"Liverpool are pressing like mad—what kind of tactic is this?!"
"So many players pushing straight up the pitch, pinning Monaco right back in their own box!"
"Firmino is closing down the goalkeeper—he's forced to clear it long into midfield!"
"Emre Can wins it with a header, Leo Lin takes control."
"Liverpool keep the pressure on—Leo Lin drives forward with the ball!"
"A couple of quick feints, he beats Moutinho and plays it wide!"
"Mané receives and lays it back—one-two!"
"Fabinho steps in to intercept."
This was their first direct clash, and Leo Lin had long heard of Fabinho's reputation.
He was widely regarded as one of the future prototypes for elite defensive midfielders, so Leo Lin didn't dare take him lightly.
Instead of forcing a dribble, he used his physical advantage, turning his back to Fabinho, shielding the ball and steadying the tempo.
By now, Liverpool's attacking shape had completely stretched the pitch. Both fullbacks were pushed up almost level with the wingers, while the wingers split their positions—one inside the box, the other hovering at the edge of the area—along with midfielders surging forward.
In an instant, seven Liverpool players were attacking Monaco's defensive third!
Like a barrage of long spears, thrust again and again into Monaco's heart.
Leo Lin once more took on the role of the organizer, constantly switching between short passes and long balls, probing for an opening.
The forwards all instinctively looked to combine with him in quick one-touch exchanges.
The crisp sound of passing echoed across the pitch, like a melody—Liverpool conducting their own attacking symphony.
"Bang!" Leo Lin switches play to the right.
"Bang!" Arnold's cross is cleared!
"Thud!" Leo Lin wins it first, intercepts, and immediately shifts the ball to the left.
Jim Beglin couldn't help but marvel.
"People always say Leo Lin relies purely on brute force, but look at his passing—it's excellent!"
"He's moving through Monaco's midfield as if it's empty space, winning the ball again and again, then instantly taking control and organizing the next attack."
Monaco were gradually realizing the problem. If they couldn't stop Leo Lin, they couldn't stop Liverpool.
Their midfield began to collapse toward him, trying to box him in.
Fabinho kept attempting to cut him off, but to his surprise, he kept losing track of Leo Lin.
With his attacking positioning greatly improved and his experience growing by the match, Leo Lin always managed to find Fabinho's blind side when choosing his attacking routes.
At moments like this, it became a pure contest—Leo Lin's attacking positioning versus Fabinho's defensive positioning.
The duel was set.
Liverpool attacking.
Monaco defending.
19th minute.
"Still driving forward, Henderson offering support from behind."
"A vertical wall pass—Henderson slips Leo Lin through!"
"Beautiful!"
"He's got space!"
Leo Lin carried the ball forward a couple of steps, then played it short to the right. A diagonal pass released the overlapping Arnold.
Arnold took it and whipped a long, arcing ball toward the far post—another trademark switch of play!
Robertson brought it under control, looking to sweep it across the box, but Monaco had packed the area with bodies.
At that moment, Leo Lin burst forward with long strides, his right arm braced against Fabinho as he powered into the box.
"Pass!"
Robertson threaded a diagonal ball with the outside of his foot.
Perfect weight.
Leo Lin accelerated, bracing his body, lifting his leg to strike—
Fabinho arrived in a flash, sliding his body cleverly across Leo Lin's path.
With just a subtle shift, he blocked off the shooting lane!
"Great defending!"
"Fabinho shows once again his superb anticipation around the edge of the box!"
"Leo Lin wanted it too much there—his wind-up was just a fraction too long."
Fabinho cleared long immediately, trying to spark a counterattack.
But under Liverpool's ultra-high press, pressure was everywhere. No matter where a Monaco player received the ball, they were instantly swarmed.
Before Lopes could even bring it down, Emre Can was already there.
Arnold sprinted back, and the two combined to win it straight back.
The camera stayed on the failed counter, then suddenly cut to Monaco's defensive end.
"It looks like Monaco's defenders are exchanging words with Leo Lin."
Jon Champion wasn't certain at first, but a closer look confirmed there was some friction.
After the midfield clearance, several Monaco players moved toward Leo Lin, clearly provoking him.
"So you're the so-called genius midfielder everyone talks about?"
"Pretty average, honestly."
As fellow young players, Monaco's midfielders and defenders weren't inclined to show him any respect.
In their eyes, Leo Lin didn't seem all that special.
Monaco had come into this match determined to prove themselves to the world—to show they were still a force to be reckoned with.
Fabinho in particular, already on Liverpool's radar, was eager to shine on a bigger stage. After seeing his former teammate Mbappé snapped up by Paris Saint-Germain, he too longed for a move upward.
He even worried that with Leo Lin emerging, Liverpool's interest in him might fade.
To change that, the only way was to deliver his very best performance against Liverpool—a personal statement of intent.
Leo Lin simply smiled and said nothing. He'd heard about Liverpool's interest in Fabinho as well, possibly as a replacement for Emre Can.
Fabinho's trash talk didn't bother him in the slightest.
Play resumed, and Liverpool continued with their ultra-high press.
The sheer sense of suffocation left Monaco struggling for breath, unsure how to escape.
"At this rate, it's only a matter of time before Liverpool score."
"Monaco haven't found any effective way to counter—they're being completely suppressed."
33rd minute.
"A high ball from the flank—Arnold's delivery is spot on, finding Salah."
"He brings it down, cuts inside past the defender, checks again, reaches the byline—no room to cross."
"He turns and lays it back to the edge of the box!"
Once again, Salah looked for a combination at the top of the area. This time, Leo Lin had deliberately positioned himself behind Fabinho.
The instant Salah released the pass, Leo Lin exploded into motion, sprinting off the ball and shaking Fabinho off completely.
It was a weakness Leo Lin had spotted long ago—Fabinho was still young and didn't always sense danger coming from behind.
Now, the space at the edge of the box belonged entirely to Leo Lin.
Drawing the bow.
This time, he shortened his wind-up, snapping his lower leg through the ball. With a terrifying whip of his foot, he struck it cleanly.
"Bang!"
It looked effortless, yet the ball flew at blistering speed, curling viciously toward goal.
The goalkeeper threw himself sideways with everything he had—
But the bend was too sharp. The ball slipped past his fingertips and into the net.
"Swish!!!"
Goal!
"Hahaha!"
"Leo Lin!"
"What a strike!!!"
"Perfect use of finesse—an absolutely beautiful goal!"
"Fabinho completely lost track of the space behind him, and Leo Lin punished it with a late run!"
"Four goals in two Champions League matches—Leo Lin moves to the top of the scoring charts!"
After scoring, Leo Lin didn't celebrate. He simply lifted his chin, eyes sweeping across the pitch, confidence written all over his face.
"You're all outstanding young players—one of them."
"And me?"
"I don't need the 'one of them.'"
...
(60 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser