Dynasty Awakening: Building My Own Football Empire

Chapter 313: Perfect weather for sliding tackles

"The fullbacks are pushing too high to support the asymmetric overload, leaving the center-backs isolated against the counter-attack." Michael murmured to himself.On the pitch, the disaster played out exactly as he predicted.

Enzo Moretti, playing in his new deep-lying playmaker role, intercepted a loose ball. Without even looking up, Enzo pinged a gorgeous, sweeping forty-yard pass out to the right flank.

Jax controlled the ball perfectly with his chest, bursting down the wing. "Too slow, old men~!" Jax taunted the reserve defenders, doing a quick step-over that sent the left-back stumbling into the grass.

Jax cut inside and slipped a short, sharp pass to Arda Güler.

The new Turkish superstar received the ball with his back to the goal. Two Barnsley center-backs immediately rushed him, trying to crush the space. But Arda didn’t panic. With a casual, almost disrespectful flick of his left heel, he redirected the ball directly into the path of a sprinting Kaito Tanaka.

Kaito didn’t even take a touch. He smashed the ball first-time, sending it rocketing past the helpless goalkeeper and into the top corner of the net.

Whoosh!

"Golazo~!" Kaito yelled, sprinting to the corner flag and sliding on his knees. "The new boots are working, Boss! I am faster than the wind!"

Arda jogged over, giving Kaito a high-five. A few yards away, Leo Rossi—the sixteen-year-old academy wonderkid who had just been promoted to the first team—was jogging lightly, his naturally wavy long hair bouncing perfectly in the breeze. Leo hadn’t even touched the ball in that sequence, but he clapped his hands lazily.

"Very nice, Arda," Leo smiled, brushing his long hair out of his eyes. "Next time, pass it to me. I will chip the keeper."

Michael blew his whistle. Three sharp, angry blasts.

Peeeeeep! Peeeep! Peeeeeeeeep!

The practice immediately ground to a halt. The attackers looked thrilled, but the defensive players looked absolutely miserable. They were covered in sweat, gasping for air, their hands planted firmly on their knees.

"Stop right there!" Michael yelled, marching onto the pitch. He walked straight toward his two starting center-backs, Liam and Davies.

"Liam, why did you step up to press Arda?" Michael demanded, his voice echoing across the empty training ground. "I explicitly told you to hold the line. When you step up, you leave a massive gap behind you. Kaito exploited it instantly."

Liam wiped sweat from his forehead, looking exhausted. "Boss... Arda is too tricky. If I give him space to turn, he picks out a pass anyway. It’s like playing against a ghost. We try to close him down, and the ball is already gone!"

"There are no ghosts in football, Liam. Only men making human errors," Michael corrected him sharply, completely rejecting the idea of anything supernatural. "This is human mechanics. If you maintain your defensive spacing, the pass cannot go through. But you broke the structure."

[Ding!]

A translucent blue screen popped up directly in front of Michael’s eyes.

[Football Empire System]

[System Warning: Defensive Cohesion is Critically Low!]

[Current Defensive Rating:] 62/100 (Championship Level)

[Current Attacking Rating:] 89/100 (Champions League Level)

[System Note:] Your attack is a luxury sports car, but your defense has the brakes of a bicycle. A catastrophic crash is imminent.

Michael swiped the holographic screen away with a frustrated sigh. The System was right. He had spent millions of Kenji’s money on the attack. Arda, Kaito, Enzo... they were elite. But the defenders were the exact same players who had helped them get promoted from the lower leagues. They were brave, and they had heart, but they were currently being torn apart by their own teammates in a simple training drill.

Arthur Milton came jogging onto the pitch, clutching his ever-present clipboard and chewing nervously on a green jelly baby.

"Boss," Arthur said quietly, adjusting his glasses. "The media team wants to know if they can post that clip of Arda’s backheel assist on Twitter. The fans are going crazy for the new signings."

"No," Michael said bluntly. "No trick-shot videos. No hype clips. Not until we can actually defend."

Michael looked at the tactical board Arthur was holding. He checked the schedule. The calendar was not forgiving.

"Arthur... the Kenji Super Cup is next week, isn’t it?" Michael asked, a sudden knot forming in his stomach.

"Yes, Boss," Arthur nodded, flipping a page. "Kenji invited Paris Saint-Germain and Juventus for a pre-season friendly tournament. He said he wanted to show off the new heated seats in the stadium... and test our mettle against the European giants before the Champions League begins."

Michael ran a hand over his face. Paris Saint-Germain. Juventus. The teams that had tried to poach his players just a few months ago.

He looked back at his exhausted center-backs. If Arda Güler and Kaito Tanaka were tearing them apart, what on earth was PSG’s frontline going to do to them? Kylian Mbappe would score ten goals before halftime. The entire tactic would short-circuit.

Michael turned to Arthur, his expression entirely serious. "Arthur... maybe we need more practice on defense before the Friendly tournament."

"Maybe a little, Boss," Arthur agreed, looking at the defenders who were currently lying flat on the grass. "But practice can only do so much. The Champions League requires a different breed of physical power."

"Hey! English!"

A loud, booming voice echoed from the entrance of the training complex.

Everyone on the pitch turned around.

Walking down the concrete path toward the grass was a man who looked less like a football player and more like a professional heavyweight boxer. He was heavily tattooed, with a thick beard and eyes that looked like they had seen actual warfare. He was dragging a massive duffel bag behind him with one hand, tossing an apple in the air with the other.

Bastion King, the giant offensive coach, immediately crossed his arms and grinned, showing his teeth. "Ah. The cavalry has arrived."

"Who... who is that?" Jax whispered, stepping behind Enzo Moretti for protection.

"That," Michael said, a slow, relieved smile spreading across his face, "is the missing piece of our motherboard. That is our grounding wire."

Michael walked to the edge of the pitch to meet the new arrival.

"Lisandro," Michael greeted him, extending a hand.

Lisandro ’The Butcher’ Martinez dropped his duffel bag. The Argentine defensive midfielder had been the hardest negotiation of the summer, requiring Kenji to buy an entire chain of steakhouses in Buenos Aires just to convince his agent. But here he was. The ultimate destroyer.

Lisandro didn’t shake Michael’s hand. Instead, he pulled the manager into a fierce, bone-crushing hug.

"Boss!" Lisandro shouted, his voice thick with an Argentine accent. "I am here! I saw the weather... it is terrible! I love it! Perfect weather for sliding tackles!"

He released Michael and looked out at the Barnsley players on the pitch. His eyes immediately locked onto Arda Güler and Leo Rossi.

"The attackers..." Lisandro grinned, taking a massive bite out of his apple. "They look too clean. Too pretty. Especially the kid with the wavy hair. Does he think he is in a shampoo commercial?"

Leo Rossi blinked, instinctively touching his hair. "Hey! It’s naturally wavy!"

Lisandro laughed, tossing the core of the apple onto the grass. He kicked off his sneakers and began strapping on his football boots right there on the touchline.

"I watched the tapes of your tactics, Boss," Lisandro said, not looking up as he tied his laces with brutal efficiency. "You play the asymmetric overload. Very smart. Very dangerous. But it leaves the back door wide open. You need someone to lock the door and swallow the key."

He stood up, stamping his metal studs into the earth.

"Put me on the B-Team," Lisandro demanded, pointing at Liam and Davies. "Let the pretty boys attack me. I need to show them that in the Premier League, you don’t get to dance in the center circle."

Michael felt a surge of pure adrenaline. This was exactly what the team needed. He didn’t need divine intervention to fix his defense; he just needed a human being who loved the physical grind of the sport more than breathing.

"Arthur," Michael called out. "Give Lisandro a yellow bib. We are restarting the drill."

Kaito Tanaka looked nervous. "Boss... he looks very aggressive..."

"He is," Michael confirmed, walking back to his spot on the touchline. "He is the Butcher. And if you want to beat Paris Saint-Germain next week, Kaito, you need to learn how to survive playing against him today."

Peeeeeep!

The drill restarted.

Before Arda could even pivot, Lisandro Martinez was there. The Argentine didn’t just tackle him; he completely dismantled him. Lisandro slid aggressively through the wet grass, cleanly taking the ball while sending Arda tumbling dramatically into the air.

"Welcome to England, niño!" Lisandro roared, immediately springing to his feet and launching the ball forward.

Arda sat up in the grass, looking completely shocked. He checked his legs to make sure they were still attached to his body.

On the touchline, Michael finally smiled.

"Alright, boys!" Michael shouted. "Get up!"