Chapter 96: A Fateful Showdown Part 2

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

Can't shake him off?

Still a boy, Fàbregas' competitive spirit rose within. He forcefully shoved backwards a little, hoping to create a little distance that would allow him to move. He did not expect his opponent to remain motionless. It was as if he had struck a huge stone wall, and the rebounded force almost propelled him forward. The stumbling Fàbregas suddenly had an idea.

He staggered forward and knocked the ball ahead, chasing after it. Then, when he felt that pressure slightly ease, he immediately made a feint. He made Wood think that he was going to change his direction to the left, but he quickly moved the football to the right, and turned around at the same time!

The inexperienced Wood was indeed fooled. When he saw Fàbregas' upper body moved to the left, he shifted his focus accordingly. And then he realized that his opponent had fled to the other side!

Has he broken through?

This thought flashed across Wood's mind, and another sentence sounded at the same time, "If he breaks through, then you must foul!"

He did not forcibly return to his center of gravity. Instead he just seized the opportunity to turn left and circled a long way to the right. After taking huge strides, he was now running neck and neck with Fàbregas again!

It was indeed a terrifying burst of energy!

At this point, Wood could choose to continue to close in on Fàbregas, so that he could not easily move the ball and make a pass. But Wood's mind only had the one thought: "use a foul to stop number 25 from breaking through." So, he simply used his foot to kick off the ball, but he also brought down Fàbregas at the same time.

The referee's whistle finally blew, and Nottingham Forest's number 55 had committed a foul.

"Bastard! There wasn't even a verbal warning!" Brady was dissatisfied and complained on the sidelines.

Wenger, sitting next to him, said nothing. Now his attention had shifted from Twain to this mysterious number 55. It was not easy for Cesc to be so pathetic, even if his opponent was two or three years older than him.

Who was he? What was his football performance in the past? How big could his grooming prospects be?

It was interesting that he had come to Nottingham with his team, just to see the performances of Fàbregas, Clichy, and Senderos. But he did not expect to find such an interesting young man.

With Le Professeur's experience and foresight, he could already tell that Wood was not experienced enough, but his physical fitness had greatly made up for the gap with Fàbregas. In addition, Fàbregas was not familiar with Wood and therefore was at a loss. If there was another game, he believed that Wood would not be able to mark Fàbregas so easily. But that was not important. The important thing was that Wenger could see the potential in this kid, a potential diamond in the rough.

Wenger straightened up and turned his gaze toward Tony Twain, who was directing the match on the sidelines. No matter what the final result of this match was, he could perhaps find the man and talk to him after the match had ended.

As Wenger was quietly inspecting Wood from the sidelines, Wood, on the field, had once again successfully blocked Fàbregas' offense. Fàbregas finally found the opportunity to face Wood. He intended to force a breakthrough past this annoying person. He did not expect that the common problem of "slow turn" for defensive players would not be a problem for Wood. Although at the time when he decided to turn his body, he was indeed slow—he only turned when he saw Fàbregas dribbling the ball past him—and it looked like he was a step behind Fàbregas. But what really happened?

Fàbregas found out that he could not outrun this big guy. He always easily appeared beside him. The only thing he was able to take advantage of was that he had more experience than this player. He could trick him into committing a foul, and then he could gain an offensive free kick.

The match seemed to become a one-on-one fight between him and the opponent number 55, but no one raised any objections. This kind of game was supposed to be a contest between the best players.

Arsène Wenger looked at Fàbregas who was exerting all his strength to play against Wood on the field, and thought of how Cesc was still younger.

He said to Brady, "Liam, let Cesc go back." He made a recall gesture.

"Do you mean... withdraw him from his current position?" Brady was surprised.

"Well, from the center midfielder to a defending midfielder. Pull him to that line in front of the full back and farther away from number 55. Let him reduce the number of his assists, use long passes and direct passes to breach the opponent's line of defense."

Brady took a glance at Wenger and knew what the decision meant—Fàbregas was forced to avoid number 55's dominance. A nice way of saying it would be "strategic retreat and diversion", a not-so-nice way to say "escape"!

"This..." Brady was a little worried that doing so would hurt Fàbregas' confidence and spirit.

"It's okay. Cesc is smart. He'll understand."

Brady stood up, walked up to the sidelines, and yelled, "Fàbregas!" When the Spaniard looked at him, he leaned his head to the side and waved his hand backwards. "Defending midfielder!"

Fàbregas' gaze swept past Brady and then stopped at Wenger. Le Professeur was expressionless, he said nothing and did nothing. He nodded and turned to run back.

When he saw his prey did not advance and had instead retreated, Wood was a little at a loss, did he need to follow him?

Just as he was wavering, the defending midfielder, Fàbregas, launched a 50-meter long ball attack, followed by Clichy receiving the ball and passing it to Papadopulos, whose shot was blocked by Wes Morgan. It was a corner kick! Senderos ran up.

"Tony," Kerslake reminded Twain.

Tang En nodded in response. "I know." He looked at Brady who was also loudly directing the match on the sidelines, to let the center back press ahead to score. This guy is very smart. But do you think everything is safe just because you let Fàbregas retreat? Dream on!

Arsenal's corner kick shot out, Wes Morgan was defeated in the confrontation with Senderos, and the opponent shot a header! This time, the team was saved by the goalkeeper, Lukic. He safely pressed this close-at-hand header attack on the goal line.

"George!" Even though he saw the danger averted, Tang En still shouted, "Did you forget what I said to you?" He pointed to Fàbregas, who was returning to his position. "Mark him! Watch him closely! No matter where he is! Get up there! Mark him closely, mark him closely!" Tang En clenched his right hand into a fist and hit his left palm.

He was not afraid of his tactical arrangements being heard by the opponents. Even if you know, what can you do about it? Unless you change the core of your midfield now, I'm going to crush Arsenal and Fàbregas today.

So, Wood kept close again after receiving his latest instructions. This time, even if the other party retreated to the goal line, he would not hesitate to follow.

"B*stard!" Brady cursed. "Does he not care about the team's overall formation? Does he not care if this causes the team's offensive to become chaotic?"

Next to him, Wenger laughed instead. "Of course he doesn't care about those things. He is the one in the lead now, not us, Liam. A one ball lead can change a lot of things. He is standing in a favorable position where he can use tactics which he normally can't use to deal with us. And we… if we can't think of a better way, we can only be led by the nose."

Brady looked at his watch. The match had gone on for another 15 minutes. It was 10 minutes away from the end of the match. "Have you conceded, Arsène?"

"No, I certainly have not. The game is not over yet." Just as he finished his words, Wenger suddenly felt a chill on his forehead. He looked up in doubt.

Tang En also looked up at the sky and saw rain!

It had been overcast for most of the day, but now it rained at the end of the match. It went from no rain to raining, from little to heavy rain. In a very short time, the rain was clear and visible. The weather forecast had reported little to moderate rain today...

Damn it! It suddenly occurred to Tang En that there was someone of poor health still standing on the sidelines. He took out an umbrella, which he had thought he would not need today, from his backpack underneath the chair and called Beaumont.

"James." He saw Sophia still standing in the rain, and the rain was gradually becoming heavier! "Do you still have the energy run?"

Beaumont nodded, "Yes, sir!"

"Very good. See that lady?" He pointed to Sophia and asked.

"I see her, sir."

"Now run over and give this to her! Quickly!"

"Yes, sir!" Beaumont took the umbrella and ran quickly, like he was in a relay race. Tang En's gaze followed him to Sophia. Sophia took the umbrella with some surprise. He also saw Beaumont point back to him and say something. Then Sophia looked at him, and Tang En could see the smile on her face. He made a gesture to open the umbrella, to remind the lady to open the umbrella first before thanking him.

And when Sophia dutifully opened the umbrella and was ready to thank Mr. Twain again, she saw that Twain had already turned his head back to focus his attention on the match again.

The men's black umbrella completely shaded the petite Sophia. Now no matter how heavy the rain became, she would not get wet, not even a drop on her clothes.

Not only had the people on the sidelines felt the sudden downpour of cold rain that was becoming increasingly heavier, George Wood noticed, too. Although he was still defending against Fàbregas, and Fàbregas had just received a pass and was ready to launch another offensive, he suddenly forgot his opponent and turned to check on his mother.

When he saw his mother holding an umbrella, standing in the same spot to watch him play, his attention swung back to the match. Fàbregas had dribbled the ball and left him behind. He planned to attack. But he had not completely thrown Wood off. It was not even a distance of 10 meters.

Wood turned and charged up to Fàbregas like a tiger and ended Arsenal's offense with a foul. He received a yellow card, and Fàbregas could only angrily slam the ground with his fists, splashing a puddle of muddy water. He had not expected number 55's turnaround chasing speed to be so fast! Or was it the speed of the soul returning?

The rain was getting heavier and more people were holding up umbrellas on the sidelines. Tang En continued to stand in the rain to direct the match. In fact, there was no need to direct anymore. He knew it, and he believed it was clear to his opponents, too.

Wenger took the umbrella that Brady handed over and held it above his head. Listening to the pitter-patter sound of the raindrops on the umbrella, Le Professeur sighed again, "Liam, the match is over. We have lost."

Brady did not speak.

Indeed, under the circumstances of their score behind their opponent, the rain became the straw that broke the camel's back. The field was muddier, the players were agitated, and the core of their midfield was completely frozen by that unknown kid. If they still wanted to make a comeback, the rain would have to be poured back into the skies.

The Arsenal technical area fell into a silence. The sidelines in the distance rang out with the chanting and cheering of the Forest fans. John and others, drenched by the rain, clapped their hands in an accompanying beat to their cheering.

"Wood! Wood! Wood, Wood, Wood! Grow into a Forest! Forest! Forest! Forest, Victory! Hurray! Forest, Forest!"

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