Teaching Him Lesson

"Got it," Sandro said, trying to hide his nervousness.

It made sense. The performance assessment had confirmed the harsh truth that Luca had always pointed out. Positioning and tackling were key attributes for a defender, and Sandro only scored 3/10 in both.

In modern football, speed is also crucial, especially considering the high acceleration of opposing forwards, particularly wingers. But that wasn't something Sandro could offer, given his stocky build and his age.

The only thing Sandro could take pride in was his impressive height of 195cm.

"I just need to stop him once. That's easy enough." But even Sandro wasn't too confident as he said it.

Rashid gave him several pats on the shoulder. "I believe in you."

As Sandro turned away, Rashid took something out of his pocket. It was a card he'd picked up at the casino.

Of course, Rashid didn't fully trust what he'd read earlier. It could've been some strange illusion from losing too much bet. Maybe it was just part of an innovative hotel service.

Still, it couldn't hurt to give it a try, right?

Rashid took a deep breath and called out the name on the card. "I summon [Paolo Maldini]." Then he threw the card toward Sandro.

Like tossing something into water, there was a ripple of shimmering liquid as the card struck Sandro and seemed to dissolve into his body.

Rashid watched the scene unfold with wide eyes. 'Did I just witness magic?'

Sandro turned back around. "Did you say something, Coach?"

Rashid cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "I just said believe in yourself. You've got this."

Sandro nodded, looking more fired up than before. "Yes, sir."

By then, Luca was already in position, the ball at his feet. "You still have time to regret this and beg for my forgiveness, Coach."

Rashid ignored him and glanced to the side, where Gigi was scribbling notes. "Gigi, bring me my whistle."

Gigi jumped, startled. "Whistle? Oh, right, one second~" She hurriedly searched for it. When she finally found it and rushed over to Rashid, she tripped and fell. "I-I'm okay, really. Here's your whistle, Coach."

Rashid decided not to help her up and simply took the whistle she offered. "Thanks," he muttered. "Alright, the rules are simple. If Luca gets past Sandro and scores, Luca wins. But if Sandro manages to steal the ball, Sandro wins. Any fouls won't count. It's a one-time play. Are you both ready?"

Both nodded.

"Begin!" Rashid blew the whistle.

Luca had every reason to be cocky. Not only was Sandro's initial stat sheet unimpressive, but Luca's were far more respectable.

5/10 in dribbling, 6/10 in acceleration, and 5/10 in body balance. Simply put, he was a baller. "We've done this plenty of times already, and the result's always the same. Are you sure you don't want to just give up, old man?" Luca taunted, feeling confident.

"Shut up! Players who rely on talent alone will never improve. I'll show you that hard work matters most."

"Oh, I can't wait to see that." Luca moved forward.

He wasn't flashy with his dribbling, sticking to efficient and controlled movements. He knew his capabilities weren't there yet, not for technical tricks. Besides, these duels were more about mentality than skill.

Deception, psychological warfare, dirty tactics. In a 1v1, you only have two choices: kill or to be killed. And Luca always saw himself as the predator.

Shifting the ball to his left foot, Luca spotted an opening. 'There's a gap.' He smirked. With a fake-out move, he swiftly cut the other way, pulling off an ankle-breaking maneuver.

Sandro collapsed to the ground. The goal was wide open, ripe for the taking.

'I've won.'

Or so he thought.

Luca took one step forward, but the next wasn't as smooth. He stumbled. As he tumbled down, he saw the ball, once glued to his feet, now rolling away—poked loose by another foot.

Sandro's foot.

Luca hit the ground, stunned. Everyone was speechless.

The first voice came from one of Luca's gang of troublemakers. "Coach, what the hell was that? That was a foul."

Rashid stayed silent for a moment before turning to the side. "Gigi, what do you think?"

"Huh? Me? Wh-why me?"

"My opinion might be too subjective here. So you, as a neutral party, should give an objective view."

Gigi swallowed nervously, glancing around at all the eyes now on her. "Well, it did look like a foul."

Luca's friend grinned, satisfied.

But it didn't last long. "But, if you look closely, it wasn't a foul. That was a clean sliding tackle. So clean, in fact, you'd probably only see something that elegant at the highest levels of the game."

"What? Hey, didn't you see Sandro trip Luca? That was a blatant foul!"

Gigi looked away. She hadn't expected to be thrown into this role of referee, and this was the first time her judgment was relied upon for something so crucial.

But Rashid had entrusted her with this heavy responsibility, and as the assistant coach, Gigi wasn't about to lose the respect of either Rashid or the players. "Sandro got the ball while Luca was running. Luca lost his balance because of his own speed."

"What? Are you seriously siding with them?"

Gigi faced the increasingly irrational protests with more confidence. "We can always check the CCTV footage if you're still not convinced."

"There's no need for that." The voice came from… Luca.

He was standing now, though his expression was grim.

Luca wanted to deny everything. He couldn't believe that he, the team's best player, the club's most important asset, had just been beaten by Sandro. The guy he'd mocked, the player he'd ridiculed, an aging defender nearing retirement.

But it was true. Gigi's words were correct. That tackle had been precise, beautiful, and elegant.

Luca had been a regular in Serie C for three seasons, and no one had ever stopped him with a tackle as clean as that.

Luca bit his lip, stomped his foot, and marched past everyone. He grabbed his bag from the stands and stormed off.

"So what's the outcome, Mr. Santoro? I'd be confused if you just left without saying anything," Rashid called after him.

Luca stopped. He turned back, his voice low and seething. "Fine, you win. I admit it. Happy now?" He turned away again and walked off.

"And what about me? Do I still have a place here?"

"Do what you want."

Luca's two supporters also stormed off, trying to sound intimidating. "Next time, Luca will be back, and when he does, he won't lose. Even if you use dirtier tricks."

'Dirtier tricks?' Rashid almost laughed.

Those words were probably 90% true. Somehow, a miracle had occurred, and Sandro had won this challenge for him.

Rashid didn't want to believe it was because of that magic card. But he had no other explanation. It wasn't possible for a player like Sandro to pull off a world-class move like that in such a short time. Calling it a coincidence would be too generous.

Especially since the virtual screen reappeared.

[Exchange 500 more coins for a chance to roll 1 Player Card from Class C to S]

[The number of coins affects the card's rarity percentage.]

It was like those promotional messages Rashid got whenever he bought something online. As if something behind this card knew Rashid had used it, and it had resulted in this phenomenal success.

Just then, he received another notification—this time from his phone.

It was another email from the club executives, informing him that the proposal to terminate his contract had been withdrawn, and they asked him to overlook the previous misunderstanding.

Rashid scoffed. More than the card's secret, he was now curious about how much influence Luca really had to make the club's higher-ups act so quickly at his command.