When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 137 Rebuilding the Glory of French Football: Our Duty Is Inescapable

The mixed zone after the game was in complete chaos.

A reporter from Marca crowded to the front, microphone almost poking Roy in the face: "Was that coronation gesture revenge against Real Madrid?"

The reporter from AS was not to be outdone: "Are you trying to prove that you are the true king of Real Madrid's youth academy?"

A German journalist from Kicker magazine asked loudly, "Is this a satire of Real Madrid's youth academy system's inability to retain talent?"

A reporter from Mundo Deportivo stood on tiptoe and shouted, "Does this gesture imply that you might join Barcelona in the future?"

More than a dozen media cameras were pointed at Roy at the same time, the flashes so bright they made it hard to open one's eyes.

Roy was surrounded, sweat streaming down his temples.

He looked down at his chest, still wearing his Monaco jersey, then looked up and surveyed the aggressive reporters.

Suddenly, he gently spread his hands, a simple gesture that quieted the noisy scene somewhat.

“I just wanted to do that gesture,” he said calmly, “I didn’t mean anything in particular.”

Seeing the disappointed expressions on the reporters' faces, Roy raised his eyebrows slightly: "But you can interpret it according to your own understanding. Everyone can discuss it, and I accept all interpretations."

"What I'm trying to express isn't important."

He paused for a moment, letting his words settle in the noisy interview area.

The reporters unconsciously moved closer together.

“The important thing,” Roy’s voice was still soft, but each word was enunciated clearly, “is what you’ve interpreted from this? And what message do you want me to convey with this gesture?”

This subtle change in tone left the reporters present exchanging bewildered glances.

They suddenly realized that the celebratory gesture they were so eager to decipher might have been an elaborate puzzle from the very beginning.

Roy glanced at the media group, who had fallen into a brief silence, and nodded slightly. "Every action on the football field is a mirror, often reflecting the expectations of the viewers themselves."

Seeing that the reporters wanted to press for more questions, he made a pause gesture: "I will continue to answer other questions, but regarding this celebratory gesture..."

He glanced at his watch. "Let's stop here for tonight."

L'Équipe's Duruk immediately seized the opportunity to change the subject: "So, about the second leg?"

Although the other reporters were unwilling, they could only adjust their questions accordingly.

Roy smiled slightly, walked back to the center of the interview area, and began to answer the new questions seriously.

At 5:30 a.m. on March 25, the Champions League match report on Sina Sports homepage, titled "Champions League - Roy scores hat-trick at the Bernabéu, Monaco defeats Real Madrid 5-3," was highlighted in red, surpassing the NBA match report, "Yao Ming's merits and demerits are mixed, he scores another double-double, the Rockets narrowly defeat the Raptors in 3 days and 2 overtimes," and ranking second only to the Olympic news, "The Olympic flame is lit in Athens, the torch relay begins."

“新浪体育讯北京时间3月25日3时45分(西班牙当地时间24日20时45分)，在伯纳乌球场进行的欧冠1/4决赛首回合比赛中，摩纳哥客场5-3完胜皇马，19岁的华裔新星罗伊上演帽子戏法，并在进球后做出“自我加冕”的震撼庆祝动作，成为欧冠淘汰赛阶段最年轻的帽子戏法球员。

Statistics show that Monaco covered 8 kilometers more than Real Madrid throughout the match, which was the key to their victory. Roy was named Man of the Match after the game, and in an interview, he humbly said, "This is the most wonderful night of my life, but our journey is not over yet."

“Tonight we played our own football and proved that we deserved this victory. Scoring a hat-trick at the Bernabéu is special, but more importantly, we executed the coach’s tactics perfectly.”

“We need to maintain this form. Back at home, we will prove this isn’t a fluke with the same performance. Monaco is here in the Champions League to show everyone our strength.”

As soon as Roy finished speaking, the Sina Sports reporter nodded.

She recalled the spectacle of Real Madrid's China tour last summer—the crazy fans, the overwhelming media coverage, and the overwhelming strength displayed by the Galacticos.

"We will report the facts as they are."

The reporter put away his recorder, his tone tinged with emotion, "Last year, Chinese fans witnessed just how strong Real Madrid was, but we never expected that you would take them down in the first leg of this year's Champions League."

The reporter from Gazzetta dello Sport immediately followed up: "Roy! Congratulations on your brilliant performance tonight!"

He spoke quickly, "Many people compare this match to 'David defeating Goliath,' what do you think? Is this the greatest comeback of your career?"

Roy suddenly laughed out loud: "That sounds like a curse?"

Seeing the reporter's puzzled expression, he explained, "I'm only nineteen years old, and I have a long football career ahead of me. Today's match was indeed special, but I hope there will be even more exciting matches in the future."

"After all, if we say it's the greatest now, wouldn't it just lead to a decline in the future?"

"As for David defeating Goliath, I don't really like that idea."

He looked directly at the reporter and said, "There are no eternal giants or eternal losers on the football field. Real Madrid is very strong, but we won tonight not by luck, but by preparation, running and execution."

"If I absolutely must use a metaphor..."

"I would prefer to describe tonight's match as the 'Battle of Vienna, the Polish Winged Hussars' charge'."

Seeing the reporter's puzzled expression, Roy patiently explained, "The battle of 1683 was not won by numerical superiority. The Polish cavalry used entirely new tactics to defeat the seemingly powerful Ottoman army."

"Like tonight, we are younger, more active, and more decisive in our tactical execution than Real Madrid. They may have more star players, but our tactical system is more advanced and efficient."

"This wasn't a miracle of the underdog triumphing over the strong; it was a victory for modern football principles. We defeated a seemingly powerful opponent using simpler and more effective tactics."

"Just like the Polish cavalry changed the course of the war with new tactics back then, tonight we have proven that youth and energy can also overcome experience and reputation."

As the reporter listened, he gestured excitedly, but Roy suddenly reached out and gently pressed down on his wrist.

This sudden action startled the reporter, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt.

This subtle gesture meant to the Italians that the matter should be put to rest.

Towards the end of the post-match interview, Roy gave L'Équipe reporter Duruk a few extra minutes.

When the veteran journalist, with whom he had collaborated many times, asked about Monaco's next goals, Roy's eyes suddenly became exceptionally focused.

“To be honest,” he said calmly, but with a firm tone, “I’m fed up with all that ‘every step forward is a victory’ rhetoric.”

In the mixed zone, other reporters who were packing up their equipment involuntarily stopped what they were doing.

"I used to think this was a clever way of putting it—it made you seem humble when you won, and gave you a way to save face when you lost. But now I understand that if you don't even dare to dream of winning, then any so-called victory is just a fluke. Now I must clearly state that we step onto the Champions League stage to win the Champions League title!"

"This is our only goal. The entire team, from the players to the coaching staff, and even the support staff, is working towards this goal."

"Some people question whether Monaco has ever won the Champions League? This puzzles me. Let's go back to 1956, when the two teams that participated in the first Champions League final, Real Madrid and Reims, neither of them ever won the Champions League, because that was the first Champions League final! Why didn't anyone question Real Madrid's lack of a Champions League title back then? I often think, if Reims had won that final, would the history of French football have been completely different?"

"While we cannot speculate, one thing is certain: French football has forever lost the opportunity for generations of fans to proudly say 'we were the first Champions League winners,' and French teams have also lost the opportunity to be inspired by the glory of their predecessors, an opportunity that Real Madrid has seized."

"But if we lose the courage to fight because of this, that would be the biggest regret. We can't change the past, but we can always change the future. I know that if Reims had won back then, even if history had been changed by the smallest amount, Real Madrid today might only have eight Champions League trophies."

"And now, we have won tonight's game, and when we return to the Stade Louis II, we will still fight for the final victory. Because I know clearly that at least one thing is certain: Real Madrid will absolutely not win their tenth Champions League title in the 2003-04 season! I stand here, cherishing every minute of the game, because I know that this may be my and this team's only chance."

"To restore the glory of French football, that is our mission."

As soon as Roy finished speaking, the mixed zone erupted in chaos.

More than a dozen voice recorders were handed forward at the same time, and the flashlights lit up the room.

Duluk of L'Équipe gripped his notebook tightly, knowing all too well the sensation that would ensue in France when this passage was published verbatim on the front page of L'Équipe the next day.

"Oh my god"

"The bars of all France are going to be buzzing tonight," a young reporter from Le Parisien muttered to himself.

A reporter from Mundo Deportivo next to him had already pulled out his phone and was rapidly dictating the headline to headquarters: "Former Real Madrid youth player makes outrageous remarks at the Bernabéu."

The more experienced reporters exchanged glances.

A senior editor at L'Équipe whispered to a photographer, "Get ready to work overtime; tomorrow all the newspapers in France will be following suit."

At the exit of the Bernabéu Stadium parking lot, emotionally charged fans blocked both sides of the road.

Security personnel formed a human wall by holding hands, but several young people still tried to climb over the railings and rush into the driveway.

Zidane's black Mercedes slowly drove by, its windows tinted with dark film.

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze sweeping over the angry fans outside the car window, but he seemed to ignore them.

What bothers him more than tonight's defeat is how to face Roy, who has shone brightly at the Bernabéu, during the next national team training camp.

Ronaldo's red Ferrari followed closely behind.

After the match, Roy's humble manner when he approached him to exchange jerseys reminded him of the young man in Monaco who said, "I will always be a student in front of Rony."

But to his dismay, his knee started to ache again after the game.

Beckham's silver Land Rover slowly drove away from the Bernabéu Stadium, while fans outside the car window continued to shout angrily.

"A blond show-off from England!" someone cursed.

A beer can slammed against the car door with a bang, startling Victoria.

"Why not go to Chelsea? Or Arsenal?"

She turned her head abruptly, her voice filled with long-suppressed emotions, "Chelsea are offering 30% more per week than here."

Beckham simply gripped the steering wheel in silence.

“We’re not happy here, David.” The air between them was terribly thick.

Since those rumors started, their arguments have become more and more frequent.

Raul's blue BMW slowly drove through the chaotic crowd, with shouts coming from outside the car window.

He hesitated for a moment, his right foot wavering between the accelerator and the brake, before finally slamming on the brake.

The car suddenly stopped at the edge of the crowd.

He rolled down the car window, and a cacophony of noise immediately rushed in.

"Captain! Give us an explanation!" The excited fans pounded on the car door.

A dozen or so fans shouted different things at him at the same time—some were angry questions, and some were fervent support.

The little boy timidly handed over the jersey, and Raul took it and found that the hem was already soaked with sweat from being gripped so tightly.

"I'll sign it, don't worry."

He said gently, taking a marker out of his pocket.

Suddenly, the little boy sobbed and asked, "Captain, can we win the next round?"

Raul paused for a moment as he signed his name.

"Of course we'll win."

He gently wiped away the boy's tears and handed the signed jersey back, saying, "I promise you."

The little boy's tearful smile reminded Raul of himself when he first stepped into the Bernabéu ten years ago.

He ruffled the boy's hair, turned around and looked back one last time before getting into the car.

The little boy was clutching his jersey tightly to his chest, as if he were holding some precious treasure.

In that moment, Raul suddenly realized that, compared to those angry adult fans, perhaps this child truly understood what football was.

In the corridor outside the locker room, the smell of champagne mixed with the smell of sweat filled the air.

Miliacho, the French agent known for his shrewdness and composure, was like an excited child at this moment, cupping Roy's face in his hands and giving him a big kiss on each cheek.

"My King!"

Miriam's voice trembled slightly, "You've made history tonight!"

His eyes were shining, as if he could already see countless endorsement contracts with zeros in them.

Tonight, he finally understood: Zidane, though still a football giant, is nearing the end of his career at 32; while this 19-year-old has a future as bright as the stars in the night sky, shining without end.

Roy wiped the kiss marks off his face, his smile as gentle as if someone else had scored a hat-trick at the Bernabéu that night.

"Thank you, Miko."

He said softly, "Without your help, I wouldn't be where I am today."

These words warmed Miliacho's heart.

Over the past six months, Roy has quietly facilitated connections for him, and now most of the players in Monaco's locker room are signed to his company.

Some were young players who didn't originally have agents, while others were persuaded by him to join his team.

But Milia Joel's cell phone in his suit pocket was getting hot.

The three missed calls came from: Florentino's personal assistant, Sanz's son-in-law, and Calderon's personal lawyer.

Everyone offered astonishing terms, hoping he could persuade Roy to join the team this summer.

The prerequisite is that they can be elected as the president of Real Madrid.

The text message from the Israeli Zahavi was disturbingly brief:

"Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, Madrid. I have a generous offer to discuss. Is that convenient? You choose the location."

The phrase "generous advice" kept echoing in his mind.

In the jargon of football agents, this often means a number that is enough to make people betray their principles.

The ink smelled strongly of rubles throughout the text.

"Miko".

Roy suddenly spoke, tapping his manager's tense elbow lightly with his fingertip, "You've been touching your phone the whole time."

The celebratory smile still lingered on his lips, but his eyes had become clear and sharp.

"Is there something you should tell me?"

Miriam opened her mouth, but swallowed the words back.

Seeing his hesitation, Roy suddenly smiled softly.

"Let's talk about it when the time is right."

He patted his agent on the shoulder, "Anyway, we have plenty of time."

That night, in her hotel room in Madrid, Claire casually tossed her Bernabéu match ticket onto the bed and collapsed onto the soft mattress.

She stared at the ceiling and let out a long breath—tonight's game was just too crazy.

She had only closed her eyes to rest for a minute when she suddenly sat up, grabbed her phone, and started making a barrage of calls.

The phone kept ringing, and the names of designers, marketing managers, and factory managers lined up in the call log.

“Listen, the boss just gave a death order,” Claire said with a hint of helplessness. “His new streetwear brand, ‘NO PERMISSION,’ is going to use the outfit he wore tonight at his ‘coronation’ at the Bernabéu.”

The designer on the other end of the phone gasped, "Wait, could it be..."

"That's right!"

Claire's voice was filled with undisguised amazement: "It's that imitation of Napoleon's coronation. It has to be done exactly according to the composition of the painting 'The Coronation of Napoleon,' but with the scene changed to the Bernabéu Stadium."

She carefully recalled the scene: "The key point is the moment when Roy is holding the 'crown' with both hands, about to put it on his head, just like Napoleon in the painting. The background should retain the solemnity of the original painting, but replace Notre Dame Cathedral with the stands of the Bernabéu, and replace all the bishops and nobles with fans wearing football jerseys."

The designer on the other end of the phone gasped in astonishment: "This...this is absolutely a genius idea!"

"That's right!"

Claire's voice trembled slightly.

Her young boss was able to perform such a historically significant celebration during the euphoric moment after scoring a goal.

This is no longer just a pose; it's a work of performance art!
Claire recalled the phone call Roy had made from the locker room earlier. In the background, the cheers of champagne splashing and the howls of his teammates rose and fell, but they couldn't drown out his playful and excited tone.

Like a genius teenager who has just successfully pulled off a prank, speaking rapidly and with every word precious:

"Claire! Guess what brilliant idea I just had?"

The voice on the other end of the phone trembled slightly with excitement, yet held a sly clarity: "How about we bring 'The Coronation of Napoleon' to the stadium? Yes, right now! I can't let the people of Madrid see my crown pose for nothing; we have to make them spit out euros."

"But we must blur all the white-clad spectators, using a motion blur effect to turn the fans into an abstract wave of people. All the jersey details should be removed, and only the outline of the Bernabéu lights should be left in the stands."

"This way, the stadium atmosphere is preserved while avoiding Real Madrid's copyright infringement?"

“Exactly!” Claire agreed excitedly. “We want to create an effect where everyone can tell it’s the Bernabéu, but the lawyers can’t find any concrete evidence. Like…”

She suddenly lowered her voice and chuckled mischievously: "It's like Florentino knew perfectly well what we were alluding to, but could only stare helplessly!"

"you are so bad!"

Roy exclaimed, "Ha! Will Florentino be so angry when he sees this that he'll buy the Louvre?"

"Dear boss, I'm afraid he can't afford it."

Where is your sense of humor?

Claire couldn't help but laugh out loud: "But if you really anger him to this extent..."

She imitated Florentino's tone:
"Immediately change the portrait of Judas in Leonardo da Vinci's 'The Last Supper' to Roy's!"

"This is the Claire I know."

She hurried to the window, gazing at the distant silhouette of the Bernabéu Stadium, and murmured to herself, "My God, we are witnessing the birth of someone..."

"If you ask me, why bother with Florentino Pérez's election for Real Madrid president? He should just let this bastard be the one—a ruthless player and a ruthless businessman, he's got it all."

(Take a day off. I wrote too much yesterday and my brain is foggy, so I'm prone to writing low-quality content.)

(End of this chapter)