Bab 32: Sheffield United
[Drop some powers, leave a comment or review if you want, and enjoy the chapter, trying to hit 350 power stones this week. Also quick notice: just ignore the system I've been trying to fix it and make it better compared to the chinese author but it's just too much.]
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On a crisp March afternoon, coinciding with International Women's Day, the King Power Stadium buzzed with anticipation. The quarter-final of the FA Cup between Leicester City and Sheffield United was about to begin.
Inside the home dressing room, the mood was intense but professional. The hum of the crowd outside faintly filtered in, mingling with the low murmur of focused conversation among the players. Manager Nigel Pearson stood at the front, his presence commanding as he addressed his squad. His voice rang with authority, urging focus.
"Alright, lads, let's not take this lightly. They might be from League One, but Sheffield United are in this quarter-final on merit," Pearson's tone left no room for complacency. "They've already knocked out Premier League sides, so don't think they're a pushover. Stay sharp, stay disciplined!"
The players nodded, absorbing the message. In the corner, Tristan Hale stifled a grin. He had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. Pearson had just mentioned a key threat from the opposition: their towering center-back, Harry Maguire.
Tristan couldn't help it—he was all too familiar with Maguire. Not the young Sheffield United defender from this moment, but the future Manchester United captain, the meme king himself, famous for all kinds of viral football moments. The image of Maguire clumsily tackling a teammate or getting stuck mid-turn flashed across Tristan's mind. It almost felt unfair knowing what was to come.
"Tristan!" Pearson's voice snapped him out of his daze.
"Yeah, coach?" he replied, quickly sitting up straight.
"When we attack, avoid long balls over the top toward Maguire. He's solid in the air and will win most of those duels. His weakness is on the ground. He's not the quickest, so look to play through balls to Vardy. Let Jamie exploit the space behind him."
Tristan nodded, excitement bubbling within him. "Got it, boss."
Pearson turned back to the squad, reinforcing his message about controlling possession and denying Sheffield United any chance to capitalize on set pieces. The FA Cup was theirs for the taking, but they couldn't afford to slip up now.
With the tactical meeting concluded, the players began their final preparations. As they filed into the tunnel, Tristan couldn't resist glancing over at Maguire. The sight of the young, broad-shouldered defender with his head sticking out above the rest of his teammates drew a chuckle from Tristan.
As if sensing Tristan's gaze, Maguire turned and met his eyes. Tristan smiled, a wide, bright grin that took Maguire by surprise. Confused, the big defender furrowed his brow, clearly wondering why the wonderboy was smiling at him. They had never met before.
"Does he know me?" Maguire thought a bit confused before saying hi to the kid.
[Pretty sure the chinese author is homophobic, cause this mf says is he gay everytime a guy does something, like it actually hurts my head with all the bs.]
The roar from the King Power Stadium greeted the players as they stepped out under the bright lights. The stadium brimmed with energy, a sea of blue flags waving as Leicester fans anticipated another memorable FA Cup moment.
"Welcome to the FA Cup quarter-final!" the commentator's voice boomed through the live broadcast. "Leicester City, Championship leaders, host League One underdogs Sheffield United in what promises to be a fascinating clash of styles. The Foxes will be looking to continue their excellent form, while Sheffield United, the competition's dark horse, have already knocked out two Premier League teams on their journey to the final eight!"
The players were greeted by the booming cheers of the Leicester faithful. The fans, clearly relishing their team's remarkable season, filled the air with chants that reverberated through the stands. On the touchline, Pearson stood composed, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the opposition like a general before battle.
"Leicester are going into this as clear favorites," the commentator continued, "but Sheffield United have shown they can punch above their weight. Nigel Clough's side will be no pushovers. They've already beaten the likes of Aston Villa and Fulham to get here."
As the teams lined up, the camera panned to focus on Sheffield's center-back pairing.
"Keep an eye on that man, Harry Maguire. The 20-year-old is having a great season for the Blades, a real threat on set pieces, but his foot speed might be tested today against the pace of Jamie Vardy."
The referee's whistle blew, signaling the start of the match.
Leicester wasted no time, immediately asserting control of the ball. The Foxes, in their familiar blue kit, moved the ball swiftly, probing Sheffield United's defense. Despite the underdog status, the visitors lined up in a compact 4-5-1 formation, sitting deep and waiting for opportunities to counterattack.
"Tristan Hale, that starboy who's been lighting up the Championship," the co-commentator remarked. "He's been the player to watch since he broke into the first squad just two months ago. His passing range and skills have brought wins after wins for his team; can he do it again at this stage? Leicester will look to him to pull the strings today."
Fifteen minutes in, and despite Leicester's dominance, Sheffield United's defense held firm. The visitors, led by Maguire, were resolute, heading away cross after cross and limiting clear chances.
"Leicester have had plenty of the ball, but they're struggling to break down this organized Sheffield defense," the commentator noted. "Maguire is clearing everything that comes near him in the air. It's going to take something special to unlock this defense."
Frustration began to creep in. Leicester pressed forward, but Sheffield United were dogged. They sat deep, every player behind the ball, waiting for their moment to spring on the counter.
On the sidelines, Pearson gestured for his team to stay patient. The coach knew a goal would come if they didn't lose their composure. He barked out instructions, urging his players to maintain possession and avoid reckless shots from distance.
Suddenly, Leicester found a breakthrough down the left flank. Connaughton, who had been lively all game, skipped past his marker with a deft flick of the ball. The crowd roared as he surged toward the byline, beating his man.
"Here's Connaughton... He's got space on the left!" the commentator called.
Connaughton whipped in a dangerous cross, low and hard across the face of goal. Vardy darted to the near post, but Maguire stretched out one of his long legs to block the ball.
"Excellent defending by Maguire! He's everywhere for Sheffield United right now," the co-commentator praised.
Tristan, sensing the need for something different, began to push higher up the field. He dropped deeper to receive the ball before immediately springing forward, scanning the pitch. He knew that while Sheffield's defense was strong, Maguire's lack of pace could be their undoing.
The ball was played to Tristan, and with one touch, he turned sharply, evading a challenge. Maguire was tracking Vardy closely, but Tristan spotted a gap between him and the right-back. With a quick glance, he saw Vardy start his run.
"Tristan Hale… what vision!" the commentator shouted.
Tristan threaded a perfectly weighted through ball, dissecting the defense. The timing was flawless—Vardy was in behind. Maguire tried to react, but his slower turning speed left him a step behind. Vardy, now one-on-one with the goalkeeper, charged toward goal.
"Vardy's in! Maguire can't keep up with him!" the commentator yelled.
Just as Vardy was about to pull the trigger, Sheffield's second center-back came sliding in from behind, his outstretched leg clipping Vardy's knee. The striker tumbled forward, sprawling onto the turf.
"Penalty!" came the immediate call from the commentator. "The referee points straight to the spot, no hesitation!"
The Sheffield United players protested, hands raised, surrounding the referee, but there was no doubt about it. The challenge had been clumsy, desperate even, and Vardy had been brought down just as he was about to score.
"Jamie Vardy's pace has caused all sorts of problems for Sheffield United's defense today," the co-commentator remarked. "Maguire was left flat-footed, and the foul was inevitable once Vardy got through."
As the referee dealt with the protests, Tristan stood back, watching the chaos unfold. His mind raced, but it wasn't anxiety he felt. It was confidence. He had done his part—his pass had been the key to unlocking Sheffield's defense. Now it was up to Vardy to finish the job.
The King Power Stadium seemed to hold its breath as Vardy dusted himself off.
"He's won the penalty, now can he score it?" the commentator asked, the anticipation mounting. "Vardy knows the pressure. Can he convert?A crucial moment in this quarter-final!"
...
[Thank you guys for all the support; we managed to hit 1k collection.]
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