When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 114 This "Roy" Isn't So Cold
On the morning of December 3, 2003, the doorbell broke the tranquility of the apartment.

Roy rubbed his sleepy eyes and pressed the intercom button.

“It’s me,” Claire’s voice came through the speaker. “Nike has sent you the finished product of your promotional video. Want to see how handsome you are?”

Roy opened the door, and Claire burst in, waving a CD in her hand.

“I guarantee you’ll be amazed,” she said with a smile, heading straight for the projector in the living room.

“Let’s see,” Roy shrugged.

As the disc was pushed into the machine, the television screen lit up.

The scene begins at Roy's apartment.

He saw himself sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers slowly tracing the pattern of the red sneakers.

Suddenly, the scene cuts to halfway, showing another "self" sitting in a dimly lit room—a pistol and several rows of bullets are neatly arranged on the table. He is slowly and skillfully inspecting the weapon, and the only sound in the quiet room is the occasional slight clanging of metal parts.

The walls were covered with photos and maps, like a war room for a professional assassin.

The camera then shifts to the training field.

On TV, Roy is dribbling the ball, his chrome studs grinding against the dew-kissed grass.

Interspersed throughout the footage are scenes inside a Nike factory, where craftsmen are wiping the silver Swoosh logo with cotton cloths, the metallic color gleaming coldly under the lights.

Then an underground gun workshop appeared, where a gunsmith was adjusting the rifling of a sniper rifle and nodded in satisfaction: "Perfect."

"Killer Roy" pushed open the door and entered, the hem of his trench coat billowing up as he tossed an envelope onto the table.

The gunsmith grinned: "Nobody knows."

The next second, the sharp sound of a silenced pistol rang out, and the gunsmith fell.

Roy expressionlessly put away his gun and turned to leave.

In slow motion, Roy suddenly changed direction on the field, his studs lifting patches of turf.

Meanwhile, "Killer Roy" set up a sniper rifle on the rooftop, aiming the scope at the target in the square.

As the sneakers screeched to a halt, leaving marks on the grass, the target in the scope emerged from the extended Lincoln, surrounded by bodyguards.

Roy takes a shot!

The gunshot and the net trembled simultaneously.

The ball goes into the net, and the target falls to the ground.

After scoring, Roy simply bent down to adjust his shoelaces, while Roy in his trench coat was also adjusting his tie.

The opposing defender stood frozen on the grass, while bodyguards frantically searched around on the other side.

Finally, it was night.

Roy put the sneakers covered in grass clippings into the cabinet, and the assassin Roy disassembled the sniper rifle into parts.

A line of text appeared on the screen: "Mercurial Vapor II - Calmness is the most violent flame".

The background music for the entire film is a melancholic harmonica melody that inexplicably reminds one of the movie "Léon: The Professional".

Claire turned to Roy: "How is it?"

"I suggest that you hire Luc Besson to shoot the next ad, and have him act alongside Natalie Portman."

She whistled a cheerful tune:
"Honestly, if you ever retire, Hollywood will be scrambling to get you."

Roy stared at the frozen screen, rubbing his brow in exasperation: "I suggest cutting out the last part. What if UEFA really thinks I'm doing this as a side job?"

“Probably not.” Claire shook her head, feigning seriousness. “But I’ll probably have to give you a separate ‘killer clause’.”

November 4, 2003, Ligue 12, Round 17.

The team's locker room.

As Morientes tied his shoelaces, he turned to Roy and asked, "Hey, wanna come to Barcelona for El Clásico on Saturday?"

Roy, without looking up, adjusted his shin guards and casually replied, "Fernando, I didn't buy a ticket."

Morientes' eyes widened: "Are you kidding me?"

"Real Madrid haven't won a league game at Camp Nou in twenty years, this game could rewrite history!"

"Did you see what Ronaldo said? He said he wanted to score at Camp Nou and end Real Madrid's 20-year winning streak there."

Roy replied without looking up, "He seems quite confident. But Barcelona just lost 1-5 to Malaga, they're definitely burning with anger right now."

"Forget it!" Morientes waved his hand dismissively. "Barcelona in their current form? Their defense is as flimsy as paper. Ronaldo alone could break them down."

"Too."

Roy mimicked the exaggerated headline style of Mundo Deportivo, deliberately drawing out the words: "Rijkaard! Van Gaal's ghost is back, once again looming over the Camp Nou!"

A burst of laughter erupted in the locker room.

Juli laughed so hard he slapped his thigh: "My God, your tone is exactly like those reporters!"

“That’s right,” Roy winked and continued in an exaggerated announcer’s voice, “Now for a breaking news report—Barcelona fans are searching for their missing attacking line at Camp Nou!”

Morientes: "So, are you going?"

"Thanks, but I'd better not go."

"Why? This is the El Clásico!"

He stared into Roy's eyes, trying to find the answer.

As a player who came through Real Madrid's youth academy, Roy's indifferent attitude towards Real Madrid was something he couldn't understand.

“I’d rather get some rest,” Roy said, looking up with a faint smile. “Besides, I’m more used to playing on the pitch than watching from the stands.”

Drogba ran into Roy in the players' tunnel and grinned, "Kid, I heard you guys are undefeated so far? That's it for tonight. We won't let you win the title easily this season."

Roy shrugged: "What, Didier, can't you handle this on your own without Malouda's help?"

The two smiled at each other and patted each other on the shoulder.

As soon as the match began, Marseille, buoyed by the cheers of their home fans, launched a fierce attack on Monaco's defense.

Drogba was like a tank, constantly attacking Monaco's defense.

Despite their best efforts, Squillaci and Abidal were unable to withstand his impact.

Drogba received the ball several times on the edge of the penalty area, either turning and shooting forcefully or using his body to push past defenders before passing the ball, putting Monaco's defense under constant threat.

In the 43rd minute, Drogba received a pass from his teammate on the right wing. Facing Abidal's defense, he accelerated and used his body to push past his opponent before sweeping a low cross across the face of goal.

Mido arrived in a flash and, before goalkeeper Roma could rush out, slotted the ball into the net! 1-0!

Marseille fans erupted in cheers, while Monaco players looked somewhat dejected. Manager Deschamps waved repeatedly from the sidelines, signaling his team to press forward and attack.

After halftime, Monaco adjusted their tactics and strengthened their combination play on the flanks.

In the 49th minute, Roy received the ball on the edge of the penalty area. Facing Cristanvar's marking, he suddenly flicked the ball with his heel, creating space before unleashing a left-footed shot that nestled into the top corner! 1-1!

This imaginative goal left Marseille goalkeeper Renger helpless, and the Monaco bench erupted in cheers.

Just eight minutes later, Roy struck again.

Roy dribbled into the penalty area, and Cristanval brought him down with a vicious sliding tackle from behind.

The referee immediately blew his whistle and pointed decisively to the penalty spot!

Roy, lying on the ground, slowly got up and brushed the grass clippings off his shorts. He stared at Cristanvar, who had previously played for Monaco and Barcelona, ​​and a cold smile suddenly appeared on his lips: "Hey, buddy, do you know why Barcelona didn't want you?"

These words pierced Cristanval's heart like a knife. The French defender turned pale and rushed forward to argue.

The referee and players from both sides quickly separated the two.

Christian Vale waved his arms angrily, cursing incessantly.

Roy had regained his signature calm expression; he adjusted his shin guards and walked calmly to the penalty spot.

Roy placed the ball steadily on the penalty spot and took three steps back to stand still.

The entire Vélodrome stadium fell silent instantly, with 50,000 Marseille fans booing deafeningly and whistling loudly everywhere.

Roy's gaze remained fixed on the lower right corner of the goal, without even glancing at goalkeeper Lund.

He took a deep breath and started running.

The pace suddenly slowed down in the last step, and a clever pause allowed Lunja to move to the left ahead of time.

Just as the goalkeeper shifted his weight, Roy gently pushed with the inside of his right foot, sending the ball in a precise arc, rolling along the grass into the bottom right corner.

Although Lunger tried his best to make the save, it was too late.

2-1! Monaco takes the lead!

After scoring, Roy didn't celebrate wildly; he simply turned and jogged slowly toward the center circle, raising an eyebrow at Cristanval along the way.

Monaco takes the lead! Marseille players surround the referee to protest, but to no avail.

In the 61st minute, Monaco pressed their advantage. Rothen took a corner kick, and Squillaci outjumped Meyette to head the ball into the net, 1-3! Marseille coach Perrin looked livid, while Deschamps clenched his fist in celebration.

In the 72nd minute, Marseille still hadn't given up.

Merem crossed from the right, Drogba leaped high and headed the ball past Abidal into the net, 2-3!

Marseille fans' hopes were rekindled, but Monaco quickly dashed their illusions.

In the 81st minute, substitute Ribery broke through on the left wing and delivered a low cross into the penalty area, where Giuly made a quick run and slotted the ball into the net, making it 2-4!

比赛彻底失去悬念。2003年12月6日，西甲第15轮国家德比，皇马客场2-1力克巴萨，终结联赛20年诺坎普不胜纪录。

Carlos opened the scoring in the 37th minute with a powerful shot from 25 yards out, and Ronaldo calmly slotted home a cross from Carlos in the 74th minute to extend the lead. Kluivert pulled one back with a header in the 81st minute.

In this match, Real Madrid's six superstars all shone, while Barcelona suffered a bitter defeat due to their conservative tactics.

2003 12 Month 10 Day.

In the final round of the Champions League Group A, Bayern Munich narrowly defeated Anderlecht 1-0 at home, with Makaay scoring a penalty to help the team advance as the second-placed team in the group.

Lyon defeated Celtic 3-2, with Juninho scoring a free-kick and then a penalty to seal the victory and help the French giants top the group and advance to the next round.

With this, both Monaco and Lyon, two French Ligue 1 teams, have topped their Champions League group stage, achieving the best result in Ligue 1 history.

In the final round of the Champions League Group B, Arsenal defeated Lokomotiv Moscow 2-0 at home. Henry returned from injury and assisted Pires and Ljungberg to score, and the Gunners won their third consecutive game to advance as group winners.

Inter Milan were held to a 1-1 draw by Dynamo Kyiv away from home. Adani scored a header in the 68th minute, but Rincon equalized in the 85th minute.

Inter Milan squandered several scoring opportunities in this match, with Vieri wasting a chance to win before the final whistle. Ultimately, Lokomotiv Moscow advanced due to their superior head-to-head record, sending Inter to the UEFA Cup.

In the final round of the Champions League Group C, a do-or-die match took place, with Deportivo La Coruña managing a 2-2 draw away to PSV Eindhoven, narrowly advancing on head-to-head record.

Robben scored and assisted to give the home team a 2-0 lead, but Deportivo La Coruña's substitute Luque orchestrated a dramatic comeback: first scoring directly from a free kick, then assisting Pandiani to equalize.

In stoppage time, Heselink's header hit the post, and Deportivo escaped a close call.

In the same group, Monaco defeated AEK Athens 2-0, with Roy providing assists for Rothen and Giuly to score. Monaco secured the top spot in the group with a perfect record of six wins in six games.

In the final round of the Champions League Group D, Juventus thrashed Olympiacos 7-0 at home, setting a new record for the largest margin of victory in the Champions League.

Trezeguet scored twice, with his second goal becoming the 3000th goal in Champions League history. Maresca shone throughout the match with one goal and three assists, while Del Piero came off the bench and scored a lightning-fast goal.

In another match, Real Sociedad drew 1-1 with Galatasaray, with Hakan Suker and Xabi Alonso scoring for their respective teams. Real Sociedad advanced to the round of 16 as the second-placed team in their group.

The locker room erupted in cheers.

The players rushed in one after another, their faces still wet with sweat as they collided with each other.

Some people were laughing, some were shouting, and the sounds echoed and crashed against the wall.

Roy leaned against the locker, his chest heaving, watching his teammates go crazy.

The champagne cork suddenly popped off and hit the ceiling, spraying foam everywhere.

Clothes were tossed around, and several towels spun in the air.

Juli jumped onto the bench and started singing something at the top of his lungs, completely off-key.

Rothen spun around barefoot on the wet floor, almost slipping, but was pulled back by someone next to him.

In the corner, several substitutes huddled together, jumping around with their arms around each other's shoulders.

Goalkeeper Roma's hair was completely wet, with water droplets dripping down his hair.

As the temperature rose, the mirror became covered with a thick layer of fog.

Someone was pounding on the cabinet door with their fists, the rhythm getting faster and faster.

Shouts, laughter, and slapping sounds mingled together, making it impossible to tell whose voices were whose.

Roy looked down at his sneakers, where a few blades of grass were still stuck in the cleats.

He reached out and brushed away the blades of grass, and when he looked up, he met his teammate's gaze.

They didn't need to say anything; they all knew what it meant.

The locker room door was pushed open, and Deschamps walked in slowly.

He was wearing that familiar black leather jacket, with slight signs of wear on the collar.

With his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed naturally, he exuded an aura that was impossible to ignore.

"Quiet."

He clapped his hands, the large knuckles of his palms making a crisp sound.

The sound wasn't loud, but it was like a whistle on the training field, instantly silencing the locker room.

"Listen up! We've made it to the Champions League knockout stage! Six wins out of six! A perfect record! This isn't luck, it's skill! It's belief! This is the glory you earned with your blood and sweat!"

Roy was the first to nod, and said softly, "That's right."

The sound was soft, yet exceptionally clear in the quiet locker room.

A chorus of agreement erupted in the locker room: "That's right!" "That's exactly it!"

Deschamps' voice suddenly rose, like a sharp sword drawn from its sheath slicing through the locker room's silence:

"From today onwards, no one can underestimate Monaco! Even though we are already the Ligue 1 champions, those arrogant commentators still regard us as a stepping stone for the big teams! But look at the standings, how many so-called European giants have already slunk home! And we, we are the team with the most impressive record among the sixteen teams!"

"Now, the spotlight of the entire European football world will be on you! Scouts from every top club are frantically recording your performances! Starting tomorrow, the training ground will be packed with reporters, hotel doors will be stuffed with invitations, and your phone will be ringing non-stop late at night! This is the price of fame, this is the price of success!"

"But more importantly—the opportunity has arrived! A real opportunity! An opportunity to stand on Europe's biggest stage, an opportunity to make the world remember this team. Those stars who only appeared in magazines may become their opponents. Those stadiums that were once only seen on television may now become your battlefield. We are about to step onto the greatest stadium in Europe and face the world's top stars!"

“Look down at the grass clippings in your cleats; that’s the turf from AEK Athens’ home stadium. Next time, your cleats might be stuck with grass clippings from Old Trafford, dirt from the Bernabéu, or the turf from the San Siro! Who knows? But this is the stage we’ve always dreamed of!”

“Every match could completely change your career! Winning a match could mean a million-euro contract or a call-up to a top club; losing a match could mean lifelong regret or missing out forever! That’s the cruelty of the Champions League knockout stage, that’s the reality of professional football!”

"After this season, some of you will wear jerseys from top clubs and stand on bigger stages. But remember, no matter where you are in the future, the brotherhood in this locker room today will never change! This moment will never come again!"

"Celebrate today! Because starting tomorrow, every match could be the last! Give it your all every minute! Give it your all every time you touch the ball! There are no second chances, no going back in the Champions League knockout stage!"

"Six wins out of six is ​​just the beginning! Let's keep going! Let's unleash a red storm on the European stage! Let all of Europe tremble for us! Let the world remember the name Monaco! Because from today onwards, we are no longer a small team, we are a new force in European football! We are the invincible Monaco!"

"Because from today onwards, every game could be the last."

“I remember many years ago.”

His gaze swept over a face in the locker room, as if he were seeing another locker room, "I was in Marseille, and we stood in the same place."

Roy noticed that the coach's right hand was trembling slightly, something he rarely saw.

"Everyone says we're just a stepping stone for Milan."

Deschamps' voice suddenly turned somber. "The newspapers are saying 'The cannons are ready for Milan,' and the TV commentators are betting we won't last past halftime."

In the corner, Caniggia nodded slightly; he had watched the match.

Morientes rubbed his chin; the Spaniard knew all too well the feeling of being looked down upon.

“But in the end,” a complex smile appeared in Deschamps’ eyes, “we were the ones who lifted the trophy!”

Deschamps' voice suddenly choked up. He raised his hand to wipe his face, his knuckles lingering for a moment at the corner of his eye.

“We did lift the trophy,” he said softly, as if talking to himself, “and no one could question our strength in the night at the Munich Olympic Stadium.”

The locker room was eerily quiet; even breathing was hushed.

But later

Deschamps suddenly twitched the corners of his mouth, revealing a smile that wasn't really a smile. "The newspapers are full of reports about drug tests, match-fixing, and all those rumors that can never be explained."

His gaze swept over the Champions League logo on the jersey. "Sometimes I think, what if..."

"never mind."

Deschamps suddenly straightened up, his voice becoming firm again, "At least that night, on the field, we were clean."

He slammed his hand on the table. "This time, all we want everyone to remember is football."

"And our goal is..."

Deschamps' voice echoed in the locker room as his gaze swept over every young and determined face.

When he said, "Our goal is...", he suddenly stopped, as if searching for the most accurate expression.

Roy sat on a bench in the corner.

He raised his head, his voice not loud but exceptionally clear: "Keep walking, until we can't walk anymore."

This sentence is like a stone thrown into a calm lake.

Deschamps' lips curled up slightly as he looked at Roy and nodded slowly: "That's right, keep going."

His voice was deep and powerful, “Walking until the Bernabéu’s grass wore down our cleats, walking until the San Siro’s lights dazzled our eyes, walking…”

In the locker room, the breathing of more than twenty people rose and fell, yet it was surprisingly harmonious.

Veteran Caniggia suddenly laughed and patted Evra on the shoulder: "Let's go then, lads."

The draw for the UEFA Champions League Round of 16 will take place in two days, and the eyes of the entire European continent are focused on this grand event that will determine the knockout stage matchups.

As the most intimidating team among the second-placed teams in the group, Bayern Munich, despite their fluctuating form this season, remains the opponent that the group leaders least want to draw.

This Bundesliga powerhouse narrowly advanced in the final group stage match thanks to Kahn's heroic saves. After the game, even club legend Beckenbauer couldn't help but criticize: "With this kind of performance, we won't go far in the knockout stage."

Even so, when the official websites of major European clubs begin to analyze potential opponents, Bayern Munich's name is always listed separately, labeled as "the most dangerous second-tier team".

Real Madrid's sporting director, Jorge Valdano, made the most representative statement: "We don't want to face the Germans so early. The reason? It's simple, just because they are German."

This frankness reveals a common concern among Europe's top clubs.

Although Bayern Munich and Real Madrid have a superior head-to-head record in recent years (6 wins and 2 losses), the Galacticos have emerged victorious in two of their three knockout stage encounters.

If these two old rivals meet in the round of 16, it will undoubtedly become the most eye-catching showdown of this round.

But without a doubt, all the group leaders are secretly praying:
Please, please don't draw Bayern Munich. Nobody wants to step onto the pitch of the Munich Olympic Stadium in the first knockout round, facing this formidable German machine.

(End of this chapter)