My Football Legends Chat Group-Chapter 46: Time to break the wall

After giving up the foul for swearing on live TV, Rio was finally able to calm himself down after a stern look from the Leeds press officer.

However, even after weeks of practice with his left foot, he still couldn’t control his tongue when the adrenaline was pumping.

Perhaps if this had happened in Spain, it wouldn’t be that noticeable. Yet against the British media, his words were being picked apart because they lacked "media training" and "professionalism."

Feeling a little depressed, he headed back to the team bus and pulled his hood over his head. If he had more time, or even if the "Charisma" missions were unlocked in the System, he could have been able to charm his way out of it.

"Rio?" One of the assistant coaches walked over to him and touched him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention.

"Ah, yes Coach?" He replied, removing the hood from his head.

"Farke wants you to start on the bench for the next game against West Brom. He says you need to cool off." The coach stated before walking away without waiting for a reply.

Rio could only stare at his retreating back, feeling a touch of despair. His face twisted for a moment before he kicked the seat in front of him in anger.

’Damn it!’

As if sensing his despair, his left ankle throbbed with a phantom pain all of a sudden, causing him to clutch it instinctively. Yet when he held it, the pain disappeared as if it was an illusion.

It was only now that he realized that this feeling was familiar. He had felt the same thing every single day during his previous life on the Girona bench as he poured over his regrets.

"Oi you, stop sulking. We got three points." Mateo snapped him out of his reverie, throwing a packet of Haribos at him.

Rio contemplated not eating them for a moment, but Mateo’s grinning face flashed in his mind just as he was about to be moody. He shook his head and a small smile formed on the corner of his lips.

’I won’t be able to face him if I act like a diva.’ He thought, grabbing the sweets.

He walked onto the bus and took a look at Summerville, who flashed him a sly grin, clearly happy that he had escaped punishment for his own missed chances. He chose to ignore this, taking his spot next to Mateo.

Of course, Rio hadn’t just been training his left foot the past few weeks; he had been refining his tactical knowledge and English insults throughout. He would use every bit of time to his advantage in this life, all in order to live without regrets.

The bus journey back was long, but not quiet. The lads were buzzing. Even from Rio’s vantage point, he was able to predict who would be the loudest: Patrick Bamford.

’Bamford talks a lot for someone who missed a sitter.’ Rio thought inwardly.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t asked Mateo what the United scout had actually said in the letter.

"Rio! Heads up!"

Rio, whose thoughts were elsewhere, suddenly heard the shout and instantly turned his attention back to the aisle. Although he had been distracted, he still managed to track the water bottle which was about to shoot past the right side of his head.

Out of instinct, Rio reached out with his left hand and grabbed at the bottle. The plastic spun inside his outstretched palm, teetering on the edge as if it was going to fall out.

However, it was almost as if Rio’s hand was coated in glue preventing it from escaping.

"Reflexes!"

Rio breathed a sigh of relief before collecting himself and firing the bottle back towards Summerville, shooting back a sly grin to the winger. He wasn’t usually this petty, but it was quite refreshing to see the look of shock on Summerville’s face when the bottle landed perfectly in his lap.

"I knew it!" The assistant coach’s eyes shined after seeing the catch from the front of the bus.

"Since he can now react that fast with his left side, maybe we can use him as an inverted winger on the right too."

Manager Farke nodded, but he still seemed a little confused. "Left-hand reflexes usually mean good balance. But what did you mean? Do you think he’s ready for the right?" he asked inquisitively.

"This Rio fellow is actually more versatile than we thought. However, he used to be strictly right-sided. The only reason we played him left was because of his cutting inside." The assistant answered, his eyes still checking his notes.

"Oh, it must have been a conscious effort to train his weak side. That means he’s dedicated too." Farke seemed impressed.

The assistant shook his head, "No, it’s only been two weeks since he started using his left foot in training."

"T-Two weeks!?" Farke was flabbergasted. Usually, such things would take many years to even come close to working up the dexterity required to use a weak foot effectively. Not only this, the boy could even volley with his non-dominant foot.

Rio played the next few training sessions with a fire in his belly, showcasing his skills and quick feet to stand out from the rest. If it was just this it wouldn’t mean much, however, he was a menace when it came time to set pieces.

During the practice matches, he managed to score a free-kick and assist another goal, separating himself as one of the top candidates to start despite the manager’s warning. Summerville wouldn’t even make eye contact with him during free-kick drills, feeling too embarrassed.

The next match was Leeds against West Brom at Elland Road, meaning Rio was forced to take a break on the bench for a while. However, since he had been stationary most of the first half, he was left with an abundance of energy.

Uninterested in watching the 0-0 bore draw unfold, Rio picked up a ball during the halftime warm-up and walked over to the corner flag where the subs were gathered. He grabbed a ball and began to juggle with his left foot.

[Chat Room Active]

Hand_Of_King: You are benched? Good. Anger is fuel. When you get on, burn the stadium down.

Total_Football_14: Watch the West Brom defense. They are organized but slow. The space is behind the fullbacks.

Zizou_5: Practice your first touch. The ball is your friend, Rio. Treat it well, even when you are angry.

Rio juggled the ball, listening to the legends in his head.

"Rio, you’re on!"

The shout came from the touchline in the 60th minute. Farke was waving him over.

Rio dropped the ball, his heart racing.

’Finally.’

He stripped off his tracksuit, revealing the white kit underneath. Elland Road roared as his number 37 went up on the board.

"Go show them," Mateo whispered as he ran past him to take a throw-in.

Rio stepped onto the pitch. The score was still 0-0. The West Brom defense was a wall of blue and white stripes.

He received the ball almost immediately from Gray. It was a simple pass, but Rio’s touch was electric.

He faced up the West Brom right-back, Darnell Furlong.

"Come on then, Party Boy," Furlong sneered.

Rio didn’t reply. He dipped his shoulder to the right, a classic feint.

Furlong didn’t bite. He stayed planted.

’Smart defender,’ Rio thought. ’But let’s see how you handle this.’

Rio shifted his weight and suddenly exploded to the left.

[Skill: Elastic Limbs Active]

His body moved in a way that defied physics, his hips swiveling instantly. Furlong tried to react, but his feet got tangled.

Rio was past him.

He drove towards the byline. The center-backs were scrambling.

"Cross it!" Bamford screamed from the box.

Rio looked up. He saw Bamford. But he also saw the keeper cheating off his line, expecting the cross.

[Skill: Sniper’s Instinct Active] 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

[Skill: Juninho’s Curse Active]

An insane idea formed in his head. He was at a tight angle, almost zero degrees.

’Why not?’

Instead of crossing, Rio whipped his left foot around the ball, striking it with the outside of his boot.

The ball swerved violently. It looked like it was going out for a goal kick, then suddenly curled back in, dipping viciously over the keeper’s head.

THUD.

The ball smashed off the far post and nestled into the net.

The stadium went silent for a split second, processing what they had just seen.

Then, pandemonium.

"GOAL!!!!"

Rio didn’t celebrate wildly this time. He just stood there, arms outstretched, looking at the press box.

’Media training complete,’ he thought, a smirk playing on his lips.

Farke on the touchline had his hands on his head.

"Did he mean that?" The assistant asked, jaw dropped.

Farke looked at Rio, then at the replay screen.

"I don’t care," Farke laughed. "He’s starting next week."