Became The Premier League’S Youngest Manager [EN]: Chapter 218

218: Is This the End?

“Welcome! Welcome to the Jungle!”

“Kim’s got fun and games!”

“Kim’s got everything you want, honey!”

“Kim knows the names!”

“In the jungle, welcome to the jungle!”

“Watch it bring you to your shaking knees!”

(Guns & Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle”)

Beeeep!

“Foul!”

“Woooo!!!”

The home fans booed at the referee’s whistle, but Cristian Medina, the starting midfielder for the Spanish national team and a promising young player from Barcelona, who had just tackled Pedri, obediently gave up the ball and stepped back.

It had been almost two seasons since he came to Burnley.

A young Argentine midfielder who played attractive football but initially struggled to adapt to the intensity of the Premier League.

He was still the least physically imposing player in Burnley’s notoriously tough midfield, but Cristian Medina was now disrupting Barcelona’s attacks with fierce determination, as if he wanted to devour them.

Burnley, who had conceded three goals in the first 70 minutes while struggling against Barcelona’s precise wing attacks, had been drawing Barcelona into their infamous, gritty style of play since making five consecutive substitutions.

“Pedri! Gabi! Nico! Narrow the formation!”

From the touchline, the Barcelona manager, Xavi Hernandez, gestured with both hands towards the center, instructing the midfielders to close the gaps between them.

He must have thought that Burnley’s midfield, with Nicolas Seiwald and Patrick de Paula out, was no longer a significant threat.

The best approach would be to regain control in the midfield, but if that wasn’t possible, they just needed to defend the center well to prevent conceding more goals and secure the win, since they didn’t need any additional goals.

The next game would be held at Barcelona’s iconic 99,000-seat Camp Nou stadium in front of a packed home crowd.

It wouldn’t be an easy away game for any team.

While Barcelona’s young manager was already preparing for the second leg, Burnley’s young players exchanged glances.

Especially Tomaso Pobega and Luka Sučić, who had been subbed in from the 70th minute, and Cristian Medina, who had just intercepted Barcelona’s attack.

The three remembered the instructions they had received from their head coach before entering the field.

“You don’t need to feel pressured. But if you can score one more goal, the second leg will be a bit more manageable.”

“How manageable is ‘manageable’?”

Carolina frowned briefly at Cristian Medina’s question before answering.

“From completely impossible to almost impossible, maybe?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cristian Medina laughed, seemingly dumbfounded, but his expression changed when he saw the serious faces of the other two players.

“It’s not going to be easy.”

“The second leg is at Camp Nou. It’s never easy there.”

“I see.”

Cristian Medina nodded slowly.

“Then what should we do?”

Carolina nodded at vice-captain Tomaso Pobega’s question.

“If Barcelona approaches the game the same way they are now, Tomaso will defend the center, and Luka and Cristian will spread out to the wings to support our flanks.”

You’re not the only ones who can concede the center.

A countermeasure to relinquish the midfield.

“If we do that, manager Xavi will probably call the midfielders back to the center. No, even if he doesn’t, he’ll think it’s worth a try since Niki and Patrick are out, so he’ll call the midfielders to the center.”

“Then should we start fighting for the midfield again?”

Carolina smiled at Luka Sučić’s question.

“Why bother? They’ve been kind enough to show us how to exploit the flanks for 70 minutes, haven’t they?”

“Ah…!”

As the blonde head coach gave a wolfish smile, understanding dawned on the faces of the three young players.

In other words, this was a trap.

Even if Barcelona’s midfielders gathered in the center after seeing Burnley’s weakened midfield, it was fine.

Or even if Barcelona’s midfielders gathered in the center after seeing Burnley’s midfielders moving to the flanks, it was fine.

Whatever the reason, the moment Barcelona’s midfielders chose to concentrate in the center, Burnley could attack Barcelona by using the flanks, contrary to what they’d been doing.

“If we’re going to dominate the flanks, wouldn’t it be better for Lorenzo to stay on?”

Luka Sučić asked, watching Benjamin Šeško warming up next to him.

Carolina gave a satisfied smile as she watched the promising Croatian player, who had significantly broadened his tactical awareness after playing for Burnley for two seasons.

“That’s a good question, but Lorenzo has already played for 70 minutes and is very tired. More than anything, Barcelona’s defenders are now familiar with his patterns.”

“Ah, if Benjamin comes in, the pattern will change, so it will be more confusing.”

“That’s right.”

Carolina, with a teacher’s satisfied smile at her student’s correct answer, gestured towards the field.

“Now, go and have a good time.”

“Yes!!”

***

“Waaaaah!!!”

As the home fans roared, Benjamin Šeško clicked his tongue as he watched his last shot narrowly miss Barcelona’s goal.

“Hoo… Hoo…”

Next to him, Barcelona’s number 23, Jules Koundé, who was breathing heavily, slightly frowned and bent and stretched his right leg, which he had extended to block the shot just before.

Benjamin Šeško’s body had lost balance as he avoided the young defender’s tackle with the ball at the last moment, causing the shot to go off target.

But it was clear that Jules Koundé’s right leg was not in good condition.

However, he hadn’t yet tried to force a sudden change of direction as Lorenzo Luca had told him.

Benjamin Šeško, glancing at his leg so that the opponent wouldn’t notice, looked around and approached Tomaso Pobega, who was near Nico González, who had come down to the penalty box.

“Nico, long time no see!”

“Benjamin, good to see you again.”

After greeting Nico González, who he had spent the last season with at Burnley, Benjamin Šeško pulled the vice-captain, who was looking at him with a puzzled expression, to one side.

“What is it?”

“Number 23’s right leg is not in good condition.”

As he whispered to the vice-captain, covering his mouth with his hand, Tomaso Pobega tilted his head and then his eyes lit up.

“That’s what Lorenzo told us about.”

“Yeah. I just confirmed it. It’s getting worse and worse, and eventually he’ll have to ask for a substitution or…”

“…the bench will send a substitution signal.”

If it got any worse, others would notice it soon.

Time and opportunities were limited.

Tomaso Pobega, who immediately understood Benjamin Šeško’s words, casually turned his head as if he was loosening his neck and checked his surroundings.

“What do you want to do?”

“If we can force a situation where he has to change direction quickly, I think we can create a one-on-one situation with the goalkeeper.”

“Hmm…”

As Barcelona’s three midfielders gathered in the center, Burnley’s midfielders, except for him, were moving to the flanks and launching fierce attacks on Barcelona.

However, as a result, Barcelona’s defense, which was pushed back into the penalty box, was constantly retreating.

Tomaso Pobega, looking at the right and left flanks and considering his options, made up his mind.

“You push forward. Wait for the ball to come in from the flank.”

“Okay.”

At the vice-captain’s instruction, Benjamin Šeško nodded and immediately headed to the front line.

Tomaso Pobega, still scratching his chin, smiled at Nico González, who was looking at the two of them with a suspicious expression, and then began to move to the left flank.

Rather than the right flank, where Adam Hložek, who is skilled in individual techniques, and Oscar Mingueza, who is solid in defense and passing, were, the left flank, where Jamal Lewis, who is fast and direct, and Amar Dedić were, seemed to be a better place to create the situation that Benjamin Šeško wanted.

Glancing at the touchline, their young manager was looking at him with his arms crossed and an intrigued expression on his face.

Ah, manager. I’m definitely not doing anything against your instructions.

Tomaso Pobega, waving his hand towards the touchline, began to move his feet faster.

I’m just adding a very light seasoning…

***

“Adam!”

“Okay.”

Burnley’s right winger Adam Hložek, who was advancing towards the side of Barcelona’s penalty box, didn’t hesitate and immediately turned and passed the ball back at the shout from behind.

Burnley’s right-back Oscar Mingueza, who had come up from beyond the halfway line to near the penalty box, connected the pass to midfielder Luka Sučić, who had come to support him as soon as he received the ball, and Luka Sučić sent the pass back to defensive midfielder Tomaso Pobega, who was slightly advanced from the halfway line.

The ball was moving in a large U-shape from right to left.

Burnley was definitely maintaining possession, but the tempo wasn’t fast enough to suggest an imminent counterattack.

If someone unfamiliar with the situation saw it, they might think that Burnley had given up on winning and was simply passing the ball around to avoid conceding any more goals in the remaining time.

Only Barcelona’s Nico González, who had spent half a season on loan at Burnley, was frowning with an ominous feeling, while Barcelona’s players maintained their positions and calmly tracked the movement of the ball with their eyes.

“Oooooh!!!”

But the home fans, who sensed that something was brewing based on their past experience, were getting excited, and the ball that had passed through the midfield was played out to Burnley’s left flank again.

“Jamal!”

“Let’s go!”

Burnley’s left winger Jamal Lewis, defender Amar Dedić, and midfielder Cristian Medina converged in a small space with a radius of only about 3 meters near Barcelona’s penalty box.

As Barcelona’s defenders and attackers closed in from the front and back to pressure them, Amar Dedić smiled.

“Then goodbye!”

“Heh.”

With a low laugh, Jamal Lewis and Cristian Medina turned and charged forward simultaneously.

Jamal Lewis towards the corner flag next to Barcelona’s penalty box.

Cristian Medina towards the edge of the penalty arc along the boundary line.

“Uh oh?!”

“Chase them one by one!!”

As the Barcelona players who were coming to pressure them panicked, Barcelona’s veteran goalkeeper Marc-André ter Stegen quickly gave instructions from the goal.

Following his instructions, Barcelona’s right-back Héctor Bellerín chased Jamal Lewis, and right winger Ousmane Dembélé chased Cristian Medina.

“Ousmane! Not him!!”

Marc-André ter Stegen shouted urgently, but it was already too late.

The opponent breaking into the center could be blocked by the midfielder!

But as Barcelona’s young attacker, who misunderstood the instructions, chased Cristian Medina, Amar Dedić, who suddenly had no one marking him, smiled and began to sprint diagonally into Barcelona’s penalty box.

Originally, he had thought he would exchange a one-two pass or something and break through, but this situation was even better.

As Barcelona’s center-back Ronald Araújo rushed out towards Burnley’s young full-back who was running in alone, Benjamin Šeško, who had been battling with Barcelona’s center-backs, followed behind him.

“Amar!!”

At first glance, it looked like he was passing behind Ronald Araújo, who was blocking Amar Dedić’s path with his back to the goal, and trying to receive the ball that was played to Ronald Araújo’s left side.

If that happened, the path to Barcelona’s goal would open.

Jules Koundé, Barcelona’s center-back who quickly assessed the situation, ran between Benjamin Šeško and Barcelona’s goal to block the path, but Benjamin Šeško suddenly stopped and turned.

“Oh no!!”

It’s a feint!

Jules Koundé, who was trying to stop suddenly to kill his momentum, let out a painful groan as he felt a burning sensation in his right calf and a sudden muscle spasm.

A muscle spasm, also commonly referred to as a cramp, is an involuntary contraction of a muscle [a sudden, often painful tightening of a muscle].

It’s a phenomenon that anyone who plays sports has experienced at least once or twice, but the timing was terrible.

Confirming Benjamin Šeško’s change of direction, Amar Dedić smiled and pushed the ball to Ronald Araújo’s right side.

“Ah?!”

Ronald Araújo, who had somewhat anticipated a feint from the movements of Benjamin Šeško and Jules Koundé behind him, screamed at the sight of the ball going out to his right side, not his left side, which he had expected.

His left foot was already extended to block the left side, anticipating the opponent’s expected movement.

One center-back was completely beaten, and the other center-back was limping with a sudden muscle spasm, and Benjamin Šeško, who had moved back to the center of the penalty box, leisurely controlled the ball.

Considering the location and the distance between them.

This was practically a penalty kick.

As Barcelona’s Marc-André ter Stegen goalkeeper, who had missed the opportunity to rush out, looked at him with a pleading expression, Benjamin Šeško swung his right foot fiercely and sent the ball flying.

The ball sailed just past the outstretched fingertips of Marc-André ter Stegen, who desperately dove to make the save.

“Uwaaaa!!!”

As Burnley fans celebrated the dramatic comeback goal scored at the end of the game, Benjamin Šeško shook his head as he looked at the opposing team’s center-back who had finally collapsed on the field.

He had barely managed to score a goal, and honestly, even this hadn’t been easy.