"Bruce, you were too modest before the game. That’s not good. What if we actually lose? The reporters will have a field day with you." On the bench, Chen Yu, wrapped in a thin jacket, chatted with Alina.

The rain brought a surprising chill with it.

Alina pursed his lips, not without some embarrassment. "It’s fine. Even if they write about it, no one will read it anyway."

’But thinking back on what he’d said, he realized Chen Yu was right. He had been far too modest.’

He had started by lavishing praise on Croatia, calling them the most underrated team in Europe. He’d said they were the biggest dark horse of last year’s World Cup and that Davor Suker possessed a golden left foot as delicate as a violin.

Then he’d stated that the United States Team was approaching this match with the attitude of learning from the world’s best, and that he would humbly accept the result, whatever it might be.

In contrast, the opposing coach, Croatia’s Miroslav Jovic, had also praised the United States Team, but his words sounded like nothing more than formulaic pleasantries.

So, while the other coach was being falsely modest, Alina had been genuinely humble—to a fault, even.

But those words, once spoken, couldn’t be taken back, just like the rain pouring from the sky.

Fortunately, the United States Team had a low profile. Even if the news made it back to the United States, no one would care.

"Still, this rain... I feel like it’s coming down harder," Alina said, looking up at the sky again.

The dark clouds above the stadium showed no signs of dispersing. A wind had even picked up, and a light spray of rain drifted past the dugout roof, sprinkling his face.

Chen Yu looked out at the pitch.

Attendance was decent, maybe seventy or eighty percent full. But because of the rain, a quick glance revealed a sea of colorful raincoats and umbrellas.

Most importantly, the rain had dampened the fans’ excitement. In the vast stadium, you couldn’t hear even a hint of cheering.

’Then again,’ Chen Yu thought, ’even if it weren’t raining, there probably wouldn’t be many people cheering for the United States Team anyway.’

The Japanese didn’t seem to like the United States Team.

It wasn’t that they were impolite; on the contrary, they were overly polite. During their time in Japan, Chen Yu’s impression was that every Japanese person they met was unfailingly respectful. Whatever the United States Team requested, it was granted immediately. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

But their eyes were filled with coldness and disgust. He guessed that deep down, they despised the United States Team but just didn’t dare to show it.

This atmosphere made the entire stadium feel incredibly dreary. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were at a memorial service.

On the pitch, the drainage system was working, but the slick turf was unavoidable. You could clearly see that the ball’s movement across the grass was affected.

As a result, both sides were making a lot of mistakes.

But on closer inspection, it was Croatia that was making more of them.

Just as he was thinking this, Alina suddenly shot up from his seat.

Chen Yu instinctively rose from his seat as well. The United States Team was pressing in midfield. Niko Kovac was dispossessed, and Donovan, receiving the ball on the right wing, immediately took off, charging upfield.

He was incredibly fast.

The United States Team was generally young. In contrast, Croatia was genuinely old; six of their eleven starters were over thirty.

After Chen Yu had healed his groin injury, Donovan had never had a relapse. At just 20 years old, he ran like a white flash of lightning.

The defender, Robert Kovac—Niko Kovac’s younger brother—perhaps trying to atone for his brother’s mistake, was the first to challenge him.

But Donovan, at full sprint, was too fast. The slick grass seemed not to affect him at all. The backpedaling Robert Kovac couldn’t keep up with his pace. Seeing Donovan approaching the penalty box, he panicked. After a moment’s hesitation, he went in for the tackle.

TWEEET!

The sharp sound of the whistle pierced the air.

Because the turf was slippery, Robert Kovac slid an extra half-meter after going to ground. He scrambled to his feet, waving at the referee to signal that he hadn’t made contact.

If he remembered correctly, the grass was probably too slick. When he went down, instead of hooking the ball as intended, he’d hooked Donovan instead.

Donovan tumbled to the ground, rolled over twice with great exaggeration, and then clutched his ankle, his body curling up like a shrimp.

On the sideline, Chen Yu shot to his feet.

Alina had already dashed out, running to the edge of the pitch and shouting nonstop.

Chen Yu’s assistant, Heskey, the former team doctor, also got up, ready to run onto the field at a moment’s notice.

Being far away and with the rain coming down, Chen Yu hadn’t seen the moment of impact clearly, but he had a feeling... ’It looks like he’s faking it.’

From his brief glance, Chen Yu recalled that Donovan seemed to have been clipped on the toe, which was what made him lose his balance and fall. Yet now, he was clutching the area just above his ankle.

’Most importantly, the idiot is holding the wrong foot.’

The head referee ran over.

Today’s referee was Lu Jun, a Chinese official. He rushed over, pointed decisively at the spot to indicate a free kick, and then waved his arms for the game to continue.

No card was given.

Robert Kovac, who had been about to argue, immediately scurried away.

Alina, however, flew into a rage. He stormed over to the fourth official, loudly complaining that it had to be a yellow card, that the tackle was aimed at the player.

On the pitch, the United States Team players were not happy and swarmed the referee.

Reina blocked Lu Jun’s path, pointing at Donovan on the ground and arguing anxiously about something.

He was too far away to hear, but from the expression on his face, he could guess it was something along the lines of, "Look how bad that was! His leg is almost broken!"

Lu Jun pushed through the crowd, ignored him, and signaled for the game to go on.

"It’s fine," Chen Yu said, motioning for Heskey to sit down.

Because as soon as he saw the referee wasn’t going to show a card, Donovan nimbly got back on his feet, ready to take the free kick.

’He’s got some acting chops, but they’re a bit clumsy.’

Alina sat back down, grumbling indignantly. After muttering a few complaints, he quickly went back to acting as if nothing had happened.

Calling a free kick for that play was correct, but whether a card was given or not depended on luck—or perhaps on Donovan putting on a more dramatic performance.

It was too far out to have much hope of scoring directly, so Donovan lofted the ball toward the goalmouth.

Another chaotic scene of tumbling players ensued. In the confusion, the 183-centimeter-tall McBride managed to get his head on the ball, sending it flying toward the goal.

On the other bench, the heart of Croatia’s coach, Miroslav Jovic, nearly stopped when he saw the header.

But this time, luck was on Croatia’s side.

The distance was too short; the towering goalkeeper, Stipe Pletikosa, had no time to react. However, McBride’s header was at too sharp an angle and he hadn’t made solid contact—it was more of a graze. The ball skimmed past the post and went out for a goal kick.

A false alarm!

Miroslav Jovic clutched his heart, on the verge of fainting.

He went to the sideline and furiously yelled at his players on the pitch. That last play was a reflection of just how poorly Croatia had been playing for the last thirty-plus minutes.

Davor Suker and Allen Bokšić, a forward duo ten times more star-studded than the United States Team’s, had been completely silenced and remained quiet up to this point.

Now in their thirties, they had completely lost their ability to create threats on their own, relying entirely on the midfield to supply them with ammunition.

But the midfield was a mess as well. They were already slow in transitioning from defense to attack due to their age, and the United States players were all running around like rabbits. The slightest lapse in concentration would lead to a surprise attack, throwing Croatia’s midfield into chaos and causing them to constantly make simple errors.

Whenever Croatia made a mistake, the United States Team would surge forward in three lanes at high speed, as if they never worried about running out of stamina.

Both teams were playing a 4-4-2 formation, and tactically, both seemed to be focused on defensive counter-attacks.

The difference was that Croatia couldn’t get their counter-attacks going, while the United States Team was constantly winning the ball in midfield and launching swift counters, setting off alarm bells in Croatia’s backline again and again.

The post had saved Croatia on that last play, but it had only been thirty-odd minutes. They couldn’t keep praying for the post to do its job.

Jorjic’s roars, mixing with the raindrops from the sky, had no effect whatsoever.

The ever-increasing rain clearly made the Croatian team play more and more sluggishly, their defensive line dropping deeper and deeper.

By the end of the first half, they had practically parked the Bus around their own goal.

Jorjic knew it was dangerous to be pinned down like this, but they just couldn’t mount a counter-attack.

The only thing he could do now was pray they didn’t concede a goal and just hold on until the second half.

Luck was on Croatia’s side once again.

Just as a high shot from Reina grazed the post and went wide, Lu Jun blew the whistle for halftime.

Jorjic let out a long sigh of relief and couldn’t help but turn to look at the opposing bench again.

’Aren’t the Americans supposed to be terrible at soccer? Doesn’t anyone in their country play? How are they so ferocious?’

If they kept playing like this, Jorjic felt a draw would be the best possible outcome.

"Well done."

"Keep it up!"

With the score 0-0 at halftime, Alina, on the other hand, was beaming with relief, warmly embracing all his players.

Before the match, a result he would have accepted was being down 0-1 at the half.

A 0-0 score was a pleasant surprise, wasn’t it?

"Time to get to work!"

Chen Yu clapped his hands, signaling for Heskey and the others to get moving, and urged everyone to head back to the locker room quickly.

It was also a 15-minute break, but in basketball, he only had to worry about five players. In soccer, it was a full eleven.

’No, wait, ten,’ he corrected himself. ’The goalkeeper, who spent the whole half just wandering around his own goal, definitely won’t have any stamina issues.’

Upon returning to the locker room, Chen Yu first had everyone change into dry jerseys, towel off, and stay warm.

"Chen, what’s this stuff now?"

McBride looked at the cup handed to him, filled with another dark-red liquid, and felt a wave of apprehension.

"It’s sweet, but a little spicy."

Donovan was the obedient one. While receiving a massage from Chen Yu, he had already taken a well-behaved sip.

Chen Yu said, "It’s ginger and brown sugar tea. It’ll warm you up and provide sugar. Everyone has to drink it."

Because rain was in the forecast, Chen Yu had worried about players losing too much body heat after a half, so he had prepared the ginger and brown sugar tea in advance.

It was simple to make and very effective.

Of course, the most important thing was still the massage.

This was especially true for the two starting forwards and the midfielders, who covered the most ground and used the most energy.

"Heskey, that’s good. Go work on Hajuk," Chen Yu said, directing Heskey and the others around him while continuing his own work.

They had so little time; it had to be allocated well.

Chen Yu had taught them all the techniques beforehand. Although their work didn’t have his bonus effects, it was still beneficial.

Chen Yu also sped up his technique as much as possible. At three minutes per person, he could treat at least four or five players.

’A Bronze-level recovery effect for each person, plus the technique bonus... that’s almost a silver-level effect.’

’There are only three games in the group stage, and there’s no guarantee we’ll advance. If I don’t use these stored recovery effects now, what am I going to do, save them for New Year’s?’