggressive, but smart aggressive. No stupid yellows, understand, Kiebler?"
"Why you singling me out?" Kiebler protested as laughter rippled through the group.
"For our attack, both fullbacks push higher. Players without the ball need to move more."
"That's risky," Peter, the right-back, frowned. "Might concede."
"If we score more, I'll take that risk. It'll make them think twice about their heavy attacks."
"That's the problem," Julian interjected. "First half, we had chances. But our connection with Kiebler was off. The final balls kept missing the mark."
"Exactly. That's why we need a substitution."
The words hit like cold water. Nobody wanted to be pulled in a practice match that meant everything.
"Fine," Kiebler said, resignation heavy in his voice. "If taking me off helps the team win... do it."
He knew. His timing with the others was off. The goal he'd scored was mostly luck.
Kiebler sighed, turning toward the bench.
"Who said I'm subbing you?" Aran called after him.
Kiebler spun around, hurrying back. "What do you mean? The team can't score because I don't fit with them."
"If I wanted you off, I'd have lectured you about defense and fouling by now."
"..."
"The only way we score against the main team is through your instincts for finding space. First half proved that worked."
Everyone nodded. They'd seen it.
"So Kiebler stays. What we need is someone who connects with him naturally."
"We have someone like that?" Kiebler asked.
"He's standing right here."
They looked left and right, searching faces, finding no obvious answer.
Halftime ended. Players returned to the field.
During the break, Yeager had schooled his main team thoroughly. No tactical changes—just pointing out the U23's weaknesses. Pointless advice, really. Rains and Rudy would keep playing their individual games regardless.
"Hmm? What's that?" Yeager squinted, rubbing his eyes several times, but the scene before him remained unchanged.
"Hey! Aran, what the hell are you doing?"
His protégé—the one who'd wounded the main team on his first day as manager—now stripped off his warm-up jacket, pulling on a jersey... and walking onto the pitch!
"Aran, what the hell are you doing!"
Hearing the panicked shouts, Aran smiled and threw a thumbs up.
"Don't give me a thumbs up! What about your heart?"
"Quiet, Yeager," Yens said calmly.
"But Aran..." Yeager turned to see Yens sitting composed, unsurprised. Understanding dawned.
"You... you knew?"
Yens sighed, then began his explanation.
"Yesterday, Aran asked my permission. I refused at first. But he came back with the club doctor and a diagnosis. His heart condition is still early stage. He can play sports or exercise for 10-20 minutes without problems. But the chances of improvement look slim. In a month or two, he might never play football again. So during this window when he still can, even in a practice match, even with the U23s, he wants to take the field one last time as the Red Kaiser."
"This is his farewell match... Aran Akesuriyan."