Chapter 214: [214] "Siege resumed"

If he looked wide toward Bachra Goza on the right, a double-team immediately materialized on the touchline.

Hugo opted for patience. He played a safe pass to Cillian. Cillian cycled it to Gabriel Assis, who had pushed up from right-back. Gabriel played it backward to Amadou Fall.

The possession statistics heavily favored the home side, creeping upward of seventy-five percent, but it was sterile with no end product materialising. Nantaise did not care if Valois passed the ball around the perimeter of their defensive block. They only cared about protecting the eighteen-yard box.

Minute sixty-eight.

Bachra Goza received the ball tight against the touchline. The Spanish teenager was itching for a highlight. He trapped the ball under his sole, inviting the Nantaise left-back to engage.

The defender didn’t bite. He held his ground, keeping his center of gravity low, supported by a defensive midfielder hovering just two yards around him.

Bachra initiated a rapid sequence of step-overs, dropping his shoulder and accelerating toward the byline. He successfully beat the first man, utilizing his elite acceleration to carve out a microscopic window of space. He whipped a vicious cross into the penalty area.

Max Caster made a darting run toward the near post, but a Nantaise center-back arrived a fraction of a second earlier. The defender didn’t attempt to clear the ball cleanly, he threw his shin into the path of the cross.

The ball deflected out for a corner kick.

Hugo jogged over to take the set-piece. He raised his arm, signaling the routine, and delivered a curling cross toward the penalty spot.

Amadou Fall rose into the air, his massive frame towering over the scrum ongoing in the penalty area. He made solid contact with the ball, directing a powerful header downward toward the goal line.

A Nantaise midfielder, stationed specifically on the post for this exact scenario, cleared the ball off the line with a desperate, hacking volley that sent it spiraling into the stands.

The home crowd groaned, a sound of mounting frustration.

"They have a body positioned for everything we throw at them," Valérie observed, her tactical eye recognizing the gridlock. "Every shot. Every cross. Someone is in the way."

"That’s the danger of a low block," Luc agreed. "They aren’t playing football anymore. They are just constructing a wall of flesh. The only way to break it is through perfection or a lucky deflection, and right now, we aren’t getting either."

He watched Hugo receive the ball again on the edge of the area, hold it, look left, look right, and then recycle it backward. The same sequence it had been for twenty minutes. Valois were going sideways and backward because forward simply did not exist against this shape. The Nantaise block had no gaps at depth, only the illusion of space that snapped shut the moment anyone tried to exploit it. It was suffocating and deliberate and, objectively...it was working.

The clock ticked relentlessly forward.

Minute seventy-five.

Coach Henri stood on the edge of his technical area, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. He had already made four substitutions at halftime. He only had one remaining change available, and he was saving it for a potential injury. His shift had secured the equalizer, but the desperation of the opposition was neutralizing his attacking adjustments.

Max Caster dropped deeper into the midfield, trying to drag a center-back with him.

The Nantaise defense refused to take the bait. They passed Max off to their holding midfielders, maintaining their flat back five without sacrificing an inch of formational integrity.

Because the center was entirely clogged, Valois was forced to rely on the wide channels.

Gabriel Assis pushed high up the right flank. The Brazilian winger, currently operating as a fullback, received a pass from Mallorca. Gabriel saw a sliver of space opening up in the half-space between the Nantaise left-back and the left-sided center-back.

Gabriel put his head down and drove inside, relying on his explosive pace. He breached the penalty area, drawing his right leg back to unleash a shot.

Before his boot could connect with the ball, a Nantaise defender launched himself across the grass. It wasn’t a tackle aimed at winning possession, it was a pure block. The defender threw his entire torso in front of Gabriel’s shooting lane.

The shot smashed into the defender’s ribs with a percussive thud. The ball ricocheted wildly out of the penalty area, falling to the feet of a Nantaise midfielder who immediately booted it yards down the pitch to relieve the pressure.

Gabriel threw his arms up in the air, screaming in frustration, but it was a clean block. The referee waved play on.

"They are willing to get themselves hurt for this point," Luc muttered, shaking his head.

Minute eighty-two.

The dark arts of relegation survival began to manifest on the pitch.

The Nantaise goalkeeper caught a routine cross from Dário Ferrão. Instead of immediately distributing the ball to initiate a counter, the keeper collapsed onto his stomach, clutching the ball to his chest, and buried his face in the grass.

The referee jogged over, pointing at his watch to indicate that time was being paused, but the damage to the match rhythm was already done.

The goalkeeper stayed down for a full sixty seconds, prompting the Nantaise medical staff to slowly jog onto the pitch. They applied a spray to the keeper’s thigh, offered him a drink of water, and helped him to his feet.

The Stade Valois ultras showered the away side with a deafening chorus of boos and whistles, furious at the blatant time-wasting tactics.

"Get on with it!" Cillian Doyle roared, standing near the penalty arc, his hands resting aggressively on his hips.

The referee eventually signaled for play to resume. The Nantaise keeper took another twenty seconds to set the ball for the goal kick, slowly backing away before launching it deep into the Valois half.

Amadou Fall won the aerial duel effortlessly, heading the ball down to Hugo Blanc.

The siege resumed.