Four V.League forwards score in four rounds: Kim Sang Sik gains options, Vietnam still lacks a system to feed the No.9

The ball rolled diagonally into the box. Luong Chi Khai rushed out to clear, the first shot was blocked by a leg, and Olaha Manh Duc — the only man standing in the right place — tucked it home.

I watched that moment at nearly 1 a.m. Osaka time. Pen still in hand, and I wrote exactly one line in my notebook: the goal of a man standing in the right place.

It was the sixth goal from four Vietnamese forwards in four V.League rounds. Nguyen Tien Linh two. Le Phat two. Olaha one. Nguyen Tuan Hai one. Four names, six goals, and a Korean coach sitting in Hanoi with a scratchpad in his hand.

The press called it good news for Kim Sang Sik. I understand why. After a year in which Vietnam's attack lived on the memory of a naturalised striker who has not returned to rhythm, any number above zero feels like a breath.

But I saw pressing before everyone else — then watched it die on the biggest stage. The lesson I paid for: do not read goals. Read how goals are born.

Four V.League rounds. Six goals from four forwards. That is the entire so-called good news. No system change was reported. No new shape, no new build-up pattern, no new pressing model. Only names scoring.

So I sat down with the question a national-team coach actually has to ask: who do I have, and how do I feed them?

Nguyen Xuan Son was the old answer. A reference No.9 who holds the ball, stretches the line, plays the wall pass, and manufactures chances out of moves his teammates do not have to make perfectly. When the long-term injury in the 2026 ASEAN Cup final took him away, Vietnam lost the hardest thing to replace: a man who made the system not need to be perfect.

The last four V.League rounds did not give that back. They gave something easier: four men who know how to score in four different ways.

Nguyen Tien Linh scores with his head. That profile was established over several seasons; it is not a discovery. Le Phat scored twice in four rounds — for a young forward, two goals in four rounds is a statement. Olaha Manh Duc scored once in the V.League and once in the Shopee Cup, plus a profile that covers multiple positions across the front line along with long-range shooting. Nguyen Tuan Hai scored once, and his profile is exactly what Vietnam lacks most: a man willing to run into the space behind the defensive line, willing to receive between the lines, with an instinct for the right drop zone.

At the moment I was left behind by my colleagues, I learned to read people faster than to read tactics. Read these four names that way: they are four different kinds of forward, not four copies.

And three rounds remain before the national team gathers. Three rounds. A FIFA window of roughly ten days. That is the entire time Kim Sang Sik has to convert six club-level goals into a national-team attack.

This is where I break from most commentary. People read the scoring table and conclude the attack is settled. But the scoring table is the last link in the chain, not the first.

There is no xG. No xA. No PPDA. No shot counts, no touches in the box, no aerial duels won. Only six goals in four rounds — a sample far too small to say anything about form, let alone about system.

What Vietnam has always lacked is not a scorer. What it lacks is a process that manufactures chances for the scorer.

Look back at Vietnam's recent major matches in Southeast Asia. The most common opponent is a low, crowded defensive block that concedes the ball and waits. Against that block, three things produce goals: aerial balls from wide, set pieces, and second balls after rebounds. Not pretty central combinations. Not through-balls that require the midfield to have three quiet seconds.

If Vietnam shifts to a crossing-and-second-ball structure, they need exactly two types of player: a good header of the ball, and a man who stands in the right place when the ball spills.

They have both.

The move I wrote down at 1 a.m. was a textbook second ball. The ball came in from the flank, the defender cleared, the shot was blocked, and the nearest forward tapped it in.

That is a goal of instinct, not of system. It does not say Olaha understands how Vietnam builds play. It says Olaha knows where to stand.

And this is where I want to cool the way Olaha is being described. The profile most often attached to him is that he can play multiple positions across the front line and that he shoots well from distance. Both are true. Both are things I do not want to bet on at national-team level.

Long-range shooting is a low-repeatability event class. A forward who shoots well from distance at club level does not carry that rate into a tournament where opponents sit deeper, hold less of the ball, and pack the defensive line. At Southeast Asian national-team level, a goal from distance is the exception, not the plan.

Multi-positional value is real — but its value sits on the bench, not in the starting XI. A player who comes on at minute 65 and can play both flanks as well as centrally is a gift to a coach. But if you need a reference No.9 to play against a low block, what you need is hold-up play and wall passing, not the ability to drift to the touchline.

Olaha is the closest physical replacement for Xuan Son. He is not a functional replacement.

And this matters more: a forward who lives on second balls inside the box becomes invisible against a defence that knows how to clear second balls.

If I have to pick one pairing, I pick Nguyen Tien Linh and Nguyen Tuan Hai. Not because they are the best forwards. Because they are the clearest complementary pair.

Nguyen Tien Linh is the target No.9. Heading, box presence, arriving on the drop zone. He does not need the ball at his feet to be valuable. He needs a good ball from wide.

Nguyen Tuan Hai is the runner. Into the space behind the line, receiving between the channels, creating the second threat that a defence fixated on Tien Linh will miss.

Put those two together and you get a specific structure: ball to the flank, early cross, Tien Linh contests, Tuan Hai picks up the second ball at the edge of the box or attacks the far post.

That is an identity. It has a price.

First price: the midfield must accept a different role. No longer the tempo-setter threading passes. Now the second-ball recoverer who switches play quickly to the flank. For Vietnam, that is a change of personnel, not just of idea.

Second price: the wide players must cross well. Early, from high positions, repeatably. A crossing structure only lives while the supply is stable. If the flanks cannot deliver, Tien Linh becomes a man standing and waiting.

Third price: the team must win the ball high enough to cross from meaningful positions. This is where the pressing story returns.

I once believed pressing was unbeatable — right up to the moment an opponent found the death spot. At the 2026 World Cup I logged 37 successful pressing actions by Japan against Colombia and declared they would reach the quarter-finals. They lost 3-2 to Belgium after leading 2-0. I had ignored the fitness signal fading from minute 60.

That lesson applies directly here. A crossing-and-second-ball structure demands heavy running in the first half to win the ball high. By minute 70, without substitutions, that structure collapses on itself.

This is where I think the real good news sits, and it is not where the press is pointing.

Four forwards scoring does not mean Vietnam has four international-class forwards. It means Kim Sang Sik has four physical options for two positions, in a match where the final 20 minutes are attrition warfare.

The five-substitution rule changed the nature of the modern second half. With a deep squad it is an advantage. With a thin squad it is a sentence. Same law, two fates.

Vietnam at this moment sits in the deep-squad group up front. Tien Linh, Tuan Hai, Le Phat, Olaha, plus those who have not scored. That is five names for two or three slots.

But depth only has value if it is used at the right moment. Substituting a forward at minute 60 while leading 1-0 is a tactical decision. Substituting a forward at minute 85 while trailing is a decision of despair.

This is where club data cannot help. You do not know whether a forward can handle the tempo of a national-team match until he plays one.

Three V.League rounds left. Then the gathering. Then roughly ten days.

For a player already inside the system, ten days is enough to tune details. For a new player — especially one who has just completed naturalisation and has never attended a national-team camp — ten days is not enough to learn how teammates pass, move, and react to losing the ball.

That integration cost does not appear in the club scoring table. It appears at minute 30 of the first match, when the new forward stands in the wrong position and the midfield cannot read him.

This is the kind of risk nobody wants to name because it is not exciting. But it is real.

One thing the four V.League rounds did achieve, and I rate it: they created public selection pressure.

Le Phat two goals. Gia Hung none. Viet Cuong none.

Previously, a national-team coach's forward selection lived in a grey zone — training sessions, relationships, memory of an old match. Now it sits on a table any supporter can read.

That pressure helps. It forces decisions to be explained with numbers rather than with feeling.

But it has a flip side. Two goals in four rounds is a statement, not a body of work. A young forward with two goals in four rounds might be ready, or might simply have met two weak opponents. There is no data to separate the two.

Which is why I refuse to read these four rounds as an indictment of those who did not score, or as a citation for those who did.

Now the part where I might be wrong.

Possibility one: maybe I am demanding a system where the problem is only confidence. Four forwards scoring may not change how Vietnam plays, but it changes how the whole team feels entering the box. Southeast Asian national-team football is often decided by things smaller than a tactical model.

Possibility two: maybe Olaha's scoring profile is exactly what Vietnam needs. Against a low block, beautiful goals rarely arrive. Ugly goals do. A specialist in ugly goals is an asset, not a limitation.

Possibility three, and this is the one that worries me: the material I am working from names no outlet, gives no publication date, and every data point comes from a single source. An analysis built on an unverifiable source must itself carry a discount. I may be dissecting a wrong picture with perfect precision.

A meta only truly lives when someone reckless dares to burn the whole analytical structure. I am writing this piece, and I accept that the arsonist could be me three rounds from now.

My prediction, offered for verification: in the coming national-team window, Vietnam will score more goals from wide crosses and set pieces than from central build-up combinations. And if Olaha Manh Duc starts, he will touch the ball fewer than 25 times in a match.

If that holds, the real good news is not six goals. It is that Kim Sang Sik has enough players to choose a way of playing — and enough players to change it when that way runs out of air at minute 70.

Football in 2026 did not lack matches — it lacked the smell of grass, the sound of shouting, the hunger made visible. These four V.League rounds had the smell of grass. The remaining question is whether there is enough hunger to run into space at minute 85.