Unlimited Potential System

["BEN SEGHIRRR!... How has he missed that. That was it. That should've been it. That had to have been it. Monaco should've equalized there. This match should've been on equal terms again. What a miss!"] The commentator said.

["Unfortunately football isn't a sport played with ifs and what ifs, but I still can't help but wonder what if he scored there"]

The replay showed how close it had been. Even Donnarumma had frozen for a second, expecting to turn and see the ball in his net.

Biereth walked over to Ben Seghir and patted his back. "You did well". Ben Seghir nodded in response but it was obvious from the look on his face that he was still thinking about the miss.

The near-equalizer lifted Monaco's confidence, though. Their pressing became slightly bolder. They started moving the ball forward with more intent instead of immediately retreating. Golovin began to find spaces between PSG's lines, and Lamine Camara's quick passes gave them smoother transitions.

PSG, however, responded with their own kind of control, possession through patience. They didn't panic after the scare. Instead, they slowed down the pace, forcing Monaco to chase shadows again.

As the clock moved past the forty-third minute, it looked like the half would end with a narrow 1-0 lead for the hosts.

But then tragedy struck.

It started from the right flank. Hakimi advanced with the ball under little pressure. He passed forward to Desire Doue, who dropped deeper to collect it.

Ben Seghir moved across to help Henrique close down the space, but Doue released the ball early. A quick inside pass to Vitinha shifted the angle of attack. Vitinha then played a diagonal pass to Kvaratskhelia on the opposite flank.

Vanderson rushed to meet him again. The Georgian winger faked left, then moved right, slipping the ball past Vanderson's challenge. His low cross went through the box untouched, until Dembele arrived.

Ousmane Dembele met it near the penalty spot with a firm right-foot strike. The shot flew low and etched itself into the bottom corner.

Kohn didn't even move. He couldn't move. He didn't even know what happened until he heard the sound of the ball hitting the back of the net.

The stadium erupted again. The home fans' chants echoed around the stands as Dembele sprinted toward the corner flag, pointing to the badge on his chest. The PSG bench rose in celebration, while Monaco's players stood in silence.

The referee glanced at his watch. The forty-fifth minute had just ticked over.

PSG 2 – 0 AS MONACO.

Monaco's heads dropped momentarily. They had defended with discipline for most of the half, created two chances of their own, and still went into the break two goals behind.

As soon as the ball flew into the back of the net, the referee checked his watch, then blew his whistle for half time.

Even though the noise from the stands made it hard to hear, the body language said enough. Nobody wanted to walk into halftime looking defeated.

The referee blew the whistle soon after the restart. No stoppage time.

Halftime.

The players trudged toward the tunnel. PSG's players exchanged high fives and smiles, while Monaco's kept their eyes forward.

Tyler sighed and glanced at the score board and walked out from the bench, back into the tunnel.

Inside the tunnel, the air was thick with heat and exhaustion. The sound of boots scraping against the floor echoed louder than the muffled chants from outside.

When they reached the away dressing room, Adi Hutter was already waiting for them. He had barely moved from his spot on the sideline during the first half, but his mind had been working nonstop.

The players sat down quietly. Some leaned back on the benches, others dropped their heads toward the floor. Kohn sat near the entrance, gloves still on.

Hutter didn't start speaking immediately. He let the silence linger for a few seconds. Then he stepped forward.

"Listen," he began, voice calm but firm. "I told you before the match that this team punishes mistakes. You saw that today. But that doesn't mean we have to fold."

He looked around the room, making eye contact with each player.

"You've done a lot of what we talked about. You kept your shape, you made them work. But we need more belief when we win the ball. When Zakaria intercepts, when Lamine plays forward, we must commit. Not just one or two players, everyone."

He pointed toward Ben Seghir. "You had a chance. You made the right run. That is what we need more of. Don't be afraid to miss."

He then turned to Tyler. "You'll be coming in for Aleksandr Golovin. I need fluidity across the attacking four. I've seen that it works a lot better when you're playing so you're going to come in".

Tyler nodded. "Understood." He was finally getting a chance to play. It was a situation where his team was down by two goals and the coach decided to put his trust in him.

Hutter clapped his hands once. "Good. We can still take something from this. But if we keep waiting for them to make mistakes, they won't. We have to create our own."

He let that hang in the air.

Across the room, Biereth, who had come on as a substitute for Balogun near the end of the first half due to a knock, leaned forward on his seat. He hadn't had a proper chance yet, but his body language suggested eagerness rather than nerves.

Hutter gave a small nod in his direction. "You'll get your chance too. When you do, make it count."

He glanced toward the assistant coach, who started preparing tactical sheets for adjustments.

The sound of the crowd filtered faintly through the walls, a reminder that the second half was approaching.

Tyler sat back, breathing steadily. He felt tired but focused. Matches like this were why he came to Monaco, not to play easy fixtures, but to test himself against the best.

He thought briefly about the two goals. Both preventable in theory, yet both executed with the kind of precision that made PSG what they were. The first from Kvaratskhelia's anticipation, the second from Dembele's timing. There wasn't much separating Monaco's effort from PSG's brilliance. Just fine margins.

As the whistle from the officials outside signaled five minutes until the restart, Hutter clapped his hands again.

"Alright. Reset. You've seen what they do. You know where the space is. Let's use it. Next forty-five, we go for them."

The players stood, fixing their socks and tightening their boots. Tyler tied his laces again and looked toward the mirror on the wall. His reflection stared back, tired but determined.

No words left to say. Only football to play.

They walked out of the dressing room together, the noise from the crowd swelling again as the tunnel lights opened up to the pitch.

For now, halftime belonged to Paris. But the match was far from over.