My Football Legends Chat Group-Chapter 54: Sharks in suits

"Nice pass!"

The shout of a man rang out in the St Mary’s training ground, barely audible over the constant sounds of ball striking turf.

There were twenty players total, divided into rondo groups and seriously working on their possession play.

The man who shouted earlier stood up from his crouching position and headed over to the winger.

He had a shaved head and a tactical obsessive aura, which looked even more exaggerated thanks to the stopwatch secured tightly around his neck.

"That was perfect, Adam. If you can keep the ball like this against the Leeds press, there will be no issues with us dominating possession at Elland Road."

The striker named Adam Armstrong let out a smile of appreciation, "Thanks, Boss. But shouldn’t we be working on defensive transitions? They have that new kid on the wing after all."

He was concerned that Russell Martin, the manager, might be leaving them open to counters by training only on passing instead of tracking back. Of course, he was happy for the praise, but he didn’t want the team to suffer.

Since relegation from the Premier League last year, Southampton had felt the pressure soar. This was especially true after losing some key players.

In fact, this was the reason why they needed to win this game. They were favorites for promotion, but the Championship was a brutal league.

Players were required to pass, pass, and pass again. It was as if they were in a Pep Guardiola simulation, surrounded by midfielders who refused to clear the ball.

While they had gained some level of confidence last week, it was a rude awakening seeing the physical stats of Leeds United recently.

Russell Martin chuckled and responded, "Leeds relies on chaos. We rely on control."

"A-Ah that’s true..." Armstrong seemed anxious, not knowing how to react.

If they couldn’t control the chaos, didn’t that mean they would fail before they even got onto the pitch?

However, Martin didn’t seem too worried. He knew that Kyle Walker-Peters was upset because he would be marking a rookie, thinking it was beneath him.

The thing was, he could tell that KWP was a professional. So as long as he could pocket the kid, he would prove he belonged in the Premier League.

"Don’t worry about Rio Lance. Just focus on keeping the ball moving."

Martin placed his hand on his striker’s shoulder, patting it lightly.

"Oh, that reminds me, did the analyst finish the report on him? Have you seen the clips from the Hull game?"

At the mention of the Leeds winger, Armstrong’s face darkened. He responded with an abrupt nod before passing the ball directly to Walker-Peters and heading back to the other side of the rondo circle.

’Ah crap, I forgot to watch it.’ Armstrong cringed inwardly, admonishing himself.

A few hours earlier, the head analyst had gone to Russell Martin’s office as he was instructed after the morning session. Thanks to his punctual personality, he was around five minutes earlier than scheduled.

He saw the manager with his back turned to the door, leaning over the tactical table. Since it seemed like he and the assistant coach were in a discussion, the analyst was about to turn around and leave until he heard something.

"Argh, we’re going to be exposed on the counter if we play the high line. We could put Bree at right-back, but KWP offers too much in attack." Martin sighed deeply.

"Jack, I remember you saying that you had found a weakness in their winger. Rio wasn’t it?"

The manager let out a small sigh; this was always the hardest part for him, looking over the gaps in the lineup for the coming away day.

"Yeah, but the data is... confusing. It’s a real shame, I thought for sure we could bully him physically considering he’s a lightweight." The assistant, Jack, sighed once again.

The analyst froze outside the door, feeling everything around him go silent. His mind felt numb and before he knew it, he had already turned around to leave—but he couldn’t. He had to deliver the new update.

"Does he not hold the ball well?" Martin asked.

"Ah, maybe it was because of that other report I got last month..." Jack admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Which was what exactly?" The manager sounded suspicious in his response.

"He actually came from the academy as a technical dribbler, but I could already tell that he wouldn’t make it far physically. I told the lads to just shoulder barge him."

"Was he really that weak that you would tell them to just foul him?" He sounded a little regretful, but that was about it.

"Err, well you see..."

The analyst knocked on the door, interrupting the conversation. He walked in, holding a tablet with trembling hands.

"Boss, Jack... you need to see this."

Martin turned around. "What is it? Did Leeds change formation?"

"No. It’s about Rio Lance."

The analyst placed the tablet on the table. It showed a video clip. It was the leaked footage from the Leeds training ground—the "Leeds Missile" goal.

"We got this from a contact at Thorp Arch. It was filmed yesterday."

"So? He scored a goal in training. Big deal," Jack scoffed.

"Look at the velocity," the analyst pointed to the corner of the screen where the metadata was analyzed.

"142km/h?"

"Y-Yeah."

There was an awkward silence that crept through the room as Russell Martin stared at the analyst with a look mixed with both shock and disbelief.

"So you’re telling me that in the four weeks since he broke into the team... this kid went from a lightweight to hitting the ball harder than Haaland?" The manager’s words were calm, yet there was a dangerous undertone.

"Yes, Boss. And look at this heat map from the Hull game."

The analyst swiped the screen.

"He covered 13km. And his duel success rate... was 100%."

"100%?" Martin asked, feeling a cold sweat on his back. "Against Coyle? Coyle is a rat. He bites ankles."

"He bounced Coyle off his hip like he was a child, Boss."

Another bout of silence ensued, followed by a long sigh. Instead of frustration, it was fear.

"And you’re saying that despite all our prep on possession, if we lose the ball once... he kills us?"

"Y-Yes..."

Russell Martin walked to the window, looking out at his players training in the sun. He looked at Kyle Walker-Peters, who was laughing and joking in the rondo.

’He doesn’t know,’ Martin thought. ’He thinks he’s playing against a boy.’

"Change the training plan," Martin said suddenly. "No more rondos."

"What?" Jack asked.

"Get the rugby pads out. We need to practice getting hit."

Meanwhile, in the Director’s Lounge at Elland Road, Rio Lance was currently wearing a suit that cost more than his first car.

He adjusted his tie, feeling like it was strangling him.

"Stop fidgeting," Carlos whispered, slapping his hand away from the collar. "You look handsome. Like me."

Rio couldn’t help but smile at his father’s antics.

"Dad... why are there so many cameras?" Rio whispered back, scanning the room.

It was the Player of the Month presentation. The room was filled with sponsors, journalists, and the club hierarchy. The Paraag Marathe, the chairman, was standing by the podium.

"Because you are the Golden Boy," Carlos grinned. "And because the business is sold. We celebrate tonight."

Rio’s heart skipped a beat. "You sold it? The Spanish properties?"

"Signed the papers this morning," Carlos said, his eyes misting over slightly. "I am all in on you, hijo. No backup plan."

Rio felt a weight settle on his shoulders. But it wasn’t heavy. It was grounding.

[System Notification]

[Hidden Objective Complete: The Family Bet]

[Reward: Mental Fortitude +5]

[Skill Upgrade: The Scout’s Eye (Level 1) -> Active]

Rio decided to test his new toy. He focused on the Chairman.

[Target: Paraag Marathe]

[Mood: Calculating]

[Thought: "If he keeps scoring, his value doubles by January. We can sell for £40m."]

Rio blinked. The System text floated above the Chairman’s head in green letters.

’He wants to sell me?’ Rio thought, a cold smirk forming on his lips. ’Good luck with that.’

[Chat Room Active]

The_King: Look at them. Sharks in suits. They smile, but they want your blood. Do not trust the smile, kid.

Total_Football_14: Business is part of the game. But you are the artist. Without you, the gallery is empty. Make them pay for the art.

Zizou_5: Nice suit. But the tie is too wide. Next time, go open collar.

Rio suppressed a laugh. Even at a formal event, the legends were in his ear.

"And now," the Chairman announced, beaming at the cameras. "The Championship Player of the Month for September... our very own, Rio Lance!"

The room erupted in applause. Rio walked up to the podium. He took the trophy. It was heavy, glass and gold.

He looked at the crowd. He saw the journalists typing on their phones. He saw the sponsors nodding.

But then he looked at the back of the room. Carlos was standing there, holding a glass of champagne, giving him a thumbs up. Leo was next to him, filming on his phone, mouthing "GOAT".

Rio leaned into the microphone.

"Thank you," Rio said. His voice was steady, boosted by Captain’s Presence. "This trophy is nice. But I prefer the big silver one at the end of the season."

Silence. Then, a roar of approval.

"I promised my team I would work harder," Rio continued, looking directly at the camera. "And I promised my dad I would retire him."

He paused, a cheeky grin appearing.

"Sorry, Dad. You have to watch me play every week now. No more holidays."

Laughter filled the room. Carlos wiped his eye, laughing the hardest.

As Rio stepped down, he felt a vibration in his pocket.

Unknown Number: Arrogant speech. I like it. My offer stands. The number 7 shirt is waiting in Madrid.

Rio sighed. He really needed to change his number!

"Rio!"

Archie Gray ran over, wearing a tracksuit because he refused to wear a suit.

"You smashed it! ’I prefer the silver one!’ Cold!" Archie mimicked holding a microphone.

"Let’s go," Rio said, loosening his tie. "I’m suffocating."

"Where to? Party?"

"No," Rio said, checking his watch. "I still have 50 crosses to complete for the daily mission."

Archie’s jaw dropped. "Are you serious? You just won Player of the Month!"

"And tomorrow is Southampton," Rio said, his eyes narrowing. "They like possession. We need to take the ball from them."

He walked towards the exit, the trophy tucked under his arm like a football.

"Coming?"

Archie sighed, shaking his head. "You’re sick. Actually sick."