When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 19 The Gates of Hell (Please continue reading!)
"Cisse touches the ball, facing Coubillie! A sudden stop followed by a second burst of speed, forcefully leaving Coubillie behind—that was brutal!!!"

As soon as Coubillie assumed a crouching defensive stance, Cissé arched his back and lowered his shoulders, instantly accelerating to push the ball five meters away. During the sprint, his neck leaned forward, and his stride was as long as a hurdle.

Coubillier chased after him desperately, but could only watch helplessly as the distance between them increased from half a meter to three meters.

"He dismantled the defense with the speed of a cheetah! Like a sports car speeding onto a highway!"

The Canal+ commentators were yelling wildly, "Squillaci, who's out of position, has no chance to catch up now. Just like Roy used his speed to outrun him, Cisse can do the same."

Cissé went straight in, with only Monaco goalkeeper Flavio Roma in front of him.

"My God! This is the first time I've ever seen Roy track so deep on defense! What is he trying to tell us? That there's more than one beast on this field?"

As Auxerre's counter-attack began, Roy had already started moving back into the field, and the moment Kubilier was outmaneuvered, he accelerated at full speed.

It swept across the entire stadium like a tornado.

Facing Flavio, Cissé feigned a side kick and unleashed a powerful shot towards the far corner. Flavio rushed out to block the angle of the shot, but suddenly missed.

Cisela accelerated the ball, dribbled past Flavio's block, and with a graceful flick of the outside of his foot, the ball playfully bounced towards the goal.

They were about to cross the goal line.

With a flourish, Cissé turned and charged toward the corner flag, tearing open his jersey to reveal his tattoo "DIEU DTESTE LES LCHES" (God hates cowards), baring his teeth and growling at the camera.

"Wooooooo!!!"

He suddenly saw the Monaco fans in front of him stand up at the same time and shout wildly.

Roy, sprinting at top speed, flung his body out just before the ball crossed the goal line, swinging his leg in mid-air to clear the ball.

"Crazy! Crazy! Crazy! A peak duel between centers! The relentless chase saved the team! Look at that speed! Roy isn't running, he's teleporting!"

The commentator's frenzied shouts and the incredible clearances are sometimes more thrilling than the goals themselves, especially when they come from a forward.

Roy scrambled to his feet, a ruthless glint in his eyes.

Only I can quickly overpower Squillaci. What level are you? You're eating the same Squillaci as me?

As Auxerre coach Guy Roux slammed his tactical board to the ground, Deschamps raised his arms and roared, "Counter-attack! Counter-attack! Counter-attack!"

Roy, ignoring goalkeeper Flavio's grateful roar, got up and ran back like a madman.

As soon as the ball was cleared, Squillaci used his knee to push his opponent away at the landing point, then flicked it with the outside of his left foot, sending the ball flying diagonally towards Bernardi in midfield.

After passing the ball, he swore in the Toulon dialect to vent his emotions, and Roy's figure swept past him.

Bernardie!

He receives the ball with his back to goal, feigns a back pass to the goalkeeper to reorganize the play, but then blindly backheeles it to Giuly on the right wing.

"Jiuli!"

Giuly turned and let the ball pass him, blocking the view of the Auxerre left-back, who stumbled back to chase, but the diminutive Auxerre had already started his run and sped down the wing.

After sprinting forty meters, Giuly suddenly stopped and lowered his shoulder. Defender John Rade attempted a sliding tackle but missed, leaving a black mark on the turf.

"Roten!"

Giuly swept a low ball towards the center, Rothen stopped abruptly, and flicked it with the instep of his left foot, sending the ball arcing in a parabola.

Meanwhile, Pulso feigned a run towards the near post in the penalty area, but suddenly braked and retreated, a deceptive move that pinned the two center-backs to the six-yard box.

"Roy!!!!"

Rothen's pass fell towards the penalty spot, and Roy, who was sprinting in, had just rushed into the chaotic penalty area. Before he could adjust his body, he took off using the momentum and tilted his body at a 45-degree angle.

Turn sideways, right foot, instep shot!
“Buuuuuuut!!!!!”

"Goal! Roy opens the scoring! He's incredibly calm for an 18-year-old!"

The narrator's voice trembled and lingered at the end.

Before the echo had even faded, Roy had already turned and run towards the corner flag area.

The football, violently volleyed, suddenly dipped just before the goal line, shattering the atmosphere of the entire stadium with a resounding thud as it struck the underside of the crossbar and crashed into the net.

The entire Stade Louis II instantly transformed into an erupting volcano, with shouts of people and neighing of horses, and the sky and earth collapsing.

Roy took a running start, slid to his knees, and lunged into the surging, celebrating crowd, his two fingers together brushing across his brow in a salute.

Then, at the end of his sliding kneeling motion, he crossed his hands and flipped his wrists to make a metal salute gesture.

Then it was swallowed up by an even more intense wave of sound.

The opening of the "Gates of Hell" signifies the arrival of the Demon King.

"15.3 seconds! Monaco's lightning counterattack! Starting with Roy, ending with Roy! A total of five passes!"

Deschamps pretended to be calm on the sidelines, while Auxerre's coach had already started swearing.

Cisse was somewhat taken aback; this should have been his moment of glory, but he had been too confident.

The idealized image of "cool guys never looking back at explosions" turned into a clown.

The fuse got wet. When he turned around to check, the explosive said again: "Brother, I was just kidding. I'm fine."

"Recruit! Recruit!"

Upon seeing the goal, Jacques Santini, standing on the sidelines, did not hesitate and turned to his assistant coach, Raymond Domenech, to say something.

"The match against Malta will be the best test!"

Having served in Lyon for many years, he felt as much hatred as he did on television back then, and now he was just as excited.

Sitting next to him, Monaco president Campora showed no excitement. He raised his eyebrows, raised his champagne glass, and gestured to the distinguished guests in the box and the wealthy people nearby.

But her mind was in turmoil; Campora hadn't slept well for days.

Campora has been at the helm of Monaco for 26 years. The real estate tycoon made his fortune in the properties surrounding the Monte Carlo casino and is known as the "shadow mayor of the Prince's Territory".

Ferguson called him "the most dangerous negotiating table shark in the Mediterranean." He offered free access to VIP boxes to Monaco dignitaries in exchange for tax breaks, resulting in an effective tax rate of only 5% for the club.

They shared information systems with the Monte Carlo casino and leveraged connections among retired football stars among gamblers.

Money laundering through investment by the Russian oligarch Alfa Group.

A South American drug lord appeared on his private jet, "sponsoring" his youth training base in exchange for helping his children obtain EU passports.

They hired a former French intelligence agent to wiretap the locker room, codenamed "Red Telephone Booth".

In the last century, he even used casino chips to pay players' goal bonuses.

Benfica, Sporting Lisbon, and Borussia Dortmund were later dubbed "football black shops."

But all you need to know is that Campora is the creator of the black market business model.

The Stade Louis II is currently in a state of jubilation, with Deschamps' team leading by one goal and topping the Ligue 1 standings. This year's Ligue 1 title seems to be within reach.

But only Campora knew that Monaco's accounts were already heavily indebted, with a deficit of tens of millions.

The French Football Federation's Financial Oversight Committee has begun investigating Monaco's financial situation.

Monaco, who came one step away from the championship this season, are likely to be relegated next season due to financial deficits and excessive losses.

Love flies to Fa B.

Roy, who unleashed his talent on the field, only cost them a transfer fee of 30 euros.

This was a huge profit for Campora.

However, the penalty for breach of professional contracts is also linked to the annual salary, generally around five to ten times, and in special circumstances it can only reach twenty times.

La Liga is the only exception. Spanish law requires that a buyout clause be set, but the amount can also be negotiated between the two parties, so it is often inflated.

(Barcelona is particularly outrageous in this regard, for example, Messi once cost as much as 700 million, and later the team's rising stars averaged several hundred million each.)

Real Madrid isn't quite that outrageous, but there have been instances where Vinicius' annual salary was €100 million, yet his release clause was €7000 million.
Roy's annual salary is less than $50, and the penalty clause for breach of contract is set at $450 million.

That's a relatively reasonable number.

He has now shown potential far exceeding his current price.

For someone like Campora, who smells money like a football shark in the deep sea smelling blood, earning less is more painful than losing money.

The €30 reminded him of when they signed Trezeguet from Atlético Plattens for the same price, only to sell him to Juventus for €2320 million five years later.

Now, football transfer fees continue to soar, and teams' transfer budgets are no longer what they used to be.

A top club only needs to put up 4.5 million and then give Roy a contract several times his current salary.

As long as he agrees, there's no need to negotiate with Campora; he can just transfer the money and leave.

Ahhhh!
My money!
“We need to talk about this kid’s salary. The club absolutely cannot treat him unfairly like this.”

He called Roy's agent, Miliajo, several times, but the latter kept making excuses.

Let's talk about it after Roy finishes half a season.

Roy himself is very satisfied with his current salary and feels a strong sense of belonging to the team.

A sense of belonging? Do you think I'd believe that?
The summer transfer window opens in less than half a season. Will this kid still be on his team by then?
Right now, this is the news that Campora fears most.

One day I woke up to find 4.5 million euros in my account without my knowledge. It was terrifying!

"Roy doesn't need to dribble past anyone, he just needs to run and the defenders disappear!!!"

Campora's attention was drawn back to the field.

Rothen broke through on the wing and passed the ball back to the onrushing Evra.

Evra cut inside with the ball and passed it into the penalty area. Roy started again and won the ball first through the crowd.

He repeatedly dribbled the ball with the inside of his feet, fooling Auxerre center-back Philipp Mexes, who lowered his body and retreated step by step.

“OH LLLL”

He flicked the ball with his right foot and cut across, then lightly touched the grass with his left foot before pulling the ball back sharply, instantly creating space in front of Philipp to shoot.

A hook shot.

The football exploded and rose into the air, arcing towards the top right corner of the goal.

"IL L'A ASSASSIN!" (He murdered the defender!)

While the Canal+ commentator roared with passion, he slammed his fist on the table.

Auxerre goalkeeper Fabian Kuhl leaps to make a save, his fingertips grazing the surface of the ball.

It's all in vain!

"The second goal! It's Roy again! He tore the defense apart like paper!"

Fabian-Cour then listened with frustration as the thunderous roar of cheers erupted once again from the stands behind him.

The fans were roaring, and the flags were waving.

The overturned beer mugs spilled their golden liquid, soaking the hair of the fans in the front row.

The initially shy couple suddenly started kissing passionately in the crowd, drawing whistles from those around them.

The burly man covered in tattoos pulled up his jersey to reveal his arm, showing a newly tattooed "25=GOD," the ink glistening with sweat.

The media area instantly transformed into a sea of ​​stars, with all the reporters raising their cameras to take pictures, the flashes creating a continuous barrage, like a galaxy crowning a genius player.

All of this stemmed from the right foot of a boy who had just come of age.

He's going to go on a killing spree tonight!
(End of this chapter)