Volume One: Our Own League Chapter 70: What a Dull Match This Turned Out to Be

When the match reached the seventeenth minute of the first half, it finally saw its first shot on goal, which spoke volumes about how cautious both teams were today. Truly, these teams deserved their reputation for strong defense.

The first attempt came from the striker of Class Sixteen’s football team, but his long-range shot was wildly off-target, posing no threat whatsoever to the goal of the Class Fifty-Eight United football team. It was as if the attempt hadn’t happened at all.

Still, a smattering of applause broke out in the stands. After all, it was the first shot of the match, worthy of encouragement. Spectators hoped the players would awaken from this attempt, push forward, and deliver a more exciting performance.

Yet, everyone soon realized their hopes were misplaced. The players from both teams remained resolute and unruffled, maintaining the previous cautious tempo as if neither side was in any hurry.

Even Zhu Ge found himself nodding off at this point.

Zhu Ge remarked, “I never expected this match to turn out like this. It’s far too utilitarian.”

In truth, Zhu Ge wanted to say that this wasn’t the football he loved anymore.

Of course, he didn’t blame them. There are many ways to play football; where there is offense, there must also be defense. The teams’ tactics were understandable. He simply wished they would attack more, so they could make the most of their youth.

Unable to bear it any longer, Zhu Ge shouted, “Come on, attack!”

Immediately, many in the stands turned to look at him in surprise. They hadn’t expected the captain of Class Ten’s football team to react this way. Where was the calm composure they had come to expect?

Clearly, those fixed impressions were unreliable—Zhu Ge had other sides to him.

Xu He, watching Zhu Ge, was equally astonished, as if he had discovered a new continent.

At the same time, Xu He’s understanding of Zhu Ge deepened.

Still, Xu He’s attention was mainly on the match, which continued.

To be honest, the game was truly dull. Xu He could barely stand it. The players seemed to have forgotten what attacking meant, fixated solely on defense, extremely conservative.

The Class Fifty-Eight United team’s performance was also shocking to Xu He. Logically, they should’ve been pressing forward, given their strong offensive abilities. Yuan Fang, their striker, was capable of threatening Class Sixteen’s goal, yet they chose not to attack.

As a result, even opportunities to test Zhuo Jun were rare.

Instead, Liu Peng, the “monk” of Class Fifty-Eight United, stood out with his stellar performance, impressing everyone. He had many chances to clear the ball with his head, whether high balls, mid-height balls, or low balls—he always used his head to clear, drawing gasps of admiration.

Although everyone had long known about Liu Peng’s abilities and playing style, witnessing it again was still remarkable.

The ball Liu Peng headed away was picked up by Yuan Fang on the wing, who suddenly surged forward at high speed.

Finally, Yuan Fang couldn’t hold back any longer.

Or perhaps, the entire Class Fifty-Eight United team couldn’t hold back—they were about to launch a fierce attack against Class Sixteen.

But Xu He and his friends were mistaken.

Yuan Fang’s attack was a lone venture; the other players didn’t follow, instead hanging back to defend, offering no support whatsoever.

Soon, Yuan Fang was swallowed up by defenders, and the ball was collected by Zhuo Jun.

Zhuo Jun’s defense was crisp and decisive—excellent.

Xu He gave Zhuo Jun a thumbs up; he truly was Zhuo Jun’s biggest fan. At the same time, Xu He wondered if he could cope with Zhuo Jun should they face off in a match. He had no answer, for Zhuo Jun was indeed formidable.

Zhuo Jun was not only strong individually, but also excelled at organizing the defensive line. Among Class Sixteen’s defenders, only Zhuo Jun stood out; the others weren’t even up to average, yet under his leadership, the defense performed brilliantly. So far, they had only conceded a single goal.

That was impressive.

This was why Xu He favored Class Sixteen’s team.

After intercepting the ball, Zhuo Jun attempted a long pass to launch a quick counterattack, but the forwards simply lacked the skill—the ball wasn’t controlled properly and was quickly lost.

The players from both sides engaged in a midfield struggle; even when the ball reached the penalty area, it was swiftly cleared, leaving little in the way of thrilling moments.

Now, even Xu He was drifting toward sleep.

Lin Xuefeng pouted, “Boring, boring. I always thought this game would be boring, but I never imagined it would be this boring.”

Zhong Haokun said nothing, simply nodding in agreement.

Xu He glanced at Zhong Haokun—rare indeed, this guy had joined the conversation.

The match was truly awkward, so much so that even Xu He and his friends found it hard to watch. Zhu Ge turned to the others, saying, “This match doesn’t represent the standard of our first-year football league.”

Their league had real depth, and the teams were strong.

Perhaps today, both teams were too eager to reach the final, so they played overly conservatively.

With the first half nearly over, there had been only four shots in total—a match played far too gently. Zhu Ge even wondered if the players on the field might fall asleep.

Was there any point to playing like this?

Zhang Zhen suddenly said, “Maybe they’re waiting to explode in the second half.”

Everyone nodded gently; perhaps Zhang Zhen was right. No one cared much about the first half—they awaited the second.

On the pitch, Zhuo Jun launched a long pass, the number 9 forward headed it back, and the number 8 player, without controlling the ball, unleashed a powerful shot.

It was a good opportunity—Xu He leaned forward in anticipation.

Everyone was jolted—was this the moment? Would the deadlock finally be broken, would there be a goal?

But disappointment came quickly.

The number 8 sent the ball into orbit, launching a gigantic high shot.

Disappointed, speechless.

Even a player from Class Ten joked, “I think the nickname ‘satellite launcher’ is too much for Xu He to bear now. It should belong to this number 8. That shot was so weak—such a great opportunity wasted.”

The number 8 showed no surprise or regret at missing; evidently, he knew this would happen, and he was very self-aware.

Everyone had come with expectations, hoping to witness a clash between Zhuo Jun and Liu Peng. Yet the match had turned out like this, with few opportunities for either to shine. The game was far too bland.

The first half ended with the score still zero to zero.

Zhu Ge said, “The first half is finally over. I hope the second half won’t be so sluggish and cautious.”

Yes, the second half ought to see an authentic, fierce contest.

After all, the outcome of this match determined who advanced to the final. Both teams were clearly desperate to reach the final, so surely the second half would see some action.

But reality proved Zhu Ge was overthinking.

Both teams continued the first half’s pace as the second half began, and as time passed, the tempo remained unchanged.

Xu He was astonished, immediately saying, “No way, are both teams really this composed? Or did they already decide to settle it with penalties?”

Li Jie nodded slightly, saying, “I think so too—they’re gambling on penalties.”

With the way these two teams were playing, no other explanation made sense. Clearly, both sides were aiming for a penalty shootout, unwilling to take risks.

The match continued, though both sides occasionally attempted attacks. However, their commitment to offense was minimal; sometimes sending two players forward was a big investment. The game was truly lackluster.

Still, under these circumstances, Class Fifty-Eight United nearly broke through Class Sixteen’s defense, startling Xu He and the others.

Yuan Fang received a long pass from a teammate in the penalty area, spun, and shot—sending the ball whistling toward Class Sixteen’s goal, only for it to crash off the crossbar and rebound out.

It was thunder in silence.

Unfortunately, Class Fifty-Eight United was just a hair short of luck. Otherwise, they would have won and advanced to the final.

So unlucky—Yuan Fang held his head in despair, nearly in tears.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

The players of Class Fifty-Eight United were deeply regretful; had the ball gone in, victory would have been theirs, and so would the final’s berth. But their luck was lacking—or perhaps Class Sixteen’s luck was too strong.

The crowd of Class Ten’s football team in the stands all looked to Xu He. Zhu Ge asked, “Is this the mysterious quality you mentioned about Class Sixteen’s team?”

Xu He shook his head gently. “Not at all! That’s just luck, pure and simple.”

Everyone was speechless—Xu He was still joking at a time like this.

After this scare, Class Sixteen’s defense grew even more cautious, giving Class Fifty-Eight United no further chances. The match dragged on at this rhythm, soon reaching its end.

It was an ugly game, but Zhuo Jun’s command of the defensive line was a highlight—his skill was undeniable, worthy of being the premier center-back at Jin Guang City No. 17 Middle School.

With Zhuo Jun guarding the backline, even as Class Fifty-Eight United intensified their attacks, they still failed to find good opportunities and couldn’t breach Class Sixteen’s goal. Ultimately, the match ended in a zero-zero draw.

That meant extra time was necessary.

Yes, in the first-year football league’s elimination stage, there is extra time. This puts heavy demands on the players’ stamina and introduces many variables. Whoever had the better endurance would be one step closer to victory.

However, in this match, both sides seemed relatively fresh, so extra time would likely be balanced. It was hard to say who would win—both teams seemed to have a chance.

Yet, in Zhu Ge and his friends’ eyes, Class Fifty-Eight United seemed more likely to prevail.