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.
