Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 575: The tactical meeting

A giant digital table sat in the center, glowing with blue and red dots.

Alex stood at the head of the table. He was moving the dots with his finger.

"The Press," Alex said. "It is a trap. Liverpool wants us to pass here." He pointed to the right back position. "If we pass there, they swarm. Three red shirts. Game over."

He looked at his squad. The Como players sat in rows, looking at the screen like students preparing for a final exam.

"So," Alex continued. "We do not pass there."

"Where do we pass?" Luca asked. "They cover everything!"

"We pass to the ghost," Alex said.

The room went silent.

Mark was sitting in the corner. He was wearing a hat that looked like a giant brain. (It was actually a pink swimming cap stuffed with cotton wool).

"I AM THE BRAIN!" Mark shouted. "I KNOW THE GHOST! HIS NAME IS CASPER! HE IS VERY FAST!"

"It is a metaphor, Mark," Alex sighed.

"METAPHORS WIN GAMES!" Mark yelled. "Also, I ate the red dot representing Salah. It was a skittle. Sorry."

Alex shook his head. He tapped the screen. A new dot appeared.

"The Ghost," Alex said, "is the space they leave behind when they chase the ball. Xabi Alonso's Liverpool is aggressive. They hunt in packs. But a pack leaves a den empty."

He drew a line.

"We invite the pressure. We let them come close. Close enough to smell our cologne. And then..."

"We run away!" Mark suggested.

"We switch," Alex said. "The 'Slingshot'. Raya plays to the midfield. The midfield plays back to Raya. Liverpool steps up. Raya hits it long to the winger who has cut inside."

"Geometry," Rico whispered from the back. "Beautiful."

"It is risky," Marco, the defender, grunted. "If Raya misses the kick, we die."

"If you don't take risks," Alex said, "you don't drink champagne."

"I prefer Fanta," Mark said.

Anfield. Liverpool. Champions League. Round of 16. Second Leg. (First leg was 1-1).

The atmosphere was heavy. The Kop was singing. It was a wall of noise.

Alex stood on the touchline. He wore a black trench coat. He looked like a spy.

Xabi Alonso stood a few meters away. He was cool. Handsome. He looked like a movie star.

"Professor," Alonso nodded.

"Maestro," Alex replied.

"You have a plan," Alonso said. "I can see it in your eyes."

"I always have a plan," Alex said.

"Plans fall apart when you get punched in the face," Alonso quoted Mike Tyson.

"We don't plan to get punched," Alex smiled. "We plan to dodge."

Milo was waiting near the corner flag. He was dressed as... a Chess Piece.

He was wearing a giant cardboard rook costume. He could barely move his arms.

"CHECKMATE!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! I AM THE TOWER OF POWER! I AM SELLING TACTICAL ADVICE! 'KICK IT IN THE GOAL'! ONLY FIFTY POUNDS FOR THAT PEARL OF WISDOM!"

"Milo, you are blocking the view," the fourth official said.

"I AM A STRATEGIC OBSTACLE!" Milo yelled.

The whistle blew.

The game started.

It was exactly as Alex predicted. Liverpool pressed like maniacs.

They ran at Raya. They ran at Marco. They ran at everyone.

In the tenth minute, Raya had the ball. Nunez sprinted at him.

Raya didn't panic. He waited.

Nunez got closer.

The crowd screamed.

Raya passed it... to Alex? No. Alex was on the bench.

Raya passed it to Paz in the midfield.

Paz was immediately surrounded by three Liverpool players.

"TRAP!" Mark screamed from the bench, covering his eyes.

Paz didn't turn. He played a first-time pass back to Raya.

The Liverpool players were now caught in no-man's land. They were too high.

Raya didn't hesitate. He smashed a low, flat volley.

It flew over the midfield.

It landed at the feet of Luca.

Luca was in "The Ghost Space". The empty den.

He turned. He had fifty yards of green grass.

He ran.

He crossed to Tito.

Tito shot.

Alisson saved.

"It works!" Rico shouted. "The Slingshot!"

"Do it again!" Alex ordered.

But Liverpool adapted. Xabi Alonso was smart. He signaled his team to drop back.

The game became a stalemate. A tactical wrestling match.

Halftime. 0-0.

The dressing room was tense. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"They stopped pressing," Marco said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Now they wait."

"If they wait," Alex said, "we change the equation."

He walked to the whiteboard.

"Phase Two," Alex wrote. " The Overload."

He looked at Saka.

"Bukayo. You are no longer a winger. You are a 'False 8'."

"A what?" Saka asked.

"You drift inside. You stand next to their defensive midfielder. You annoy him."

"I can be annoying!" Mark shouted. "Let me play!"

"Sit down, Mark," Alex said. "Saka. When you drift inside, the fullback follows you. That leaves the wing open."

"For who?" Saka asked.

Alex looked at Marco. The big center back.

"For Marco."

Marco's eyes went wide. "Me? Boss, I am a tank. Tanks do not fly down the wing."

"Today," Alex said. "You are a flying tank."

Second half.

The game changed.

Saka drifted inside. The Liverpool fullback, Robertson, followed him. He was confused.

The wing was empty.

Marco got the ball at the back.

He looked at Alex. Alex nodded. Go.

Marco started to run.

He ran past the midfield line. He ran past the halfway line.

The Liverpool players didn't close him down. They thought, "He is a center back. He will pass back."

Marco didn't pass back.

He kept running.

He was a steam train. Choo choo.

He reached the final third.

"SHOOT!" Mark screamed from the bench. "UNLEASH THE CANNON!"

Marco didn't shoot. He had never crossed a ball in his life.

He looked at the box.

He closed his eyes and swung his leg.

It was a terrible cross. It was low. It was bobbling.

But because it was terrible, the Liverpool defenders missed it. Van Dijk swung a leg and missed. Konate slipped.

The ball rolled to the back post.

Luca was there.

He looked surprised to see the ball.

He tapped it in.

Goal.

One zero. Como.

The away section exploded.

Marco stood on the wing, hands on his hips, breathing like a broken vacuum cleaner.

"I AM A WINGER!" Marco roared. "I AM BRAZILIAN!"

Alex laughed. "The Flying Tank!"

Xabi Alonso looked at Alex. He shook his head. He looked impressed.

But Liverpool were not dead.

Eighty fifth minute.

Liverpool attacked. They threw everyone forward.

Alexander-Arnold crossed. Van Dijk headed.

Goal.

One one.

Extra time loomed.

"No," Alex whispered. "We do not do extra time. We have a plane to catch."

Ninetieth minute.

Alex looked at his bench.

He saw a kid. A new signing. A 19-year-old midfielder named 'Jinx'.

Jinx was chaotic. He had no tactical discipline. He just ran and did tricks.

"Jinx," Alex said. "You're on."

"What are the tactics, Boss?" Jinx asked.

"Tactics?" Alex smiled. "There are no tactics. Go make a mess."

Jinx ran on.

Ninety third minute.

Jinx got the ball.

He tried to nutmeg Szoboszlai. It failed. The ball bounced off Szoboszlai's shin.

It came back to Jinx.

Jinx tried a roulette. He tripped over the ball.

The Liverpool defenders paused. They were confused. What was this kid doing?

Jinx stood up. The ball was still at his feet.

"CONFUSION IS A WEAPON!" Mark yelled.

Jinx looked up. He saw a tiny gap.

He poked the ball with his toe.

It wasn't a shot. It wasn't a pass. It was a poke.

It rolled slowly through the defense.

It rolled past Alisson, who was expecting a smash.

It hit the post.

And rolled in.

GOAL.

Two one. Como.

The stadium went silent.

Jinx didn't celebrate. He looked confused. "Did I score?"

Alex ran down the touchline. "CHAOS THEORY!"

The final whistle blew.

Como were through to the Quarter Finals.

Alex walked onto the pitch.

Alonso walked over.

"You are crazy," Alonso said. "You played a center back as a winger. And a clown as a striker."

"Jinx is not a clown," Alex smiled. "He is a variable."

Milo ran over. He was wearing a shirt made of whiteboard markers.

"THE TACTICIAN!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! I DREW THE PLAN! I AM SELLING THE WHITEBOARD! IT HAS THE SECRET FORMULA! 'KICK BALL GOOD'! ONE MILLION EUROS!"

"Milo, that is not the formula," Alex laughed.

"IT IS THE ESSENCE!" Milo shouted.

They walked into the dressing room.

Mark was drawing on the whiteboard.

He drew a picture of a pizza eating a football.

"This is my tactic," Mark explained to the team. "The Pizza Press. We surround the opponent like a crust. And then we devour them."

"It makes sense," Saka nodded, eating an apple. "In a weird way."

Alex sat down.

He looked at the board. The dots. The lines.

Football was a game of chess. But sometimes, you had to flip the board over.

He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Tactical analysis: Unorthodox. The 'Flying Tank' maneuver had a success probability of 4%. The 'Jinx Poke' had a probability of 0.001%. You are defying mathematics, Alex. I love it."

Alex smiled.

He looked at his team.

They were tired. They were bruised.

But they were winners.

"Class dismissed," Alex whispered.

Mark looked up.

"Can we go home now?" Mark asked. "I want to teach Marco how to be a winger properly. He needs to learn the 'Stepover of Doom'."

"Tomorrow, Mark," Alex said.

"Tomorrow," Mark agreed. "But first... pizza?"

"Pizza," Alex said.