Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 191: Training Session 4

Chapter 191: Training Session 4

The scrimmage pressed on with both teams probing for weaknesses, and searching for that one breakthrough.

Martens, ever the composed playmaker, dictated the tempo for the red team, using quick one-twos with Overtoom to navigate through the midfield.

Gorter and Lam provided a solid base, recycling possession when needed, ensuring the red team maintained control.

But the blue team was relentless in their press.

Berghuis tracked Martens closely, cutting off his passing lanes, forcing him to play backward more than he wanted.

Altidore and Henriksen positioned themselves smartly, keeping pressure on the red team’s defenders, ensuring no easy outlet passes.

Benjamin, meanwhile, drifted in and out of pockets of space, reading the flow of the game. His eyes stayed locked on Gudmundsson, watching for any misstep or any moment of hesitation.

And then it came.

Gudmundsson received a pass from Overtoom and tried to turn under pressure. But Benjamin was already closing in.

A perfectly timed step forward and a clean, decisive tackle.

The ball popped loose.

Henriksen was on it in an instant, pushing forward with urgency.

"Now they go," one of the assistants muttered from the sideline.

The red team scrambled to recover, but Henriksen had options. Altidore peeled away to the right, stretching the defense. Benjamin, instead of sprinting forward, checked his run and pulled wide to the left.

Henriksen spotted it.

A sharp pass to Benjamin’s feet.

Lam rushed to close him down, but Benjamin’s first touch was sharp, angled perfectly to take him away from pressure.

He took one glance up.

Altidore had found space between the center-backs, calling for it with a subtle nod.

Benjamin didn’t hesitate.

A perfectly weighted ball curled into the gap, slicing through the defense.

"Brilliant vision," Gertjan Verbeek murmured, watching intently.

Altidore took it in stride, bodying off Gorter as he powered into the box.

Yves De Winter rushed off his line.

Altidore stayed calm and took one touch to steady himself.

Then he fired low.

A blur of movement and the net rippled.

Fweeee!

The whistle blew.

The blue team chuckled in celebration while giving small fist pumps and pats on the back.

Altidore turned, grinning at Benjamin, who simply nodded, satisfied with the execution.

"Clinical," the assistant coach commented. "Fast, precise, and ruthless. That’s how you punish a mistake."

Gertjan Verbeek clapped his hands once, signaling a reset.

"Back to positions," he called out. "Same intensity."

The red team quickly regrouped, eager to respond.

No one wanted to lose this. Not even in training.

The scrimmage continued, both teams locked in a battle of wits and endurance.

The blue team, buoyed by their recent goal, kept their momentum high, pressing aggressively and moving the ball with purpose.

The red team, on the other hand, looked sharper in possession, their passes crisp, their movement more deliberate as they searched for an opening.

Martens dictated play from midfield, Overtoom and Gudmundsson providing quick options on either side. The defenders tightened their shape, refusing to allow another lapse.

On the other end, Henriksen and Benjamin continued to probe for gaps, their understanding evident in the way they timed their movements.

As the clock ticked down, fatigue began to creep in. Passes that had been sharp early on now carried less zip.

Players who had chased every ball with relentless energy started to take just a second longer to react. Even so, the intensity never dropped—every duel was contested, every run tracked.

Fweeee!

And then, with a sharp blow of the whistle, the scrimmage came to an end.

Some players immediately bent over, hands on their knees, catching their breath. Others simply walked toward the halfway line, rolling their shoulders, shaking out their legs.

"Good work," Gertjan Verbeek called out, his voice steady, but firm. "But we’re not done yet."

The team split into groups for set-piece drills. Corners first, with Henriksen, Martens, and Berghuis alternating deliveries.

The defenders sharpened their positioning, reacting to every in-swinger and out-swinger with full commitment.

Next came free-kicks. Overtoom, Benjamin, and Gudmundsson took turns striking balls from just outside the 18 yard box.

Some curled beautifully into the top corner, others clattered off the wall, a few were parried away by Yves De Winter.

Each shot was met with murmurs of approval or groans of frustration from the watching fans and players alike, depending on the outcome.

Then penalties. One by one, the players stepped up, taking their spot at the edge of the area.

Some were clinical, rolling the ball into the bottom corner with ease. Others tried to power their shots, sending them either past the keeper or high into the crowd.

Crossing drills followed. The full-backs whipped in deliveries, the strikers attacked them with intent.

Altidore and Gudmundsson battled for every ball in the air, while defenders did their best to disrupt them without fouling.

Through it all, Gertjan Verbeek and his staff watched closely, occasionally stepping in with quick instructions. "Quicker delivery." "Stronger challenge." "Don’t wait—attack the ball."

Finally, after nearly twenty more minutes of work, Gertjan Verbeek raised a hand.

"That’s it for today."

A collective exhale spread across the field. Some players stretched where they stood, others jogged lightly to shake off the stiffness.

A few clapped their hands together in small appreciation for a session well done.

"To the halfway line," Gertjan Verbeek instructed.

The squad gathered in a loose semi-circle, sweat dripping from their brows, shirts clinging to their backs. The sun had begun to dip, casting long shadows over the pitch.

"Solid work, guys" Gertjan Verbeek said, his eyes scanning the group. "The sharpness is there, but it needs to last longer. The intensity is good, but it can be better. We’re building something here, but nothing comes easy. You put in the work, you get the rewards."

A pause. He let the words settle.

"Now, one last thing," Gertjan Verbeek continued, folding his arms. "The Europa League group stage draw is tonight at seven."

A murmur rippled through the squad. Some players exchanged glances, others nodded in quiet excitement.

"We’ll find out who we’re up against," Gertjan Verbeek went on. "Tough opponents, no doubt, but that’s what we want. That’s why we put in the work."

Henriksen wiped the sweat from his forehead and grinned. "We watching it together, or—?"

"Up to you," Gertjan Verbeek shrugged. "You’re free to go home and watch it, but I expect you all to pay attention. No excuses tomorrow if you don’t know who we’re facing."

That got a few chuckles. Altidore nudged Benjamin. "Gonna be some good matchups, huh?"

Benjamin just smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Let’s hope we get a big team."

"Oh, you want the challenge?" Berghuis laughed, shaking his head. "Don’t jinx it, bro. Careful what you wish for."

"Same focus tomorrow."

With that, Gertjan Verbeek clapped his hands once, signaling the end.

Some players exchanged quick fist bumps before heading toward the dressing room. Others lingered, cooling down, chatting in low voices about the group stage draw.