Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King
Chapter 291: Training Session 2

Chapter 291: Training Session 2

It was automatic. He pressed, recovered, and burst forward. Every transition felt smoother, faster.

The next sequence began. The ball was lost, and within seconds, Benjamin was already sprinting to close the passing lane. He lunged, clipped the ball off the midfielder’s toe, and turned sharply.

A quick glance—options were ahead. He played a sharp diagonal pass into the path of the striker. One touch, then another. The counter was on.

The defenders scrambled, trying to recover, but the tempo was ruthless. The striker squared the ball to the winger darting in from the left. A low, drilled shot into the bottom corner. Another goal.

Coach Verbeek barely blinked. "Again."

The drill continued at a relentless pace. There was no time to admire good play—only time to reset and go again. Each press had to be sharp, each counterattack precise.

Benjamin felt his lungs burn, but he didn’t slow down. This was what he lived for—these moments where instinct took over, where there was no time to think, only to react.

The rhythm of pressing, recovering, and attacking became second nature. He barely heard the instructions anymore. His body knew what to do.

A turnover. Benjamin pounced, forcing a heavy touch from the midfielder. The ball spilled loose, and before anyone else could react, he was on it.

A quick flick past his marker, then an outside-foot pass into space. The striker latched onto it, his shot parried by the keeper but buried on the rebound.

Coach Verbeek gave a single nod. "Better."

The players were drenched in sweat now. Breaths came heavy, shoulders rose and fell with exhaustion, but no one stopped. The drill demanded everything they had.

The next play began, but this time, the defenders anticipated the press. Instead of panicking, the center-back played a clever first-time ball over the top, bypassing the press entirely.

The attacking team was caught off guard, and suddenly, the defending side was breaking forward with numbers.

Benjamin turned and sprinted back, his mind switching from attack to defense. He tracked the winger’s run, closing the space just as the ball arrived.

A sharp tackle. A clean recovery. He wasted no time, immediately sending the ball forward to restart the counterattack.

Coach Verbeek’s voice cut through the cold air. "That’s it! Transition! Don’t let them settle!"

The team was beginning to find their flow. They pressed in unison, moved as a unit, and reacted without hesitation. Every loose ball was pounced on. Every counterattack was direct and ruthless.

Benjamin was at the heart of it. He could feel it—the sharpness, the confidence. His body no longer hesitated, no longer held back. The injury was behind him.

One final round. The ball was played into midfield, and Benjamin sprinted forward, anticipating the pass before it was even made.

He intercepted it cleanly, turned, and saw the run of the striker. One perfect pass split the defense. The striker took one touch, then slotted the ball past the keeper.

Coach Verbeek finally let out a sharp exhale. "That’s more like it."

Fweeee!

The whistle blew. The drill was done.

The players collapsed onto their knees, hands on hips, sucking in deep breaths. Sweat dripped onto the grass. The intensity had been brutal, but no one complained.

Benjamin wiped his face with the sleeve of his jersey, chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked around at his teammates—tired, but satisfied. They had pushed themselves to the limit.

Coach Verbeek walked toward them, arms crossed. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something in his expression—something close to approval.

"This," he said, voice steady, "is what we need on match day. Not just flashes of goal scoring opportunities. Not just ’so close’ moments. Every. Single. Time."

He let the words sink in before stepping back. "Cool down. Stretch. We go again tomorrow."

Benjamin exhaled, his body ached but his mind was sharp.

As the team spread out across the pitch for a short break, he wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to Jozy Altidore with a sly grin on his face.

"You know, Jozy," he started, voice laced with amusement, "if we counted crossbars as goals, you’d have had a hat trick against ADO Den Haag."

Laughter erupted around them. Dirk Marcellis clapped Altidore on the back, shaking his head. "Yeah, I think you had more shots against the woodwork than on target. That crossbar still shaking?"

Altidore rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smirking. "Alright, alright. At least I was getting into those positions. Unlike some people who were too busy getting massages for their hamstring."

Benjamin chuckled, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Hey, man, at least my hamstring didn’t let me down in front of goal."

The group laughed again. Maarten Martens leaned back on his elbows, looking at Benjamin with mock seriousness. "You know, we were starting to forget what you even looked like out there. We almost replaced your locker with a treatment table."

Benjamin shook his head, feigning offense. "Unbelievable. You guys miss me, but this is how you show it?"

Roy Beerens smirked, nudging Adam Maher. "Well, we had to find ways to entertain ourselves while waiting for you to come back. Altidore hitting the crossbar was our new weekly tradition."

"Alright, enough, enough," Altidore waved them off, laughing. "Next game, I’ll bury every chance, and then we’ll see who’s laughing."

"We’ll hold you to that," Etienne Reijnen added, grinning. "No more post and bar nonsense."

The teasing continued as the players stretched and rehydrated. The light-hearted banter was a welcome break from the intensity of training, but beneath the jokes was an unspoken understanding: they all wanted to be better.

The loss still stung, and Liverpool was coming with only a few days left. They had to be sharper and stronger.

After a few more jabs at Altidore, Benjamin leaned back on his elbows, taking in the moment. The camaraderie, the competition, the fire—it felt good to be back.

Coach Verbeek’s voice rang out a few minutes later, cutting through their laughter. "Break’s over. Back on your feet! Let’s go again."