“Damn it!”
A young player clutched his head directly, “I clearly saw him pressing forward, that’s why I passed backward!”
Another gritted his teeth and said, “You passed too slowly!”
“How was I slow?
It was him who retreated early!”
“Then don’t pass to his side!”
The five resumed the game.
For the third time, they deliberately avoided the side where Tobías was located.
The ball went from left to right, then from right to front; two consecutive passes were safe.
On the third pass, the player in front prepared to pass horizontally to the other side.
Tobías had originally been standing in the middle-right.
By all logic, he shouldn’t have been able to touch this ball.
But the moment the ball carrier looked up, Tobías had already slid two steps to the left.
These two steps were too early.
By the time the ball carrier saw it, his foot had already kicked out, and the soccer ball rolled along the turf.
Tobías extended his foot.
“Snap.”
The third time.
Five against one, and they still hadn’t lasted three passes.
All sound on the sidelines suddenly died down.
The few players who had been joking just moments ago no longer had smiles on their faces.
Giovanni looked at Tobías and swallowed hard, “Tobías, what on earth did you experience in China?”
No one answered him, because Tobías had already kicked the ball back to the outer circle.
“Continue,” he said.
But these two words fell upon the ears of the five men in the outer circle like a form of oppression.
They began to panic.
Their passes became more forceful, their movements faster, and they used more feints.
But the more anxious they became, the more comfortable Tobías felt.
He was never fooled by the first feint.
The ball carrier’s shoulders, ankles, center of gravity, and the position of the next receiver all became the basis for his judgment.
He rarely sprinted.
More often than not, he just moved a step or half a step early, simply holding an angle.
As soon as the ball came out, it was delivered to his feet.
The fourth time, the fifth time, the sixth time.
The five players began to complain.
“Don’t pass to my side!
He’s blocking it!”
“I don’t have a passing lane on my side either!”
“Hurry up and pass the ball!”
“How can I hurry?
He’s already there!”
A young player, face flushed red from being intercepted, couldn’t help but shout at Tobías, “Can you stop guessing in advance!”
As soon as these words were out, everyone around laughed.
But the laughter quickly stopped again.
In rondo training, the thing to fear most is a defender running around aimlessly.
Running aimlessly makes it easy to be toyed with.
But Tobías wasn’t running aimlessly; he was guessing, and his guesses were frighteningly accurate.
Sculli stood on the sidelines, his breathing growing heavier.
He had seen too many youth players.
There were always those who were fast, physically strong, flashy with their feet, or had beautiful passes every year.
But this kind of defensive anticipation and positional sense was too rare.
Truly top-tier defensive players don’t slide tackle every single time, nor do they chase the ball all over the pitch.
They make the opponent uncomfortable, leaving them with no passing lanes.
They make the ball carrier feel like everything in front is blocked every time they look up.
What Tobías was displaying now was no longer at the level of an ordinary youth team.
Gil whispered from the side, “Do you understand now?”
Sculli did not answer.
On the field, the five-on-one continued.
The five in the outer circle had agreed this time to try to use continuous one-touch passing to pull Tobías out of position.
First pass, to the left.
Second pass, to the rear.
Third pass, to the right.
They finally managed to reach the third pass.
When the fourth player received the ball, a look of relief just appeared on his face.
But Tobías had already closed in, using his body to block the opponent’s most comfortable angle for a return pass.
The ball carrier could only force the ball forward.
Tobías flicked his toe, the ball was intercepted, and the fourth pass was gone.
The player put his hands on his hips, lowered his head, and cursed in Spanish.
“How is one supposed to play this?”
Giovanni was laughing uncontrollably on the side, “Five of you can’t pass one?
How embarrassing!”
The outer-circle player retorted, “You come and try!”
Giovanni waved his hand, “No, I’m a striker; I only take responsibility for scoring goals.”
But the look in his eyes as he watched Tobías was also filled with shock.
Teammates train together every day; everyone knows how much ability each person has.
Giovanni was clear that Tobías’s passing and vision were good before.
But interception?
Tobías wasn’t at this level before.
The current Tobías stood in the circle, casting a net over the five people in the outer circle.
No matter how they passed the ball, it couldn’t escape.
Sculli finally spoke, “Makélélé.”
Gil turned his head to look at him.
Sculli stared at Tobías, “This ability to judge passing lanes in advance, this method of interception that doesn’t rely on brute force—it’s Makélélé.”
Gil felt a shock in his heart.
What level was Makélélé?
One of the world’s top defensive midfielders.
Because of his existence, that position was directly called the “Makélélé role” by countless people.
Sculli did not stop.
“Of course, his physique is still lacking, his physical duels aren’t enough, and his stamina needs work.”
“But he is only sixteen.”
Sculli spoke faster and faster, “Sixteen years old, to have this kind of vision, this kind of defensive anticipation, and still be able to pass and organize.
Gil, you were right, this is no ordinary talent.”
On the field, the wails of the outer-circle players rang out once again.
“Intercepted again!”
“Tobías, please spare us!”
“This training can’t go on at all!”
Tobías stood in the middle, only a light sweat on his forehead.
Others, when being toyed with, get more tired the more they run.
But he had been doing the interception for so long, yet he still didn’t look disheveled.
Because he hadn’t wasted any stamina at all; every step was right on the edge.
Sculli watched this scene, his expression changing.
The boy in the Chinese Football Association fax who was described as having “terrible character, requested for expulsion” was right there on the River Plate training ground, proving his worth in the most direct way.
Expel?
What a joke.
If such a player were let go by River Plate, that would be a true crime.
Sculli turned to look at Gil, his tone decisive, “Renew his contract, sign him again.”
That phrase, “Renew his contract, sign him again,” made Gil feel a warmth in his heart.
But on the training ground, the five-on-one rondo hadn’t ended yet.
The five young players in the outer circle were so intercepted by Tobías that they were starting to doubt their lives; their passing became more and more anxious, their footwork more and more chaotic.
The assistant coach couldn’t watch anymore and blew the whistle directly.
“Alright!
Stop wasting time on one drill!”
He waved at the players, his voice loud, “Group confrontation!
Team A, Team B, follow the list from just now!”
The players felt like they had been granted amnesty.
“Finally, I don’t have to be intercepted by Tobías.”
“I’d rather play a scrimmage than do five-on-one again.”
“This guy is like he knows in advance where I’m going to pass.”
Giovanni walked over holding the ball and winked at Tobías, “They’re afraid of you.”
Tobías wiped the sweat from his forehead, “It’s just training.”
“Training?”
The young player who had been intercepted the most just now heard this and spread his hands, “Tobías, you call this training?
I feel like I’ve been locked in a cage.”
Several people nearby laughed.
But in their laughter, there was no longer that previous contempt.
That’s how it is on a soccer field.
If you can’t play, no one cares who you are.
If you can play, a single kick can make people shut up.
The assistant coach quickly divided the teams.
“Team A, Tobías, Giovanni, together in the middle.”
/c/DRUNK_TL(remove space between)