Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 290: Training Session 1

Benjamin opened his eyes to the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through his curtains. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from two weeks without action. A deep breath in, a slow exhale—he was ready. He had to be.

Monday was a quiet day at the training ground. The players had been given a full rest day after their tough 2-1 loss against Ado Den Haag. Some stayed home, recovering with ice baths and light stretches.

Others, like Benjamin, chose solitude, mentally preparing for what lay ahead. He spent the day going over match footage, visualizing his movements, picturing himself back on the pitch.

The injury had kept him out for too long, but the next game wasn’t just any game—it was against Liverpool, and the team needed him.

Tuesday morning arrived with a crisp bite in the air. Benjamin walked into the training facility, the smell of fresh-cut grass and damp earth filling his lungs.

His teammates greeted him with nods and pats on the back, but the mood was serious. The loss still lingered in their minds, but there was no time to dwell. They had to move forward.

Coach Verbeek wasted no time. As soon as the squad gathered, he clapped his hands and barked instructions. "We train like we want to win. No second gear today."

Warm-ups began with passing drills—short, sharp movements, one-touch, quick decision-making. Benjamin eased into it, feeling the rhythm, the connection with the ball returning like an old friend.

His footwork felt crisp, his balance steady. He tested his body with small sprints, pushing a little harder each time. No discomfort. No hesitation. He was back.

The session slowly progressed into tactical work. Defenders organized their shape while midfielders drilled transitions, moving the ball with speed and precision. Benjamin played as if he had never been out.

Gertjan Verbeek stood with his arms crossed, watching every move with narrowed eyes.

The frustration from Sunday’s loss still lingered in his posture, in the way he chewed the inside of his cheek. His voice cut through the cold air as he ordered the team into the next drill.

"Defensive shape first! No gaps, no lazy tracking. We need discipline!"

The players moved into position. The defenders lined up as Coach Verbeek’s assistants fed balls to attacking players, simulating Liverpool’s relentless forward press.

Benjamin took his place in right wing, tracking runs, closing passing lanes. His instincts kicked in, legs moving before his mind could process. He intercepted a pass, turned swiftly, and released the ball to an attacking midfielder in one motion.

Gertjan Verbeek nodded slightly but said nothing.

The drill intensified. Gertjan Verbeek wanted perfection. He pointed out errors without hesitation, barking corrections. "Marc, step up, don’t backpedal! Hold your line! Again!"

Despite the tough criticism, the players responded. Their energy shifted and communication improved.

Defenders stepped up, midfielders pressed with more urgency. Gertjan Verbeek finally gave a small grunt of approval.

Then came the attacking drill. Gertjan Verbeek motioned for the defenders to reset before shifting his focus. "Now, we punish them when we win the ball back. Move fast, find the gaps. No wasted touches."

The transition was quick. One moment, Benjamin was pressing a defender. The next, he was sprinting into space in the flanks, ready to receive a pass.

The wingers pushed high, stretching the defense. A through ball slipped past the line—Benjamin took it in stride. He took a touch to steady himself, then a curling shot toward the far post. The keeper stretched, but it was in.

A few players clapped. Gertjan Verbeek barely reacted, but the edge of his mouth twitched—his version of approval.

The drill continued. Repetitions. Pressure. Gertjan Verbeek stopped only when he saw a drop in intensity. By then, sweat clung to every player, their breaths visible in the crisp air.

"Good," Gertjan Verbeek finally said, his tone still sharp. "Better. But not enough. Not yet."

The players knew what he meant. Liverpool wouldn’t show mercy. They had to be better than just good.

As the first training drill wrapped up, Benjamin felt the burn in his legs, the weight of exhaustion settling in.

But beneath it all, he felt something else—excitement. The fire in his chest burned brighter. He was back, and he was ready for whatever came next.

The next drill was brutal.

Quick transitions and fast counterattacks. It wasn’t just about winning possession; it was about what came after. How fast could they turn defense into attack? How ruthless could they be?

Coach Verbeek stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the players. "Win the ball, move it forward. No sideways passes. No hesitation. If you wait, you’re dead."

The defenders reset. The midfielders stood poised. The attackers lingered, ready to explode forward.

The assistant coach played a soft pass to the central midfielder, simulating an opponent’s careless touch. The moment it happened, the press was on.

Benjamin sprinted, closing the gap with quick, aggressive strides. The midfielder hesitated—just a second—but it was enough. He made a tackle, clean and sharp. The ball rolled free.

Before anyone could react, Benjamin was already on the move. His first touch sent the ball wide to the left-back, who drove forward without breaking stride.

The wingers exploded down the flanks, stretching the field. One pass. Two passes. The ball was in the final third before the defenders could recover.

Benjamin continued his run, eyes scanning the 18 yard box. A cross whipped in—low and fast. The striker met it with a first-time hit. The net rippled.

Coach Verbeek gave a sharp nod. "That’s it. Again."

The next wave reset. This time, the defenders won possession and had to break quickly. The press was relentless, the urgency rising with every repetition. Sweat dripped from foreheads, breath came in short bursts, but no one slowed down.

Benjamin felt it—the rhythm, the instinct. The moment the ball was lost, he reacted, body shifting before his mind could even catch up.

It was automatic. He pressed, recovered, and burst forward. Every transition felt smoother, faster.