When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 140 The Beginning of a New Era!

March 30, 2004, Clairefontaine training ground.

During the French team's tactical meeting, head coach Santini is adjusting the lineup on the tactical board.

“Considering the strength of the Dutch midfield,” Santini said, “I plan to have Henry on the left and Roy on the right.”

Trezeguet's face immediately darkened.

Thuram was about to speak up for Trezeguet when his gaze swept between Henry and Roy, and he swallowed his words back.

He thought to himself: Henry just won the French Footballer of the Year award, and is second only to Nedved and Zidane in the Ballon d'Or and FIFA World Player of the Year awards; Roy is only 19 years old, but he is already the top scorer in the Champions League, and the whole of Europe is talking about this superstar.

Both of these players are more deserving of a starting position than Rezeguet.

Trezeguet performed well at Juventus, but compared to Henry's central role at Arsenal and Roy's amazing performance in the Champions League this season, he was indeed a step behind.

Thuram sighed inwardly and decided it was best not to get involved.

Henry kept his head down and didn't say anything.

At this moment, Roy spoke up: "Coach, look at the Netherlands' midfield configuration—Davies and Van Bommel are both well-known tough guys, and on the bench sits a young, ruthless machine like De Jong. Although their defense is fast, Heiting is not tall enough overall, and Cocu is already 34 years old."

He paused for a moment, then continued his analysis: "If we start David (Trezeguet), his 1.88-meter height is just right to suppress the Dutch central defensive pairing. Moreover, his ability to receive the ball with his back to goal, which he developed at Juventus, can help us stabilize the attacking third and create more space for Henry and me."

Trezeguet's expression immediately brightened.

"More importantly, both of the Dutch full-backs like to push forward, especially Zenden. If Henry and I both play on the wings, there will be no one to hold their center-backs back in the middle. Having David up front will help limit their defensive line from pushing forward."

Trezeguet couldn't help but nod upon hearing this.

"Instead of letting our attack be strangled by the Dutch midfield, we should first solidify our attacking pivot and then look for opportunities. Forwards like David are the most troublesome for technically gifted defenses."

Roy smiled: "As for me, I can definitely play left winger. This way, I can limit Zenden's attacking runs and also combine with Lizarazu. I often dropped back to receive the ball in Monaco, so this position is not a problem for me."

He turned to Santini: "And as you know, I played as a winger in the youth team. Although I mainly play as a striker now, my defensive awareness is still there. Van der Meyde is very fast, but I'm confident I can contain him."

Upon hearing this, Trezeguet couldn't help but interject: "Roy is right. Those two Dutch midfielders are tough opponents, and we need to diversify our attacking methods. If I draw attention in the attacking third, Henry and Roy will have more space."

Roy nodded: "That's right. It's better to have Davis and Van Bommel marking David than to have them directly choke out me and Henry. This will make our attack more varied."

Santini frowned: "Then you'll play left winger? But that would leave Rothen and Micoud in different positions."

Rothen leaned back in his chair and shrugged indifferently: "I have no problem with it, it's all about playing football anyway."

Miku's expression clearly darkened.

This Werder Bremen midfielder finally made it into the national team, only to find himself facing these big-name stars who arbitrarily changed his position.

Henry, Roy, Trezeguet—each of them was arranging tactics according to their own ideas.

"That's enough," Miku muttered under his breath.

He thought to himself: These big-name stars can play wherever they want, while we fringe national team players can't even secure a regular position. If I had known it would be like this, I would have preferred not to come to the national team and suffer this humiliation.

Santini noticed Miku's emotions, but his current concern was how to balance the needs of several key players.

He sighed and continued drawing new running routes on the tactics board.

Henry remained a detached observer of the discussion.

He noticed the grateful look in Trezeguet's eyes when he looked at Roy, and suddenly understood why Trezeguet and he had become distant recently.

“I see,” Henry thought. “Looks like someone did some ‘work’ in here.”

He cleared his throat and said calmly, "Coach, considering my recent busy schedule, I don't need to start in this warm-up match. It'll be a good opportunity for everyone to try out different tactical combinations. I'll just come on as a substitute to maintain my form."

The meeting room suddenly fell silent.

Everyone turned to look at Henry, including Miku, who was sulking.

“Arsenal also have the FA Cup and Champions League this month,” Henry continued. “Wenger specifically told me to pay attention to my physical conditioning. Besides, pre-season friendlies are meant to assess the squad, aren’t they?”

After he finished speaking, he gave Roy a meaningful look.

That look seemed to say, "I'm letting you have your way," but it also seemed to be a warning, "Don't go too far."

Henry knew perfectly well: Arsenal were about to face a grueling schedule of four matches in nine days, including the FA Cup semi-final against Manchester United and the Champions League rematch against Chelsea. Wenger specifically instructed him to manage his energy wisely.

Furthermore, by voluntarily stepping down, he not only appeared magnanimous but also served as a warning to Roy.

There's no need to push his core player to the limit in a warm-up match.

Govou and Coupet, along with several other Lyon players, exchanged glances, their faces showing complete indifference.

“They can arrange things however they want,” Govou whispered to Coupe beside him. “We’re just here to make up the numbers anyway.”

Coupet curled his lip: "The Real Madrid clique has fallen apart, the Arsenal clique, the Juventus clique, and now there's a Monaco clique. We Lyon guys are lucky to even get a substitute spot."

The two exchanged a smile, both with expressions of anticipation.

Ge Wu even casually crossed his legs, almost as if he was about to take out some sunflower seeds to crack open.

“If you ask me,” Cooper said in a low voice, “let them argue. We’ll just watch from the sidelines, and when they’re done arguing, we’ll go up and kick the ball around a bit and that’ll be it.”

Gowu nodded: "Anyway, we won't be the ones taking the blame in the end."

As he spoke, he leaned back in his chair, adopting an attitude of indifference.

The French team has finalized its starting lineup.

Rothen was placed on the bench, and Micoud played as a left winger.

Santini believes that Rothen has mainly played as an attacking midfielder for Monaco recently, while Micoud, who rarely gets selected for the national team, should be given a chance to prove himself.

Roy didn't say anything.

He understands Micoud's abilities—this Werder Bremen midfielder is technically gifted, but lacks exposure.

While Rothen's performance in the Champions League was indeed more impressive, it was really unnecessary to hold a grudge against Micoud over such a small matter.

“It’s all just a transitional lineup anyway,” Roy thought. “Once Zidane comes back, these positions will have to be reshuffled.”

He nodded to Miku as a greeting.

Miku was somewhat surprised, and his tense expression eased slightly.

The French team's training session had just ended, and Trezeguet and Thuram sat on the sidelines, chatting with Roy about last week's Champions League match.

“We were right across from you in the stands at the Bernabéu that day,” Trezeguet said. “Your celebration after the third goal went wild. Honestly, I’ve never seen a 19-year-old player act so arrogantly at the Bernabéu.”

“That gesture is still being discussed in the Turin media,” Thuram added. “They’re saying you crowned yourself at the Bernabéu. Just two days ago, Tuttosport was analyzing the political implications of that gesture.”

Roy shrugged: "Real Madrid fans booed me the whole game, and that gesture was their response. To be honest, I wanted to go even further."

Trezeguet: "To be honest, the journalists in Turin must be ecstatic right now. They voted you as the first Golden Boy winner, and now you're wearing a hat-trick at the Bernabéu. It's like the best advertisement for their award."

“That’s right,” Thuram nodded. “Every time you score a goal, the editor-in-chief of Turin Sports Daily is laughing in his sleep. They’ve made the right bet on the Golden Boy award; its prestige will depend on your future performance.”

Roy smiled and said, "Then I need to score a few more goals."

“The more you score, the happier Torino will be,” Trezeguet said. “It’s a win-win situation. The more famous you become, the more valuable their awards become. If you ask me, all the young players in Europe are eyeing this award now.”

"What did you and Zidane talk about after the game?" Trezeguet asked.

Roy smiled and said, "We just chatted briefly. He seemed pretty relaxed and even joked that I should play like that in the national team. But..."

"But what?" Thuram asked curiously.

“I told him I exchanged jerseys with Ronaldo first,” Roy shrugged. “He immediately gave me a stern look and said something like, ‘Young people these days don’t know how to respect their seniors.’”

Trezeguet burst out laughing: "Zidane is jealous? That's really interesting."

"What could he say?" Thuram laughed. "If you ask me, Real Madrid lost because their midfield was like a sieve. I counted, you had at least five attacks that broke through the midfield directly."

“Guti doesn’t know how to defend at all,” Trezeguet said. “I saw him just strolling around the whole game. Beckham was the same; all he did was cross. When we conceded the fourth goal, he didn’t even bother to run back.”

Late on March 30, the French team's chartered plane landed at Amsterdam Airport.

A light rain was falling outside the cabin, and the players wrapped their coats tighter and quickly boarded the bus.

The bus was well-heated, and the French team members quickly relaxed.

Sagnol leaned back in the row and deliberately raised his voice: "I heard the Dutch media is still hyping up the Golden Boy award?"

“That’s right,” Giuly chimed in, mimicking the Dutch tone, “They say Van der Vaart should have won the award.”

Makelele scoffed: "That kid is padding his stats in the Eredivisie, while Roy is carrying the whole team in the Champions League. How can you compare them?"

A burst of laughter came from the back row.

Trezeguet suddenly remembered something: "Oh right, did you see Van der Vaart's interview the other day? When the reporter asked him for his thoughts, his face was so sour."

He made an exaggerated face, "It's like swallowing ten lemons whole."

Roy shook his head and didn't reply, just staring at the streetlights flashing past the window, not joining in his teammates' teasing.

The so-called "competition" between him and Van der Vaart may only exist in the Dutch people's own imagination, like a puppy chasing its own tail, spinning happily but in vain.

The first half of the game unfolded in a dull, back-and-forth battle.

The Dutch displayed their signature pressing style from the start, with Davies and Van Bommel acting like two moving walls, effectively blocking the French midfield's passing lanes.

Trezeguet was also entangled.
Roy appeared isolated and helpless in the attacking third.

In the 7th minute, he was brutally knocked down from the side by Davis on his first attempt to receive the ball.

The Dutch midfielder, nicknamed "The Boar," didn't even wait for the referee to blow the whistle before roughly pulling Roy up, his eyes behind his glasses full of provocation.

"Welcome to the senior team competition, kid."

Davis's hoarse voice carried a hint of sarcasm.

Roy brushed the grass clippings off his jersey and stared directly at Davies' glasses: "Looks like Juventus is a youth team. They sent you to Barcelona's senior team when you reached the required age?"

Davis's face stiffened.

Although he did help Barcelona stop their losing streak after joining the club, the memory of being sold off by Juventus still annoyed him.

He leaned closer to Roy and whispered, "Kid, you're the best."

The referee immediately ran over and warned Davis.

The Dutchman could only walk away sullenly, giving Roy a fierce glare as he left.

A few minutes later, Roy dropped back to midfield to receive the ball.

Davis immediately clung to him, sticking to him like a plaster.

Roy suddenly hooked his right foot, followed by a bicycle-like feint, and took advantage of Davis's momentary shift in balance to accelerate and break free.

"then!"

After Roy passed the ball to Trezeguet, he turned to Davis and made a gesture of cupping his hands in front of his eyes but not being able to see clearly—clearly mocking him for being unable to defend despite wearing glasses.

The French fans in the stands burst into laughter.

Davis was furious, his face turning pale. He was about to rush forward to argue when Van Bommel grabbed him, saying, "Don't fall for it, he did it on purpose!"

In the 12th minute, Roy had just received Makelele's long pass when he was intercepted by Heitinga and Cocu closing in on him.

The Dutch immediately launched a lightning counterattack, with Van der Vaart's dribbling speed displaying exceptional agility.

This Ajax starlet played exceptionally hard today.

Just last year, he and Roy were strong contenders for the Golden Boy award, but as the award ceremony date approached, the gap between them widened.

Roy dominated the Champions League, while he could only reign supreme in the Eredivisie.

The final selection results were even more brutal: Roy won with almost unanimous votes, and he could only come in second place.

The gap was so large that even the judges were embarrassed to disclose the specific figures, and could only vaguely write in the press release that the "advantage was obvious".

Van der Vaart still remembers the hesitant expressions on his Ajax teammates' faces when the results were announced.

Ibrahimovic was the most infuriating, grinning in a way that was incredibly irritating: "If I were two years younger, what chance would that kid have of this award? Raphael, for goodness' sake!"

He deliberately dragged out his words, glancing sideways at Van der Vaart, "You're definitely not on the same level as him."

Worse still, even the Dutch media are asking: Why is there such a big gap between our geniuses and the French?
At that moment, Van der Vaart took two steps in front of the penalty area and unleashed a powerful, curving shot into the top right corner of the goal.

As the ball grazed the crossbar and flew out, he deliberately turned his head to glance at Roy, who had retreated to his own half, his eyes filled with resentment.

“I was a bit unlucky,” he said loudly to Mackay on purpose. “Next time I’ll aim lower.”

In the 25th minute, Micoud combined brilliantly with Lizarazu on the left wing, but his cross was easily caught by Van der Sar. Three minutes later, Giuly broke through Zenden on the right wing and crossed the ball, Trezeguet outjumped Cocu to head it towards goal, but the ball grazed the post and went wide.

The Dutch quickly retaliated.

In the final attack before the halftime whistle, Roy suddenly erupted.

He first dribbled past Van Bommel with a croquet move, then overpowered Davies's charge to accelerate, and before Cocu could cover, he abruptly stopped and changed direction, delivering a through ball that pierced the defense for Trezeguet.

As Trezeguet turned and charged into the penalty area, he was pulled down from behind by Heitinga.

The referee blew his whistle and awarded a free kick just outside the penalty area.

Miku instinctively picked up the ball, only to see Giuly already walking over.

The Werder Bremen midfielder hesitated for a moment, then silently passed the ball over.

After all, the Monaco captain's set-piece priority in the national team is indeed higher than his own.

But what happened next surprised everyone.

After Giuly placed the ball, he suddenly waved to Roy and then stepped back to the second penalty-taking position.

Santini on the sidelines had a furrowed brow.

He had never devised such a tactic.

What's even stranger is that Roy actually stood in front of the ball as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and even Trezeguet didn't object.

"This boy"

As Santini watched Roy's retreating figure as he measured the steps, his mind was filled with thoughts of the subtle shifts in the power dynamics of the locker room.

Roy stood in front of the ball and gently rotated his ankle.

He took five steps back, his left leg slightly angled, his steps a little awkward, but with an undeniable certainty.

The Dutch wall moved nervously.

Van der Sar shouted, "To the left! A little more to the left!"

Heitinga and Cocu kept their eyes fixed on Roy's supporting foot, ready to jump and block at any moment.

Davis grinned sneer from inside the wall of players: "Rookie, want me to teach you how to play?"

Roy didn't even lift his eyelids, but simply rubbed the grass with the tip of his shoe, as if to say: Just you wait.

Roy took a deep breath, and his eyes suddenly sharpened.

Run-up, swing your leg, and flick your ankle the moment you touch the ball.

The ball spun violently as it rose into the air.

The Dutch wall leaped up, only to watch helplessly as the ball arced strangely over their heads.

Van der Sar made a diving save, his glove just touching the crossbar, when the ball hit the inside of the far post and bounced into the net!
With a muffled thud, the entire stadium erupted in cheers.

Trezeguet, like an excited bull, was the first to charge forward, leaping onto Roy's back.

Roy immediately put on his dramatic act, covering his head with his hands, widening his eyes, and making an exaggerated expression as if to say, "Oh my god, this ball actually went in!"

This provocation is more infuriating than any celebration.

As Juli laughed, he thought to himself: How many talent points did God give Roy when He created man? What's even more infuriating is that this kid is ridiculously strong, but he always puts on that innocent "Oh, I'm so lucky" expression, which is just too annoying.

On the sidelines, Rothen clapped and grimaced, "He pulled it off again!"

Despite saying that, his eyes were filled with undisguised envy.

This kid is practically a walking hate-inducing machine.

Not only is he good at football, but he also has a handsome face that makes female fans scream.

Now even their free kicks, which they used to play terribly, have suddenly become amazing. How are we supposed to live with this?

Santini stood there, rubbing his eyes.

He had seen Zidane's elegance and Henry's violence, but this free kick, combining power and precision, was like magic that defied the laws of physics.

Van der Sar was shaking his head as he retrieved the ball from the net; he couldn't have predicted the trajectory of the ball even a second before it was conceded.

Roy, the instigator, simply pushed away his celebrating teammates, pointed to his temple, and winked at Davis.

This action infuriated the Dutch more than any celebration.

They had just witnessed an incredibly brilliant free kick, and the creator didn't even bother to celebrate.

After the start of the second half, the French team maintained their 1-0 lead.

In the 60th minute, Santini made a bold move, directly replacing Roy and Trezeguet with Henry and Govou.

As Roy walked toward the bench, the Dutch fans in the stands booed him.

Without turning his head, he took the towel handed to him by the staff and sat down quietly to watch the game.

The situation on the field became increasingly tense.

The Dutch launched a furious counterattack, while the French team tightened their defense and launched counter-attacks.

Henry tried to break through several times but didn't go all out—after all, it was just a friendly match, there was no need to fight desperately.

Gowu worked very hard, but he couldn't carry the load alone.

When the final whistle blew, the score was 1-0.

When the final whistle blew, the Dutch players wore somber expressions.

Although it was just a friendly match, considering the grudges from the draw for the same group in the European Championship, this defeat was particularly painful.

The French players celebrated by high-fiving in small groups.

Although it was just a friendly match, it's still something to be happy about to take home a victory in Amsterdam.

In the bar of the French team's hotel, Giuly, holding a beer glass, looked around: "Where's that kid Roy?"

Rothen grinned: "He's out of the national team ban now, and he just slipped out on a date."

He deliberately lowered his voice, "If you ask me, this kid is really bold. He just scored a goal on someone else's turf, and he still dares to stroll around the streets of Amsterdam in the middle of the night."

Makelele frowned upon hearing this: "Aren't you afraid of running into extreme fans?"

“Who knows,” Rothen shrugged. “Love makes people blind—”

Before he could finish speaking, the bar door was suddenly pushed open.

Roy walked in, bringing with him a chill, his hair still damp with night mist.

Rothen immediately winked and said, "Oh, our Casanova is back? How romantic is a stroll along the canal?"

Roy walked straight to the bar and tapped on the counter: "Tequila, on the ice."

Juli's hand holding the beer paused in mid-air. This kid usually only takes a couple of sips of red wine, why is he suddenly asking for strong liquor today?
Roy tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp, the ice making a clattering sound as his Adam's apple bobbed.

He slammed the empty glass down on the bar, exhaling a puff of hot white breath: "Dude, we broke up."

The entire bar fell silent instantly.

Rothen nearly spat out the beer he had just put in his mouth, and even forgot to play his cards.

"A bachelorette party! Absolutely!" Gowu slammed his fist on the table and laughed.

"I know a nice nightclub by the canal!"

Dacourt joined in the commotion.

Even the usually composed Thuram joined in the fun with a laugh: "Since we're going to hold this event, why not invite half the girls in Amsterdam?"

The way he swirled his wine glass made him look like a shrewd strategist. "I know a few local players, they definitely know good places to go."

Roy stood in front of the bar, watching his teammates make a ruckus with a blank expression.

He swirled the wine glass in his hand, the ice cubes clinking, but it did nothing to stir his emotions.

A breakup is a breakup; there's nothing to celebrate or be sad about.

"You play."

He said casually, putting the glass back on the bar, "I'm going back to my room now."

The teammates' laughter stopped abruptly, and they looked at each other in bewilderment.

Rothen scratched his head: "Hey, does it have to be this disappointing?"

Roy simply shrugged and turned away.

Rothen grabbed Roy, who was about to leave, and, emboldened by alcohol, whispered in his ear:

"Listen, Roy, now all of Europe—no, the whole world—is your hunting ground! Look at your damn handsome face, look at the Golden Boy Award you're standing on, and look at all the girls who are crazy about you!"

He slapped Roy hard on the back, his voice getting louder and louder: "You're only 19 and you've already blown the ball out of the national team and in the Champions League! You can even blow up the Dutch goal with a free kick in a place like Amsterdam! Do you know how many supermodels, celebrities, and socialites are lining up to meet you?"

"If you ask me, life is about enjoying it while you can!"

Rothen raised his glass, splashing wine onto both of them. "What's Du Chen? You'll see when the sun rises tomorrow—"

Makelele grabbed Rothen by the neck and vigorously ruffled his hair with his other hand: "Shut up, you womanizer! You can't even remember which girl's house you slept at last night, and you're here to teach people how to date?"

Rothen struggled to protest: "Bullshit! I had a serious three-month relationship before!"

"Three months?"

Juli sneered from the side, "You mean the week from Christmas to New Year's?"

Rothen blushed and counted on his fingers: "From the end of December to the beginning of January, plus New Year's Eve."

The bar erupted in laughter.

Looking at Rothen's flushed face, Roy finally showed his first genuine smile of the night.

These clumsy, old-fashioned words of comfort, though crude, inexplicably eased the knot in his chest.

A night breeze blew through the corridor, and he took out his phone to check it.

No new messages or missed calls.

It's all over, that's all.

Their reason for breaking up was very realistic:

Roy's career in European football has become increasingly dazzling, with Golden Boy awards, Champions League goals, and national team call-ups all coming his way. The spotlight is constantly on him.

When Du Chen was rushing between various fashion weeks, she could always see rumors of her boyfriend's relationships with different female stars and socialites at airport newsstands.

Although she knew it was mostly hype, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was hurting.

During the long-distance call, she listened to his hoarse voice, wanting to ask but not daring to ask about those gossip stories; he sensed the probing in her words, but couldn't explain it clearly over the phone line.

The two of them gradually became like they were separated by frosted glass, blurry and unsettling.

Du Chen said during the breakup tonight, "I'm tired. It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I can't stand living in constant fear."

Roy didn't try to stop him; he knew the endless scandals, social engagements, and business activities wouldn't stop.

Since love has become a burden, it's better to let go and make things easier for each other.

Roy stood by the window and put his phone back in his pocket.

The night breeze, carrying the moisture from the canal, brushed against his face, and he suddenly felt a strange sense of ease.

Du Chen is indeed special—but even the most special girl is ultimately just a passerby in life.

He turned and walked back to the bar, where the noise of his teammates greeted him.

Roy took the beer from Rothen, and the glasses clinked together with a crisp sound.

It's time to start a new chapter, just like those explorers who set sail for distant lands, with countless unknown harbors waiting to be docked ahead.

This thought made the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.

The glory on the football field and the adventures in life are just beginning.

(I'll save this draft and try to bring forward the update time. I'll explain the relationship issues in a free side story later.)
(End of this chapter)