Defending

Soon, the early morning extra training session got underway. After changing into his boots and finishing his warm-up, Du An returned to find Aslett walking over with two marker cones in hand. He tossed the cones onto the ground. "We're doing forty minutes of extra work today. We'll focus on defensive positioning and pressing on the ball. That red card you picked up last match wasn't just about the moment you lunged in—it was because your defensive fundamentals aren't solid enough, and you lack experience in those situations. Since we're playing Everton this week, we'll shore up your basics ahead of time." Du An nodded. "Right!" "Let me make one principle clear first: defending has never been about just relying on athleticism and pace." Aslett folded his arms, standing across from him as he explained the basics with utter seriousness. "Physicality sets your floor; awareness and positional experience determine your ceiling. "Look at those veteran center-backs in their mid-thirties. They can't run fast and they can't jump high, so why are they still nailed-on starters? Because of their heads. Many center-backs don't even reach their peak until after thirty. The older they get, the craftier they become—and that craftiness lies in their judgment, their positioning, and how they shut down your passing lanes without even needing to run." Du An listened thoughtfully. Aslett waved him over, then pulled a pencil and notebook from his pocket and sketched a simple halfway line representing a pitch. Pointing it out to Du An, he said, "When you were marking Gray last match, I saw everything clearly from the bench. Your footwork was quick, and you kept running alongside him. It looked like you were in position, but in reality, it was all wasted effort. "You were just trailing him, staying on his flank. You didn't cut off his inside route into the box, nor did you put any pressure on his delivery. He could turn whenever he wanted and spread the play whenever he liked. Running alongside him like that—to put it bluntly—was barely any different from defending with your eyes." Aslett spoke as he drew. Du An pressed his lips together and didn't argue. He had reviewed the match himself afterward. At the time, his only thought had been *don't let him get away*, forgetting that the essence of defending was containment, not tailing someone. Some people assumed that as long as they had good stamina and stuck to an opponent like glue, they could shut them down. That was pure wishful thinking. Those gifted attacking players were never that simple. Never mind one person—even with two or three defending, you couldn't always stop them. "Today we're focusing on two core principles." Aslett held up two fingers, laying them out methodically. "First, always position yourself between the opponent and the goal. Prioritize cutting off the inside and give up the outside. You'd rather let him carry the ball toward the touchline than allow him to cut inside and face our backline directly. "Remember, the further out wide he goes, the tighter the space gets, and the less dangerous he becomes. But once he cuts into the central danger area, a single pass can create a fatal chance, or he can shoot directly. "Second, always watch the opponent's preferred foot." He stepped forward half a pace and demonstrated two different defensive stances. "Facing a left-footed player head-on, shift your center of gravity slightly to your right and angle your body sideways toward him. Force him toward his right side, toward the outside. Don't let him cut inside comfortably to shoot, and don't let him cross with his left foot. Against a right-footed player, do the opposite. Force him onto his weaker foot, and his threat is cut in half. "In short, make him uncomfortable. "Finally, remember one iron rule: don't commit yourself too early." Aslett's tone grew firmer. "The moment you stick a leg out, you lose your balance. One feint and change of direction, and he'll breeze right past you. Keep a distance of half a step to a full step, apply pressure with your body, make dribbling awkward for him, and disrupt his passing rhythm. Forcing him into an error is a hundred times more effective than gambling on a tackle. "That's all for now. Too much at once and you won't absorb it. We'll take it step by step, no rush." "Understood!" With the theory covered, Aslett picked up the football, stepped behind the marker cones, and beckoned Du An over. "I'll be the ball carrier, you defend. Just like we talked about: don't chase the ball, hold your ground." The first 1v1 drill began shortly. Aslett drove forward with the ball. Du An instinctively shifted with the movement of the ball. Though his feet were quick, he unconsciously surrendered the inside lane. With a gentle flick, Aslett cut inside and slipped past him with ease, like strolling around a training dummy. "Stop." Aslett put his foot on the ball and glanced back at him. "You're falling into the same old bad habit. The moment your eyes lock onto the ball, your body shape goes crooked. I'm left-footed. The way you stood just now gave me an open lane inside. Shift half a step to your right, square your left shoulder to me, give me the space on the right, and push me that way. If I want to cut inside, I'll have to go around you. Wouldn't that be much harder?" Du An nodded. Replaying the movement in his mind, he reset his defensive stance, dropping his center of gravity a little lower. In the second rep, he deliberately controlled his positioning, locking down the inside lane. Aslett tried twice to cut inside but was blocked both times. Forced out wide toward the touchline, he ultimately had to give up. "Yes, that's the feeling." Aslett nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. "Keep your steps light and quick—don't stand flat-footed. Move laterally to match my rhythm, and keep your center of gravity low. Otherwise, one change of direction and you won't be able to keep up." For the next half-hour, the two went back and forth. Aslett changed direction, made sudden stops, and used body feints, testing Du An's positional judgment in every way he could. From frequently losing his man and reflexively sticking out a leg at the beginning, Du An gradually learned to hold his ground, consistently ushering his opponent into uncomfortable zones. By the final set, seizing the split second when Aslett pushed the ball slightly too far ahead, Du An leaned into him and poked the ball cleanly over the touchline. His execution was spot-on, without surrendering his positioning in the slightest. By the time they finished, Du An's forehead was dripping with sweat and his chest heaved heavily, yet his eyes shone bright. With each rep, he gained a completely new understanding. "Fast progress." Aslett tossed him a towel and walked over to the sideline to drink some water. "But this is just the basics. After all, I haven't played competitive football in years; my dribbling is nowhere near that of top talents. "Still, the general principle remains the same. Remember to apply it in our internal scrimmages. In the end, defensive ability is built on match count. Experience is forged through going up against opponent after opponent. It can't be rushed. "We're playing Everton this weekend. Their number ten, Adam Forshaw, is left-footed with tidy footwork. When the time comes, do what we practiced today. Don't be rash—hold your ground first." "Understood, Boss." Du An wiped his sweat away, standing in place as he quietly reviewed today's key points once more. From the distance, the chatter and laughter of his teammates began to drift over. The thin mist had mostly burned off. Official training was about to begin. "Du An! Over here!" Connor ran over with long strides, waving his arm. Behind him, Ben Parsonage, John Flanagan, Tom Ward, and the others all raised their hands as well, greeting him with smiles. Ever since the fish and chips meal after last week's debut, Du An's bond with the lads had grown significantly closer. Teenagers never had complicated agendas; whether they accepted someone came down purely to whether their temperaments clicked. After sharing a meal, fighting side by side on the pitch, and fooling around together off it, any earlier unfamiliarity had long since vanished into thin air. Liking someone was liking them; disliking someone was disliking them. There was never any halfway ground. "You're here way too early! We thought you'd arrive right on the dot." Connor leaned in, glanced at the sweat on his forehead, and chuckled. "Doing extra training again? You're working too hard! Keep this up and the rest of us won't even be able to catch up to you." "Just worked on defending with Coach Aslett." Du An smiled, handing over a water bottle. "Playing Everton this weekend—got to be fully prepared." "Oh?!" Connor raised an eyebrow, immediately catching Du An's drift. "So you're officially one of our regular teammates from now on?"