Dominating Football with Perfect Ball Control

Chapter 379: 379. God-Tier Assist

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”Lance, focus!! Hey!”

Griezmann was a little nervous.

He hadn’t taken Manchester City lightly exactly, but after De Bruyne had sliced through their defence with that assist, any remaining complacency had evaporated completely. These were the most competitive side in the Premier League over the past two years. World-class players across every position. How weak could they possibly be?

If it weren’t for Lance, relying on just him and Torres alongside the midfield and defensive unit, Atlético Madrid could probably still beat Manchester City on a normal day. But beating this Manchester City, in this form, at this intensity? That was a different question entirely.

In the current situation, Lance had to step up. If his performance dipped at all, losing at home would be a story told across global football for years.

”Coming, coming.”

Lance had been half-absorbed in the system’s prompt, sensing the upgrade was nearly done. But there was no time for that now. He snapped back into the match.

He could see his teammates were rattled.

In the original timeline, Manchester City’s 2015-16 season was not their finest. A squad that couldn’t put away Leicester City had its limitations. But looked at from another angle, in that same original timeline, Manchester City had reached the Champions League semi-finals for the very first time in their history.

They had stood alongside peak Real Madrid, peak Atlético Madrid, and a resurgent Bayern Munich. They only fell at the semi-final stage against an eleven-time European champion.

If the draw had gone differently and they had faced Bayern instead of Real Madrid, a final appearance would not have been out of the question.

After grinding out a dramatic last-minute winner in the first leg, what reason did Lance have to take Manchester City lightly?

”Antoine, relax.”

Lance’s eyes cleared. The flame behind them burned steady and sharp.

”We defend our home together.”

”Good! Vamos! Brothers, vamos!!”

Griezmann raised both arms as he stepped onto the pitch, and the players behind him responded with a roar. The whole group walked out crackling with energy.

Manchester City, by contrast, were composed. Kompany, Yaya Touré, Silva, Agüero, De Bruyne. Confidence restored, focused.

”Nobody here wants to go home, right? Come on, lads!”

”Hell yeah!!”

Quiet fists pumped. Eyes forward. Both sides ready.

Commentator Duan Xuan, watching the broadcast return to the pitch, felt the moment deeply.

”These are the finest players on the European stage. The second half is a matter of survival for both sides. We hope they give the fans the high-level battle they deserve.”

De Bruyne looked across at Lance from the halfway line.

Lance. Today is my Champions League final. Everything I have.

Beep.

The second half was underway.

Atlético Madrid 1-1 Manchester City. Aggregate: 4-3.

The moment the whistle blew, all 22 players went at it like the scoreline was level. Manchester City immediately set up a high press, their whole line compressing the space, cutting off lanes, forcing errors. Tight positioning, coordinated interceptions, a wall built from movement and pressure.

Atlético responded through the kickoff, using possession to try to bypass the press and shift the attack to the weak side.

Both sides were probing from the first second, whilst simultaneously flying into challenges.

”De Bruyne, sliding tackle!! Good play! Lance reacts sharply, escapes the challenge and gets the ball wide to the right!”

De Bruyne had come in boots first at his good friend without a flicker of hesitation. If Lance had been a tenth of a second slower, he would have gone down with the ball.

Lance watched the boot graze his sock.

”Was that really necessary?”

”Absolutely.”

De Bruyne was already scrambling up off the ground. Lance moved to block his path. The two ran into each other, bodies colliding.

Both of them felt it.

”His strength has gone up.” ”He’s gotten stronger.”

The two opponents broke away toward open space.

Elsewhere on the pitch, Saúl received the ball but was immediately pinned by Clichy and doubled up by Fernandinho. He had no time to think. He turned and played it back to Koke. Fernandinho missed the intercept but immediately curved his run to block the next passing lane. Yaya Touré covered the space behind him. Manchester City’s defensive movement was airtight.

Atlético didn’t force anything. Koke played it back to the defenders, then to Oblak, methodically stretching Manchester City’s shape before looking for the moment to break through.

Lance scanned the defensive block. As the attacking organiser, his passing without the [Monster Pass] skill was barely above 80, a long way from the 90-plus range of Xavi, Iniesta, or De Bruyne.

But he had spent years studying those players, watching how Xavi, Alonso, and Modri? saw the game, absorbing it until it became part of how he thought on the pitch. He had a master’s tactical awareness even if the raw technical rating didn’t show it.

In the opening minutes of the second half, he deliberately took his time, dribbling through the press from De Bruyne and Yaya Touré rather than rushing the ball on, disrupting Manchester City’s press timing before eventually playing it to Koke.

Atlético settled into a possession rhythm in their own half and midfield, refusing to give Manchester City easy turnovers to launch from.

The high press kept Atlético pinned back. Both sides traded fouls. Players went to ground repeatedly. Fernandinho, Saúl, and Gabi all picked up yellow cards.

Gabi’s was a deliberate tactical foul to kill a dangerous Manchester City break before it could develop. The whole stadium applauded it. Everyone in those stands knew exactly what they had just seen.

Fifteen minutes in, Manchester City’s initial burst began to fade. The high press had eaten through their energy reserves. What had been a suffocating wall started to develop gaps.

Atlético Madrid spotted it.

”Kevin, watch this.”

”What?”

Pellegrini’s instructions had given De Bruyne more defensive responsibility in the second half, with a particular focus on restricting Lance. It had, inadvertently, given Lance a perfect target for psychological warfare.

Before De Bruyne could gather himself, Lance took the ball, shaped to flick it right, and sold the move with a full drop of the shoulder.

De Bruyne had no choice but to step across immediately. Against Lance, you could not gamble on a feint being genuine. If he didn’t follow, the dummy became a real run and there was nothing behind him.

Lance felt De Bruyne’s weight shift.

The muscle memory of Bachira Meguru fired instantly.

Right foot stepped on the ball, pulled it back, looped it behind his standing foot.

Then a Rabona.

A diagonal pass, whipped across the pitch.

Monster Pass activated passively, the ball dropping perfectly above Torres’s head.

”Beautiful, Lance!! A Rabona pass finds Torres!!”

Commentator Duan Xuan was out of his seat.

De Bruyne’s pupils contracted. He had read the intention the moment it started. He was still too late.

Lance had learned that very pass from De Bruyne himself, back on the training ground at Bayer Leverkusen. De Bruyne had shown him the trick one afternoon. It was now being used against him.

This kid.

Manchester City had been tracking Griezmann’s run. Nobody had read Torres’s diagonal movement into the box. And with their legs heavy from the press, nobody could close him down in time.

Torres controlled it in the penalty area, took a touch, and shaped to volley with his right foot.

Kompany’s sliding tackle and Joe Hart’s dive were both half a beat short.

”Goal!! It’s in!!”

”Lance to Torres!! Atlético Madrid lead again, 2-1!!”

”Aggregate 5-3! The advantage extended!!”

”A high-level match produced a high-level assist from Lance!!”

On the touchline, Pellegrini looked like he had aged ten years.

Simeone, by contrast, looked like he had shed ten years overnight. The tension broke from his face all at once. He ran thirty metres down the touchline and slid on his knees like a teenager.

Torres in the distance was sprinting toward the stands with his arms wide, tears in his eyes, looking like he had found something he thought was gone forever.

Lance, who had made the assist, stood completely still. Calm. Like none of it had surprised him.

”Kevin, how was that?”

”I really don’t want to say it, but... it was brilliant.”

”Want to teach me a few more tricks?” Lance couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

”You dog...” De Bruyne shook his head. The wry smile was involuntary.

”Lance.”

”What, got something else to show me?”

”If you make it to the final.” De Bruyne’s voice dropped, and his expression went serious. ”You have to win it this time.”

Lance stopped smiling.

He looked at De Bruyne’s eyes for a moment, then nodded.

”Last year’s regret won’t happen again.”