When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 153 Red and White Meat Grinder

Fans at the Gunners pub in London during halftime.

The bar was deathly silent, with only the buzzing voice of the commentator on the television.

Old John slammed his beer mug on the table, foam splashing onto his jersey: "Damn it! That kid (Roy) is like an eel, Lauren can't catch him at all!"

Bartender Mike sighed as he wiped the glass: "Wenger should have spent the money to buy him last year. Now look what happened, Monaco is making a fool of him."

In the corner, a young man wearing a Henry jersey clutched his scarf and muttered, "Henry will step up in the second half."

"Come on!"

The bearded man kicked a stool. "That's just how Henry is. He'll crush the weak, scoring goals like it's nothing. But against tough opponents, he cowers. He stumbles and dribbles aimlessly, the ball stuck to his feet like glue. He can't pass or get past them, making the attack feel like constipation. And his defensive work is even worse. While the strikers have already made two runs, he's still strolling around, acting like some kind of old man taking a leisurely walk! Relying on him in crucial matches? You might as well hope the opposing goalkeeper has diarrhea!"

His wife tugged at his sleeve: "Keep your voice down, the children are here."

"Fuck your mother's fart!"

The fat man wearing Henry's jersey immediately jumped up, "You blind fool! In that do-or-die match against Liverpool in 03, who was it that carried three defenders and blasted the ball into the net? What was your performance against Tottenham last season like?"

The tall, thin fan next to him stubbed out his cigarette: "Vieira's passes are like throwing grenades, Parlour's runs are like headless flies, are we really expecting Henry to do everything himself? If you're so good, you do it! Where does Henry rank in the Premier League top scorers list this season? Where does he rank in the assists list? If you're so capable, go find a more reliable striker!"

In the corner, an elderly fan with white hair took a sip of warm beer and snorted, "Ha, what do you kids know about football? When I was watching Arsenal play, you were still wearing diapers! A player of Henry's caliber? He's one of the best in the entire history of the Premier League! Still being picky? Once this god is gone, you'll be crying over fighting for fourth place every year!"

A young fan wearing a scarf nearby immediately retorted, "Old man, that's too pessimistic! We have a squad that's unbeaten for over thirty rounds. Vieira, Pires, and Cole are all in their prime. Even if Henry leaves, Professor Wenger can still cultivate new super strikers! Fighting for fourth place? Are you kidding me!"

A middle-aged man in the back row chimed in: "Exactly! With Arsenal's current squad depth, they'll be title contenders for the next five years. How could they possibly be reduced to competing with Tottenham, Everton, and Newcastle for Champions League qualification? You're being far too pessimistic!"

An older fan scoffed, "Fine, we'll see. In a few years you'll understand—Arsenal's peak is just around the corner, but what comes next?"

He deliberately dragged out the words, "You get used to it as you walk downhill."

A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd, but the veteran fans just smiled with narrowed eyes, as if to say, "You'll understand sooner or later."

When the TV switched to a commercial break, the discussion grew louder.

Taxi driver John stared at the scoreboard on the screen: "If we go back home with a 0-3 deficit, how are we supposed to compete in the league?"

My neighbor rolled his eyes: "Thinking about the league now? If we get such a humiliating exit from the Champions League, Wenger will be criticized all season!"

The locker room was silent, save for the players' heavy breathing.

Vieira was the first to speak: "We were stunned by those two goals. That kid Roy is too cunning; he deliberately waited for us to jump before launching a low shot."

Henry chimed in, "We have to mark him tightly in the second half and not give him any more space. Lauren, you have to stick close to him."

Lauren nodded: "I will, but I'll need Gilberto's help on defense."

Gilberto wiped his sweat: "I already have a yellow card, so I can't make any big moves."

Campbell: "The set-piece defense was too chaotic, the wall jumped at the wrong time, it was my fault."

Toure: "The second ball was really unlucky; it bounced right to Giuly's feet."

Lehmann leaned against the wall: "I saved the first shot, but luck wasn't on our side."

Bergkamp calmly stated, "Now is not the time to complain. Maicon's attacking runs down their right flank are very aggressive; we can attack more down the left."

Pires suggested, "In the second half, give Henry and me more one-two passes; Abidal is slow to turn."

Parlour looked at everyone: "Mr. Wenger is about to come in, we need to reach a consensus. Should we continue with the offensive or hold our ground first?"

Vieira stated unequivocally: "We must attack. Going back down 0-2 is the end of us."

At that moment, the locker room door was pushed open, and Wenger walked in with a tactics board in his hand.

The voice was deep and serious:
“Listen, guys, we’re down 0-2 now, but this isn’t the end. We still have 45 minutes left, and these 45 minutes may be the most important 45 minutes we’ve played in the Champions League in recent years.”

He looked around to make sure everyone was listening: "Monaco only needs to score one goal at Highbury, and we'll need four to come back. Do you know what that means? It means that if we don't score an away goal today, it's almost certainly a dead end when we get back home."

Vieira frowned: "They will definitely tighten their defense and launch counter-attacks in the second half."

Wenger nodded: "That's right, Deschamps isn't stupid. He'll have Roy and Giuly continue to harass our flanks, and then Morientes will launch counter-attacks. But we can't stop attacking just because we're afraid of conceding goals—if we don't score today, then when we get back home, they only need to steal one goal for us to need four to advance."

Henry was silent for a moment: "So we must score in the second half."

温格：“对，1-2意味着我们回到主场只要1-0就能晋级。但0-2？那就完全不同了。”

Wenger stood in front of the tactics board, quickly sketching Monaco's 4-3-3 formation with a marker: "Their attacking core is on the wings of Roy and Giuly, with Rothen responsible for linking up play. Pedretti and Bernardi are the two holding midfielders, covering a large area, and we need to focus our efforts on breaking through there."

He pointed to Monaco's right flank: "Maicon's attacking runs are very far forward, this is an opportunity. Pires and Cole need to focus on exploiting the space behind him. Gilberto, you have a yellow card now, you must be careful in your defensive actions in the second half. I will bring on Gaspart around the 60th minute, but before that, you must make sure that the connection between Roy and Rothen is cut off. If they combine frequently, our defense will be very passive."

Vieira interjected: "If Gaspart comes on, should I drop back more to protect the defense?"

Wenger nodded: "Yes, after Gaspart comes on, you can move up a bit, but make sure the defensive solidity in the defensive midfield area is maintained. Parlour, you need to move closer to Bernardi to create space for Vieira to make forward runs."

Vieira: "Their two defensive midfielders move laterally very quickly, and Parlour and I need to make more cross-runs."

Wenger nodded: "That's right. Bernardi likes to press forward, while Pedretti prefers to protect the defense. Parlour, move closer to Pedretti and create space for Vieira to move forward."

He turned to the defense: "Campbell marks Morientes closely, don't let him act as a pivot. Toure should be careful to cover Roy's inside runs. Lauren, Giuly is fast but weak in physical duels, you can press him as needed."

Then, Wenger called Nonda over and said calmly but directly, "Listen, we need to change things around the 70-minute mark. Bergkamp is playing very well, but we need your impact. Monaco's defense will start to tire Squillaci and Abidal around the 70-minute mark."

"Once you're up there, you'll mainly do three things: First, use your body to challenge Squillaci. He's slow to turn, so you need to receive the ball with your back to goal and then quickly turn to attack him. Second, move to the left flank more often, draw Abidal out, and create one-on-one opportunities for Henry. Third, you need to win the first ball from crosses inside the penalty area. If you can't win it, you should still try to disrupt the goalkeeper Roma's judgment."

Regarding set-piece defense, Wenger emphasized: "They have two targets for free kicks, Roy and Rothen. The wall must move in unison, and Lehmann, you need to direct them more. For the second ball, keep a close eye on Pedretti; he always likes to make runs from deep."

Finally, he outlined the attacking details: "Bergkamp drops back to draw Abidal away, creating one-on-one opportunities for Henry. If Squillaci covers, Henry should pass to the wing immediately. Remember, the spaces created by Maicon and Evra's attacking runs are our chances."

Finally, he reiterated the importance of defensive discipline:
“Remember, 0-2 isn’t the end of the world, but if we concede another goal, we’ll have almost no hope in the second leg. We must score in the second half, but we absolutely cannot blindly push forward and let them launch counter-attacks. Campbell and Toure, you two need to pay close attention to Morientes’ runs and not let him easily become a target man.”

Wenger surveyed the team: "These 45 minutes could be the start of a comeback or the turning point of the season. We have no choice but to fight for an away goal."

Monaco players emerged from the players' tunnel in twos and threes.

Roy lowered his voice and said to Juli, "If they get one more in, they'll be completely finished."

Juli grinned: "Look at Henry's face, like he owes him money."

Roy smiled and gestured with his chin toward Henry: "Thieri."

Henry walked straight past with a cold face, not even lifting an eyelid.

Vieira chuckled behind him and deliberately bumped Maicon of Monaco with his shoulder.

Maicon stumbled from the impact and immediately launched into a tirade in Portuguese: "Caralho! Who does this big black guy think he is? You fucking Frenchman!"

He grabbed Evra's sleeve and gritted his teeth, saying, "See that? These British guys are like this, thinking they're all the big shots in the Premier League! Let them taste our South American elbows later, and see if they still dare to act so arrogant!"

Evra said with a grim face, "I'm a Frenchman too!"

As soon as the whistle blew for the start of the second half, Henry flicked the ball backwards and turned like a cheetah, charging straight into the heart of Monaco's defense.

After receiving the ball, Vieira charged across the center line like a heavy tank. Bernardi tried to intercept him but was violently knocked away by Vieira's body.

Before Monaco's defensive formation was even set, Vieira had already unleashed a powerful leg sweep from 30 yards out—"Bang!"

The ball flew like a cannonball straight into the corner of the net. Roma leaped into the air, almost hanging on the crossbar, before he managed to flick the ball out of bounds with his fingertips.

"Corner kick! Arsenal's chance!"

The on-site commentator was shouting at the top of his lungs.

As Pires jogged to take the corner kick, the Monaco penalty area was already in complete chaos.

Pedretti clung tightly to Vieira's jersey, while Abidal and Campbell battled for position near the penalty spot, their arms intertwined as if they were wrestling.

The ball flew in an arc, and Campbell suddenly made a run to shake off Abidal, leaping up like a spring from the ground.

"Dangdang!"

The headbutt slammed into the crossbeam, making it vibrate, and even the billboard behind the goalposts tremble.

Squillaci, still shaken, kicked the ball out of bounds, while Deschamps roared from the sidelines: "Mark that big black guy! Are you guys sleepwalking?!"

At this point, Monaco's defensive formation seemed to have fallen apart.

Evra and Maicon, the two full-backs, were forced to tuck in to protect the center, and Rothen had to drop back to the edge of the penalty area to act as a temporary defender.

Wenger was so anxious on the sidelines that he was stamping his feet, almost ready to rush onto the field to contest the header himself.

As soon as Arsenal threw in the ball, Monaco pounced on it like wolves whose tails had been stepped on.

Henry watched helplessly as Roy chased back thirty meters like a mad dog, managing to poke the ball away from Pires's feet.

After receiving the ball, Pedretti made a graceful turn, dodging Vieira's challenge, and looked up to find Giuly in the attacking third.

Just as Lauren was about to step forward to block, Giuly had already jumped up like a flea and flicked the ball over his head with his toe.

Monaco's counter-attack was frighteningly fast; they reached the edge of Arsenal's penalty area in just a few passes.

When Rothen received the ball, Toure and Campbell pressed forward like two walls, but he suddenly flicked it with his heel.

"Morientes!"

The commentator's voice was hoarse from shouting.

The Spanish striker unleashed a powerful shot, and as Lehmann dove to make the save, the ball slammed into his face and bounced away.

Roy rushed up for a follow-up shot, and Cole flew sideways, using his shoulder to knock the ball out of bounds.

The two couldn't stop their momentum and collided, rolling three times before coming to a stop.

Over at the corner flag, the cheers of Monaco fans were deafening.

Rothen took a tactical corner kick, and Maicon received the ball and suddenly changed direction to cut inside, skillfully avoiding Vieira's interception before dribbling forward.

When the Brazilian crossed from the byline, Campbell and Morientes jumped at the same time.

"boom!"

The two were huddled together in mid-air.

The ball landed at the edge of the penalty area, and Bernardi unleashed a powerful shot. Lehmann made a save but fumbled the ball, and Vieira quickly cleared it with a long kick.

In just two short minutes, possession of the ball changed hands four times.

This isn't a football match, it's a meat grinder!
Deschamps cursed inwardly, "These Brits just know how to act recklessly. Is the referee blind?"

But he still maintained a poker face.

Wenger, meanwhile, was thinking: "If we keep playing like this, something bad will happen. We need to find a way to calm the players down."

But he was still arguing with the fourth official.

On the surface, the two appeared calm, but in their hearts, they were both plotting how to trip each other up.

In the 48th minute, Monaco's attack suddenly blossomed on the right flank.

Giuly feinted an inside cut, then suddenly poked the ball forward with the outside of his foot, immediately shifting Lauren's center of gravity.

The Monaco winger swept past like a gust of wind, swinging his right foot near the byline.

"Pay attention to the back!"

Before Campbell's roar had even faded, the ball had already flown towards the penalty area in a bizarre arc.

Morientes darted out from behind Toure like a ghost and headed the ball with a diving header from 6 yards out!
Almost as if losing his balance, Lehmann reflexively reached out his left hand, his fingertips barely brushing the ball.

"Beautiful save!"

The commentator had barely uttered the command when the ball bounced off the underside of the crossbar and back into play.

Rothen charged into the penalty area like a shark smelling blood, raising his left foot to shoot on the rebound.

"Stop him!"

Gilberto Silva suddenly appeared from the side, flying sideways as he came.

The Brazilian's thigh muscles bulged, and he forcefully blocked the seemingly certain goal with his shinbone.

"boom!"

The dull thud of their collision made the audience in the front row gasp. Rothen clutched his knee and rolled on the ground, while Gilberto curled up like a shrimp.

"Beep——"

As soon as the referee blew the whistle, the Monaco players swarmed around like wolves smelling blood.

Roy rushed to the front, pointing at Gilberto who was still curled up on the ground and shouting, "Referee! That's definitely a yellow card offense! He wasn't even going for the ball!"

Juli chimed in, "He's deliberately hurting us! You didn't hold back against us in the first half!"

The referee frowned and waved for them to step back, clearly not intending to draw his cards.

Henry strolled over slowly, a mocking smile on his lips: "Still putting on an act while leading?"

Roy didn't respond.

But Evra couldn't stand it and retorted directly: "Oh, so the French team's bigwigs have spoken up? You Premier League players think you're right to be so aggressive?"

Henry's face instantly darkened.

He stared at Evra, this greenhorn who hadn't even made the national team training squad, who dared to talk back to him to his face.
It's easy to imagine that Roy probably didn't take him seriously at all in the locker room.

"Watch your mouth."

Henry lowered his voice, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth, "Otherwise, you won't even get a ticket to the stands at the next national team training camp."

Before Evra could retort, the referee impatiently pushed through the crowd: "Enough! Play continues!"

Roy put his arm around Evra's shoulder, turned his back, and deliberately raised his voice to laugh, "Don't worry, Patrice, he doesn't have the final say."

"Our French team is now under Santini's control. Some strikers should just focus on scoring goals. Personnel matters are none of your business."

The referee looked down at Rothen and Gilberto, who were still lying down; both of them had recovered by now.

Rothen rubbed his knee and grimaced, while Gilberto slowly sat up, propped himself up on the grass.

"Play continues," the referee gestured forward, "Arsenal have possession."

The Monaco players immediately erupted in anger.

The referee waved his hand impatiently: "I saw it very clearly, your player fouled first."

He pointed at Rothen, "He hit the studs on that follow-up shot."

Then, turning to Gilberto, he said, "He's using his body to block, a reasonable form of resistance."

Deschamps angrily threw his suit jacket on the ground on the sidelines, while Wenger took the opportunity to call Vieira to the sidelines for a private talk.

Boos erupted from the stands, and several Monaco fans threw handfuls of coins onto the pitch.

Roy squinted at the referee's gestures, his mind perfectly clear.

Silvaa is indeed clean.

But then he suddenly grinned, turned around, and yelled at the entire Monaco team:

"Suppress them! Don't let them live!"

His shout was like throwing a match into a powder keg.

No sooner had Roy's roar subsided than Monaco's pressing surged forward like a tidal wave.

As soon as Vieira received Lehmann's throw-in, Bernardi and Pedretti came to sandwich him from the left and right.

Vieira shielded the ball and turned, only to see Roy pounce on him like a mad dog.

"This way!"

Gilberto Silva raised his hand to call for the ball in open space on the right side.

Despite being surrounded by three defenders, Vieira managed to flick the ball away with his heel.

The moment the Brazilian defensive midfielder received the ball, Giuly had already pounced on him.

Gilberto remained calm, bracing Giuly with his arm, and then swept the ball to the left flank with the outside of his foot.

Pires deftly controlled the pass near the sideline. At this point, Monaco's defensive formation was completely disrupted.

Maicon rushed over to cover, leaving a large gap behind him.

Squillaci was forced to drift wide to help defend, leaving the middle wide open. Evra was still chasing back and didn't have time to get into position.

A 1v1 situation instantly formed on the left flank.

Pires, facing Maicon, first made a feint by lowering his shoulder, then suddenly used the inside of his foot to cut the ball towards the byline.

The Brazilian full-back hurriedly turned around, only to be completely outmaneuvered by Arsenal's number 7's croquet-like pass.

"You made it!"

Arsenal's away stands erupted in cheers.

As Pires looked up to observe, Henry had already made his way to the near post, while Bergkamp was lurking at the far post.

But just as he was about to cross the ball, Squillaci burst out of the penalty area like a runaway truck, making a textbook sliding tackle to block the ball out of bounds.

"Get back on defense! All of you get back on defense, fucking!"

Deschamps roared from the sidelines.

Wenger quickly gestured to Parlour, indicating that they should strengthen their defensive support on the right flank.

The Monaco players yelled at each other to adjust their positions: "Evra! Mark their full-backs!"

"Roten! Retreat and provide cover!"

"Second penalty kick! Watch out for the second penalty kick!"

Meanwhile, Arsenal is also making urgent preparations.

Vieira: "Gilberto, you go up there!"

Campbell: "Touré, protect the middle lane!"

Lauren: "It's my fault, it's my fault!"

In just 20 seconds, the situation on the field had changed dramatically.

On the pitch of the Stade Louis II, the running routes of the players from both sides resembled the battle formations of two armies, with every detail concealing deadly intent.

In the 53rd minute, Vieira made a fierce sliding tackle to steal Rothen's ball in midfield and immediately delivered a pinpoint through ball.

Henry was about to start his run to receive the ball when Bernardi burst out from behind him from the side.

"boom!"

The studs landed squarely on Henry's right ankle, sending the French striker tumbling three times on the spot.

Arsenal players erupted instantly, with Vieira being the first to rush over and grab Bernardi by the neck: "Are you fucking asking for it?!"

The referee's whistle pierced the night sky, and the players from both sides immediately began to wrestle together:
Pires and Maicon were shoving each other and hurling Spanish and Portuguese profanities.

Campbell shielded Morientes behind him like a black iron tower.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Roy shoved Cole hard, and Cole rolled around on the grass.

"Red card! This has to be a red card!"

Wenger roared furiously from the sidelines.

Deschamps shrugged at the fourth official with a cold smile: "Didn't you see they fouled first?"

The referee had to issue three yellow cards to calm the situation down.

Vieira, Bernardi, and the troublemaker Roy each ate one.

After the match resumed, Monaco, who were eager to retaliate, launched an even more aggressive attack.

The moment Roy received the ball on the left sideline, Toure was already rolling over like a heavy truck.

He lightly tapped the ball with his right foot, pretending to go down to the byline, but just as Toure's center of gravity shifted, he missed.

"Shh!"

Suddenly, he snapped the ball back with his left foot, and his entire body spun rapidly around his supporting foot.

The nimble and agile Cruyff caused Toure's spiked shoes to come to a sudden stop on the grass, making the burly man stagger a couple of steps.

Before Toure could even get his footing, Roy had already darted off like a streak of red and white lightning.

His black hair was spread out in the wind, the hem of his jersey fluttered in the wind, and his legs were so fast when he sprinted with the ball that they were almost blurry.

Lauren rushed in from the side to cover, but Roy suddenly appeared.

"boom!"

He slammed the ball down with the outside of his right foot, sending it soaring more than five meters away.

A pure speed contest!

The force of his spiked boots stomping the ground ripped up the turf, and Lauren tried desperately to catch up but could only watch helplessly as the distance between them grew further and further.

In the broadcast footage, Roy's running created air currents that even caused the linesman's flag to flutter.

When he reached the baseline, Vieira, who was tracking back, had just run out of the center circle.

In just three short seconds, Monaco's number 10 had already torn apart the entire right flank defense.

Arsenal's penalty area was suddenly in a state of panic.

Roy dribbled inside, drawing Campbell's challenge, and then suddenly backheeled the ball to the onrushing Pedretti.

The French midfielder unleashed a powerful shot without making any adjustments!

"Pedretti!!!" the commentator exclaimed, his voice cracking.

The ball flew straight into the top right corner, and Lehmann almost flew sideways out of bounds before managing to tip it out of play with one hand.

In the corner area, Rothen held up two fingers as he took his run-up – a secret signal!
Monaco players immediately made cross-cutting runs:
Morientes feints at the near post.

Abidal suddenly surged forward from the back row.

Squillaci held onto Lyman tightly.

A corner kick arced out in a deadly arc, and Abidal outjumped Gilberto to head the ball into the net!
In a flash, Cole leaped into the air on the goal line and blocked the ball with his thigh.

"boom!"

After a muffled thud, the ball spun strangely in front of the goal line. Abidal and Cole simultaneously stretched out their feet to shoot, their boots colliding and kicking up a cloud of grass.

The referee finally blew his whistle, this time ruling that Lehmann had committed a foul by fumbling the ball.

In the 61st minute, Arsenal finally produced a brilliant combination.

Bergkamp dropped back into midfield to receive the ball, turned and dribbled past his opponent before playing a through ball to Parlour, who crossed the ball across the face of goal. Henry arrived just in time but was a fraction too late, and Evra cleared the ball out of play.

In the 63rd minute, the air at the Stade Louis II suddenly froze.

Roy and Campbell jumped simultaneously on the edge of Arsenal's penalty area to contest a header!

"boom!"

The dull thud of two heads colliding in mid-air was clearly audible even to the reporters on the sidelines.

Slow-motion replay shows that Campbell's brow bone collided directly with Roy's brow bone, and blood instantly streamed down both of their faces, but Campbell made a pulling motion.

"Oh my god! It's bleeding!"

The commentator exclaimed in surprise, "Campbell landed with his right hand still gripping Roy's shirt collar tightly, and the Monaco winger was pulled backward!"

Roy was about to lash out when he suddenly remembered that he had a yellow card on his record.

Furious, he could only turn around and argue with Campbell.

Their noses almost collided, and drops of blood dripped down their chins onto each other's jerseys.

Roy wiped the blood from his face, looked down at his hands covered in crimson, and sneered, "Oh, isn't this the North London traitor?"

"What? You were always pulling at your collar like this when you were captain at Tottenham? Or is it that you only dare to be this dirty when you're wearing this uniform?"

Campbell's face turned ashen instantly, and his hand gripping Roy's collar trembled.

Roy seized the opportunity to slap his hand away: "Save it, Judas. You bled way more when you betrayed Tottenham than I do now."

He pointed to the wound on his brow bone, "At least my blood is red, unlike some people's."

"Beep beep beep——"

The whistle pierced the night sky, and the referee rushed over to separate the two.

Campbell's fists clenched so tightly they cracked, but he didn't dare to actually make a move.

He knew better than anyone how the media would make a fuss if he got another card.

Finally, all he could manage to say through gritted teeth was, "You little brat, you better pray you don't run into me in the players' tunnel."

Deschamps was so anxious on the sidelines that he kept stamping his feet.

Roy is his offensive ace.

After the team doctor examined him, he gestured to the coaching bench to make a substitution. Deschamps cursed and then turned around to tell Pulso, who was on the bench, to get ready to come on.

"Substitution! Monaco forced to make a substitution!"

The commentator was shouting so loudly that spittle flew everywhere.

The stands erupted in boos, with one fan shouting, "The referee is blind! That black guy should be sent off with a red card!"

Roy covered his brow bone as he walked toward the bench; blood had already soaked through the gauze pressed against his face.

As he passed through the technical area, he suddenly stopped and threw the ice pack on the ground.

"Snapped!"

The ice pack hit the billboard and exploded, scattering ice fragments all over the ground.

He turned to face the stands, held up two fingers in a "V" sign, grinned, and shouted, "Just two shots!"

The cheers from the Monaco fans instantly rose eight octaves.

Roy shook the sweat from his hair and deliberately strode back to the bench, pushing away the team doctor who tried to help him along the way.

Deschamps frowned as he handed over the towel. He took it and casually pressed it to his wound, his eyes still fixed on the field.

His eyes looked like those of a wolf forcibly locked in a cage.

Flashbulbs went off wildly on the sidelines as photographers from major European media outlets scrambled to capture this iconic moment.

A reporter from L'Équipe captured Roy's bloodied "V" sign, and titled it "A Declaration of Blood."

Reuters captured the moment the ice pack burst, prompting an editor to write "A Clash of Ice and Fire."

The BBC focused on Roy's evasiveness of the team doctor, writing the article "Lone Wolf Refuses Help".

The Gazzetta dello Sport captured a profile shot of Deschamps handing out a towel, captioned "The general and the players are of one mind."

Bild captured Roy and Campbell exchanging glances across the distance, with the headline "Blood Feud".

Sky Sports titled it "Bloodstained Warrior".

The French television commentators have already proclaimed: "This is the new king of the Stade Louis II!"

Deschamps made a decisive move, bringing on Pulso as a substitute, and Monaco's formation returned to 4-4-2. Morientes and Pulso formed a twin towers up front, with Giuly and Rothen on the wings, and Pedretti and Bernardi continuing to battle in midfield.

Wenger replaced Gilberto Silva with Gaspart, which slightly reduced Arsenal's midfield toughness but increased their running ability.

In the 68th minute, Rothen received the ball on the left wing. Facing Parlour's defense, he suddenly faked a pass, cut inside, created space, and then crossed the ball!
The ball arced towards the penalty area, Morientes and Campbell jumped simultaneously, but neither could connect. Giuly, at the far post, made a ghostly run and volleyed the ball!

"boom!"

Lehmann made a diving save, but the ball slammed against the crossbar and bounced back!
Pulso reacted extremely quickly, scoring the rebound before Toure could react.

"Snapped!"

Cole recklessly lunged forward to block the shot, using his chest to deflect what seemed like a sure goal!
The ball bounced out of the penalty area, and Pedretti met it with another powerful shot!

"Dangdang!"

This time, the ball slammed against the outside of the post and bounced out of bounds.

A huge sigh erupted throughout the Stade Louis II, followed by thunderous applause.

72 minutes.

Vieira intercepted the ball in midfield and delivered a long pass to Henry.

Henry received the ball with his back to goal, and facing Abidal's defense, he suddenly made a clever turn and dribbled straight into the penalty area!
Squillaci rushed up to block, but Henry didn't try to take the credit and instead calmly passed the ball sideways.

"Pires!!!"

Pires arrived quickly and unleashed a powerful shot that sent the ball soaring into the far corner!

2-1! Arsenal have finally pulled one back!
Pires rushed to the corner flag and kissed the team badge wildly, while Henry ran back to the center circle, signaling his teammates to hurry up.

78 minutes.

Evra received the ball on the left wing, and facing Lauren's defense, he suddenly accelerated down the wing, then stopped abruptly, cut back, created space, and crossed the ball!
The ball flew towards the far post, where Giuly made a high-speed run and headed the ball back to the center.

"Pulso!!!"

The Croatian striker unleashed a volley, which Lehmann saved again, but Evra had already reached the goal and scored on the rebound!
3-1! Monaco have secured the victory!

Evra ran wildly in celebration, while the Arsenal players turned pale.

Wenger shook his head on the sidelines, while Deschamps raised his arms to welcome the cheers of the fans.

The final whistle blew, Monaco 3-1 Arsenal!
The cheers from the Stade Louis II surged like a tidal wave as Monaco players celebrated wildly, while his teammates hurried off the field with their heads down.

Henry was the last one. He glanced back at the scoreboard, his eyes as cold as ice.

Wenger should have immediately turned around and headed to the locker room to reassure the players and prepare tactics for the second leg.

But this time, he hesitated, which was unusual for him.

The statistics of the match flashed through his mind.

Several yellow cards, three bloody clashes, and two near-gang fights.

To make matters worse, Lehmann injured his shoulder while making the save, and Gilberto Silva also had a problem with his knee.

"does it worth?"

The thought suddenly popped into his head, startling even himself.

A comeback would require at least a 2-0 lead, meaning they would have to go all out on the attack at Highbury.

But Monaco's counter-attacks are so sharp that Roy and Giuly's speed will keep Arsenal's defense constantly on its toes.

If they give it their all but still get eliminated, and suffer more injuries and yellow cards, what will happen to their title challenge in the Premier League?
This Premier League title is more than just an honor for Arsenal.

The loan agreement for the club's new stadium clearly stated in black and white that if the club won the Premier League title in the 2003-04 season, the bank would extend the repayment period and lower the interest rate.

The report submitted by the CFO last week shows that this alone could save nearly ten million pounds in interest expenses.

More importantly, with the championship title, sponsorship fees and broadcast revenue sharing for the next season can increase by at least 30%.

These are all "key financial indicators" that have been repeatedly emphasized at board meetings.

Every goal and every victory now directly impacts whether or not the construction company can pay its project fees on time.

He looked up at the scoreboard; the 3-1 scoreline stung his eyes.

"professor?"

The teaching assistant gently nudged his arm.

Wenger then snapped out of his daze, straightened his tie, and strode toward the players' tunnel.

His steps remained steady, but a seed of hesitation had been planted in his heart.

In the Battle of Highbury, should we go all in or cut our losses?

(End of this chapter)