When it comes to the 9.5, there is a familiar moment when team news drops and confusion sets in. Is he starting as the striker today, the attacking midfielder, or drifting in from wide. The match begins and the answer remains unclear. He touches the ball in good areas, links play, presses, and moves intelligently, yet he never quite seems to own a zone.
Modern football struggles with players like this. They are not obvious specialists. They do not dominate a single column on the data sheet. Instead, they exist between roles.
Kai Havertz and Christopher Nkunku represent this problem perfectly. They are not target men who pin centre-backs, and they are not traditional number tens who slow the game down and dictate tempo. They are not touchline wingers either, tasked with isolating full-backs and beating them repeatedly.
They are connectors. And in an era built around rigid positional grids and clearly defined responsibilities, connectors often have no natural home. This is why they feel simultaneously essential and awkward, too good to leave out, too difficult to define.
These players sit somewhere between a striker and an attacking midfielder, often referred to as a “nine-and-a-half.” Their value does not come from physical dominance or constant ball involvement, but from timing, movement, and decision-making.
They thrive in tight spaces, particularly just outside the penalty area where defenders hesitate between stepping out or holding the line. In these crowded zones, they can turn quickly, combine with one-touch passes, or arrive late for finishes. They are especially dangerous in transition. When a game is open and defensive structures are broken, their intelligence allows them to find gaps others do not see. In slow, settled possession, their influence is harder to quantify.
Positional ambiguity is central to their game. They drift into half-spaces, pulling defenders out of shape without necessarily touching the ball. This confuses marking schemes but also frustrates systems that demand fixed reference points. Unlike specialists who are judged on one output, goals or assists, the nine-and-a-half contributes across phases. That makes them useful in many situations, but rarely indispensable in one clearly defined role.
Kai Havertz has often been criticised for not looking like a conventional striker. He is tall but does not dominate aerially. He starts centrally but drifts wide. His goal numbers fluctuate. What this criticism misses is the nature of his role. Havertz functions primarily as an enabler. His movement is designed to distort defensive lines rather than finish attacks himself.
By drifting into wide or deeper areas, he pulls centre-backs and holding midfielders out of position. This creates space for runners attacking from wide areas or from midfield. His value lies in what he removes rather than what he adds.
Defensively, he offers something many attacking players do not. He presses relentlessly, tracks runners, and allows his team to sustain pressure high up the pitch. This makes him attractive to managers who want control without sacrificing work rate.
Havertz often sacrifices personal statistics to keep the system balanced. In effect, he plays as a false nine who behaves like a defensive midfielder in the final third. His contribution is structural, not spectacular.
Christopher Nkunku presents a different problem. Where Havertz accepts a supporting role, Nkunku wants to be decisive. He is a natural goal scorer, proven by his output in Germany, but he lacks a stable positional home in rigid systems.
As a lone striker, he struggles against physically dominant centre-backs. He does not consistently hold the ball with his back to goal, which limits his usefulness as a focal point.
Played wide, his weaknesses are different. He prefers to drift inside rather than attack the outside channel, which narrows the pitch and reduces spacing. He is effective in combination, but not explosive enough to stretch defences on his own.
As a traditional number ten, he tends to think like a finisher. He looks to shoot early rather than orchestrate play, which can slow down build-up and frustrate teammates.
At his best, Nkunku is a second striker, operating off a physical presence, finding space, and arriving late in the box. The problem is that elite teams rarely play with two strikers anymore. Without that structure, he becomes a utility player, moved from role to role without rhythm.
Unlocking players like Havertz and Nkunku requires systems that tolerate ambiguity. Formations with two advanced midfielders behind a striker, such as modern box midfields or 3-2-2-3 shapes, give them space to operate without isolating them.
They also need freedom. Strict positional instructions limit their strengths. They function best in fluid front lines where movement is encouraged and roles overlap.
Partnerships matter. Nkunku needs a physical striker to play off, someone who can occupy defenders and create space. Havertz needs runners, wide players or midfielders attacking the spaces his movement opens.
These players do not bend systems around themselves. They amplify systems that are already flexible.
Kai Havertz and Christopher Nkunku are not failures of talent. They are mismatches between player type and modern structure. They make good teams better, but they rarely rescue dysfunctional ones.
In a game increasingly driven by data, they remain difficult to quantify. Their influence is felt more than it is measured.
The question, then, is not whether they are good enough. It is whether managers are willing to accept ambiguity, loosen rigid roles, and build systems that allow intelligence and movement to matter as much as specialization.
