Before the match, Joss had repeatedly drilled his defense about the opposing striker.
So, Allen thought, studying the thick, aggressive boy standing in the center circle.
This must be the little bulldog Joss was so terrified of.
Allen crossed his arms, assessing the threat.
Was this kid really that dangerous?
Was he actually a bigger threat than a former JSOC operator?
You might be a football prodigy, Allen muttered internally, his eyes narrowing.
But our starting lines are completely different.
No matter how much raw talent you possess, I am a trained killer trapped in a child’s body.
You are destined to be stepped on.
For all intents and purposes, Jack Vance was a genius in his own right.
In his previous life, he had been the apex asset of Task Force Black.
He was fluent in five languages, a master of cultural infiltration, and capable of operating any firearm or vehicle on the planet.
Since his reincarnation, all of that terrifying, obsessive focus and tactical intellect had been entirely redirected into football.
Combined with a fully developed adult mind and an unyielding work ethic, his starting point was exponentially higher than any normal child.
Across the center circle, Wayne Rooney was doing his own scouting.
So you are the George kid, Rooney thought, his eyes locked on Allen.
The so-called Super Predator of Liverpool.
Let’s see exactly what you’ve got.
Just as Joss had warned his squad about Rooney, the Everton coaching staff had issued a singular, desperate directive to their defense: Stop Allen George at all costs.
The atmosphere inside Anfield was electric.
Not only were there thousands of fanatic supporters in the stands, but the executive boxes were fully occupied.
Liverpool manager Graeme Souness, chairman David Moores, chief executive Rick Parry, and even first-team captain Mark Wright had all come down to watch the youth Derby.
The press box was equally packed.
For local sports journalists, a junior cup match was usually beneath their notice.
But today, the pitch held the two most terrifying youth prospects in the country.
In one corner, Allen George: the clinical assassin with over a hundred goals.
In the other, Wayne Rooney: the explosive Everton bulldog with over fifty goals of his own.
The reporters were desperate to see which prodigy would emerge victorious in a head-to-head firefight.
Notably absent from the stands were the Everton supporters.
Driven away by the exorbitant ticket prices and the overwhelming hostility of the Anfield crowd, the blue faithful had largely stayed home, leaving their youth squad entirely unsupported in enemy territory.
Kirkland and Rooney completed the coin toss.
The young goalkeeper quickly retreated to his penalty box, clapping his hands to hype himself up.
The referee checked his watch and blew the starting whistle.
Allen immediately tapped the ball back to Welsh and surged straight toward the Everton penalty area like a heat-seeking missile.
Whether it was the massive Anfield pitch, the deafening roar of the crowd, or the suffocating tension of the Derby, both teams opened the match looking incredibly nervous.
The first five minutes were defined by sloppy touches and frantic clearances.
Neither side could successfully advance the ball into the final third.
The match instantly devolved into a brutal, chaotic midfield scrap.
Perhaps fueled by the bitter city rivalry, the tackles flying in from both sides were shockingly violent for a junior match.
Sliding challenges—usually a rarity at the under-10 level—were happening constantly.
The crowd roared with approval at every crunching tackle, further fueling the aggression.
It was a true Merseyside Derby, right down to the bone-rattling physicality.
Eventually, Liverpool’s five-man midfield began to exert control over the chaos.
Welsh launched himself into a vicious sliding challenge, dispossessing an Everton midfielder.
He scrambled to his feet and immediately looked up to find Allen.
However, Welsh quickly realized a direct pass was impossible.
Everton had double-teamed Allen.
Two massive center-backs were practically attached to his hips, grabbing his shirt and constantly throwing their weight against him.
Two more defenders were stationed just a few yards away, operating as a zonal safety net.
Everton had deployed a four-man cage to neutralize Liverpool’s super-weapon.
“Hey!
Over here!”
A shout echoed from the right flank.
Welsh’s eyes lit up.
He recognized Warnock’s voice instantly.
Without hesitation, Welsh calculated the trajectory and pinged a beautiful, sweeping diagonal pass into the open space ahead of the charging fullback.
Welsh’s calculation was flawless.
By the time the ball hit the turf, Warnock was already flying past him, sprinting onto the pass at full speed.
Because the Everton midfield had completely collapsed centrally to suffocate Welsh and Allen, the flanks were left disastrously exposed.
“Brilliant!” Joss muttered from the touchline, pumping his fist.
Before the match, Joss had instructed Warnock and Otsemobor to push high and exploit the wide areas. Visit novelping.com for the full chapter.
Everton was a professionally structured academy, unlike the school teams they had previously slaughtered.
Joss knew Everton would double or triple-team Allen, meaning the fullbacks had to become the secondary attacking threat.
Warnock collected the ball perfectly in stride.
With acres of green grass ahead of him, he hit the afterburners and surged deep into the Everton penalty area.
As Warnock reached the edge of the box, he looked up to assess the situation.
Allen was still trapped inside the four-man cage.
One of the zonal defenders was breaking off to intercept Warnock, and the heavy footsteps behind him indicated the Everton midfield was rapidly recovering.
Warnock had to make a decision quickly: shoot from a tight angle, or try to force a cross.
Suddenly, Warnock saw Allen subtly point his right index finger toward the near post.
It was a silent, tactical command.
Allen wanted the ball driven hard and low to the front of the six-yard box.
Warnock did not understand how Allen planned to escape the double-team, but he had absolute faith in the striker’s lethality.
Warnock planted his foot and whipped a vicious, low cross toward the near post.
The moment the ball left Warnock’s boot, Allen exploded into action.
He operated with the ruthless efficiency of a close-quarters combat specialist.
First, he aggressively shoved the defender grabbing his shirt, creating a crucial half-yard of separation.
Then, leveraging his JSOC-conditioned explosive power, he launched himself toward the near post, completely shattering the double-team.
The two Everton center-backs panicked and scrambled to recover.
They reached out, blatantly grabbing at Allen’s arms and shirt to drag him down.
It was a cynical, desperate foul that even the most incompetent referee would have spotted.
But Allen’s core strength was simply too much for them.
He didn’t slow down.
He dragged the two desperate defenders with him, maintaining a half-step advantage.
All three players arrived at the near post simultaneously as the low cross fizzed across the grass.
Because Allen possessed the half-step advantage, he reached the ball first.
He planted his left foot to shield the ball from the defenders.
In the exact same millisecond, he executed a deft, powerful backheel flick.
Simultaneously, Allen violently threw his elbows backward, aggressively shoving both defenders away to create space for his own turn.
The two Everton center-backs stumbled backward, completely off-balance.
They watched in sheer, paralyzed horror as the ball shot cleanly between their legs.
Before they could even blink, Allen had spun around their frozen bodies and was sprinting freely into the six-yard box, the ball glued perfectly to his feet.